We had created a monster. An itty-bitty, baby monster – mostly harmless – but a monster nonetheless. And the thing about monsters is they grow into something with teeth and rage, something too big to control. I had a sense of it in the beginning, the smallest notion that this could become too big for us, but like the mother of any monster, I loved it despite the danger.
That danger was palpable the next day at school. The video of Brett had been one thing – the work of a hacker with an agenda – but a cell phone recording from inside our own walls? That was something else entirely.
I could hardly believe my ears when I stepped onto campus and heard kids talking about Friends of Bishop … or more like whispering. The halls of Haver High had gone oddly quiet, with students speaking in hushed voices whenever they discussed the site, as if they could get in trouble just for watching it. Or maybe they were afraid to be heard talking about anything at all – in case someone was recording them. Every cell phone pulled from a pocket got a suspicious glance, every private conversation required a check around for eavesdroppers.
And still the emails were streaming in. Practically overnight, our website had become a portal to internet freedom – a place for people to unload, to tell their truths, to get their revenge. Granted, most of that truth and revenge was bottled up in our email account and would never make it onto the site, but kids were reaching out anyway – desperate for an oasis in this desert of strict new rules that silenced students.
This guy has a clip of kids smoking a bong on the baseball field. That guy has a blurry video of two teachers making out in the staff break room. Sometimes the motivation for payback was clear, like a girl wanting to out her boyfriend for giving her crabs. Sometimes it just seemed like straight-up mean shit.
The latter reinforced my lack of faith in mankind … or Haver-kind, at least. I had to wonder if school cybermonitoring laws really did keep a lot of evil stuff off the internet.
On the other hand, I could sense the desperation in some of the messages … from kids who would always be targets, with or without the internet – kids pushed around in locker rooms or tortured when teachers weren’t paying attention, kids ignored until they went silent or mistreated until they turned bitter and angry.
The truth was there in the emails and in the whispers around school – Seth had been right. What we were doing was bigger than the ACC – maybe even bigger than showing up the cybersnoops. We’d turned on a little light in the darkness. The Jordan Bishops of the world were still out there, and we had just given them a voice.
The thought had me walking taller, holding my head higher, instead of shuffling around with my eyes on my feet … which is probably why I noticed Isabel at her locker as I rounded a corner into the South Wing. Most kids had already scooted off to their first period, so the hallway was practically empty.
This was my chance for a ‘hello’ do-over. I didn’t even have to speak. I could just lift my hand in a quick wave – no finger wiggling this time – and mosey on by. More mysterious that way.
Isabel’s body turned ever so slightly in my direction.
I veered hard to the left and buried my face in a drinking fountain.
Smooth.
The fountain was on a corner at the junction of two hallways, and while Isabel dug for something in her locker to my right, a trio of girls gathered outside a classroom to my left – Ashley Thorne at their centre. Her voice carried in the now deserted hallway.
‘I mean, I’m not saying any of them are copycats or anything, but I just think it’s a little coincidental that two years after I started Pretty Pouty, suddenly five other girls from Haver have their own beauty vlogs.’
Ashley’s friends droned their assent, and she continued. ‘Not that any of them have as many followers as me, so we’re not in competition or anything, but still.’
‘Isabel Ortega has a lot of followers,’ one of the other girls spoke up.
I choked on the water, some of it dribbling down my chin. I released the button to stop the flow, but I stayed hunched over the fountain, afraid to move. In my peripheral vision, I could see Isabel had gone still, listening. Around the corner, in the other hallway, Ashley went on, oblivious.
‘She is definitely not competition. No offence, but the palettes she uses are all clown colours. No subtlety.’
‘She’s good at contouring,’ the other girl said, then rushed to add, ‘I mean, if you’re into that.’
‘Oh, totally!’ Ashley said, her voice all patronizing generosity now. ‘She’s awesome with a brush. I just mean the make-up she uses is limited. It’s not her fault. It’s that dark complexion.’
I heard a soft huff to my right and dared to turn my head. Isabel was looking right at me. We locked eyes in a silent conversation. She knew that I knew that she knew they were talking about her. And the only thing more awkward than that was the fact that I was still bent over a now dry water fountain. I moved to turn it on again – anything was better than standing up and drawing attention to myself just then – but Isabel shook her head at me. She wanted to hear, and the fountain would be too loud.
My hand froze over the button; my back ached. I vowed to never walk this particular hallway ever again. Girls were scary.
‘I’m not racist or anything,’ Ashley explained to her friends, who jumped to reassure her she wasn’t. ‘But you can only use so many colours on brown skin. It’s very limiting for the audience.’
A teacher called from inside the classroom next to Ashley, and she and her friends disappeared through the doorway. I stood up finally, stretching my spine. Isabel’s eyes were still locked on me, as if daring me to agree with Ashley and company.
All I’d wanted to do was wave, but now I found myself easing over to Isabel’s locker and saying, ‘Wow. Jealous much?’
It made my whole world to see her face break open in a smile.
‘Seriously, she’s obviously really insecure.’ I was on a roll. ‘Nobody cares what she thinks.’
Isabel’s eyes were watery, but she kept smiling as she closed her locker. ‘A lot of people care, actually. She has a ton of followers. Her opinion matters.’
‘Not to me.’
Knocked it out of the park.
‘Then you’re not paying attention,’ Isabel said.
Foul ball.
‘You might not like her,’ Isabel said, backing away down the hall. ‘But her popularity here at school is totally irrelevant. All that counts is who you are online.’
I couldn’t disagree with that, but when I opened my mouth to tell her so, she had already turned to walk away.
I raised my hand in a wave she couldn’t see.