Chapter 14

after a very boring film class, Ella and I walk out together, and Kyle and Stephen are at their lockers. But Gilbey, Alva, and Taleana are clustered around them, a barrier.

“He’s gonna flatten you like a pancake and then eat your ass,” Taleana says. A volley of laughter follows.

Ella ignores her and keeps walking. I do, too, but catch Kyle’s eye and he doesn’t turn away. After I got home last night, created an excuse for my parents—black ice—and showered, I lay in bed thinking about Kyle and Stephen. I bet they saw the message. They knew but understood there was nothing they could do.

“Dun the Ton, how’s the dome?” Gilbey laughs and rubs the back of his own head. “How long you think you were out?”

I keep walking but he stays at my side.

“Huh, how long? A minute, two? More?”

I ignore him but cannot ignore how Ella is looking at me.

“Lot can happen in a minute, fat fuck. Know that you’re not the only one with a phone.”

I understand what he’s hinting at, but the implications are vast.

“Yeah? Well, let’s see it.” Ella practically climbs up my arm to get in Gilbey’s face.

“Wouldn’t you love to.” He smiles and grabs his junk.

The crowd moves closer. “Come on, Ella, let’s go,” I say. She keeps her eyes on Gilbey.

“Huh, no balls, all talk. Figures.” Ella flips her hair. We move away, but in a flash Gilbey is in front of us, holding out his phone, the screen showing some image that’s too dark for me to discern, but Ella’s eyes pop.

“No balls, my ass, you bitch.”

“Gilbey, no! Put that fucking thing away!” Alva’s voice booms from behind and Gilbey slides his phone into his pocket. He looks like a little kid who’s just been scolded.

I pick up the pace, and Ella stays at my side.

“You need to explain that,” she says.

“I will. It was a sucker punch.”

“With his balls?”

“What did you just say?”

“The picture he showed us. Didn’t you see it?”

“No. The angle.”

Ella scowls. “It was you on the ground, being tea bagged.”

My skin crawls and I bolt. The bathroom’s down the hall and I crash into people as I go. Fuck them and whatever they’re saying to me. I pull up to the sink and start scrubbing. I lather and rinse and repeat. I lose count of how many times. I showered last night, but still. Why couldn’t I have just stayed some fat shit? None of this would ever have happened. Not to me at least. Shit, Kyle and Stephen had worse, and if I weren’t around no one outside the bros would know. Or at least no one would have evidence.

I’ve got enough. I’ve had enough.

• • •

Hard shell tacos, not soft. Only vegetable toppings.

I get my two tacos and sit. Oliver has two hard and two soft. “I can’t just eat two puny tacos. Not yet.”

“You’re on the plan, too?” I pat my phone.

“Yeah, I figure why not go all in?” Ollie takes a bite, and half the taco disappears.

“I’m thinking we need to move ahead,” I say.

“Why? What happened?”

I shake my head but hear, “I’d like to know that, too.” Ella sits next to us with her salad and water. I bury my face in my hands.

“Whenever you’re ready, Greg. Oliver and I will wait.”

They chat and their food crunches and my stomach growls. I peel my hands away but don’t look at them. Instead, I devour my tacos in four bites and wipe my face. They’re both staring.

“Had to get that out of the way. Sorry.”

Ollie laughs. “I figured you could put it away, just haven’t seen it. You and me should hit up the buffet restaurant. We’d destroy shit.”

“No, you shouldn’t.” Ella nibbles her salad and looks so small and sounds so pious next to us I feel like telling her to stick it.

“All right.” I sigh. “So last night . . .” I tell them the story and try not to embellish my bravery.

“You all right, Greg?” Ella asks when I’m done.

“No.”

“I don’t give a shit, I’ll kick either of their asses right now. Gilbey or Alva by himself doesn’t scare me.” Ollie puffs up, but it’s all for show.

“You know it would never be just one of them. It’ll never be a fair fight; that’s why we need to move ahead now.”

“Look at you. Ready to throw it in just because you got played.” Ella’s voice is deadly calm.

“What?” I sit up and can hear the tinge of anger in my question.

Ella leans across the table. “Greg, stick with our plan. Work with us to get the entire story. Don’t do what you’ve always done, walking away from shit because you’re afraid of the rest.”

I don’t even know what to say to her. I don’t know if I’m angry or shocked or hurt. Maybe betrayed fits best?

“Listen, Greg,” Ella continues, “I’m not trying to be harsh—”

“But you are,” Ollie cuts her off. “Go easy, huh?”

I’m relieved, sort of.

“Noted,” she says. “Okay, so I’m sorry if that was blunt, but here it is: you run now, you’ll never get them. You don’t even know who to run to. Now, I’m sorry that you got punched and tea bagged. I really am. But you can’t tell me that’s the worst thing that’s ever been done to you.”

“What? What the hell happened to you, Greg?” Ollie asks.

I close my eyes. “Last night. It was a setup, and I got knocked out. Gilbey tea bagged me.”

Ollie’s fist booms off the table. “No! No, Greg! They can’t get away with this shit.”

I know he doesn’t mean just what’s happened to me. But we can’t discuss that because there’s laughter in the distance, and someone saying, “Me mad. Me want more tacos.” Another, “That would be the worst threesome ever. Terrible way to die.”

Ella hears it. Ollie hears it. We all go silent.

A minute passes and Ella says, “Like that.” She points toward the assholes and their comments. “We’re all in it. So you can’t make the kind of move you want until we know it will work.”

“But what if I can’t wait? What then?”

“Come on, Greg,” Ella says. “You’re stronger than this. I think your problem is that you’ve looked at yourself in the mirror through your own lens for too long.” She stills. “It’s time to harden the fuck up.”

“What do you think I’m doing with Q and Ollie, prancing through a field? ‘Harden the fuck up’? Who are you to tell me what to do?” I’m hovering over my seat, leaning over the table toward Ella. Ollie’s eyes are big, watching me. I sit. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

Ella’s frown deepens. “Damn, you’ve got issues. And I don’t like that one. Getting yelled at is not my thing. Remember that. All right?”

I nod, thoroughly ashamed of myself.

“But you can use that energy for what I mean. Deal with that shit, on the inside, or you’ll always be the fat kid.”

I clench my jaw and resist the urge to unleash on her again. One, because she’s right, and two, because no one has ever spoken to me like this. Not my parents. Not the doctors. No one. “How the hell would you know? Did you already get your degree in psychiatry?” I try to ask calmly, but my voice is still simmering.

Ella does not blink. She pulls something laminated from her bag and flips it onto the table. It’s a picture. Of Ella, but not Ella.

“Go ahead. Look.”

I pick it up and Ollie looks on with me. It’s a printout of a picture that’s been Photoshopped. In it, Ella is covered in words like “slut” and “whore” and “cunt.” She’s been made to appear naked and is surrounded by a group of guys, also naked. Even though I know it’s Photoshopped, there’s a moment where I question what’s real and what isn’t.

“That was on Facebook at the start of eighth grade. Worst year of my life. Mom had left us, and I was so out of it that I didn’t really connect with friends over the summer. And when school started, I had lost them, and I’d become something else.”

“A slut?” Ollie says and blushes. “I mean, that’s what they were saying about you?”

“Exactly.” Ella looks down. “I thought about killing myself every goddamn day. Fucking Bethany and Misty and Chandra. Those bitches made my life miserable. We used to be tight, and then . . .” She trails off. “I have no clue what changed. Still don’t.”

“So what happened?” I can’t help but ask. The story is playing out in my mind and I need to know.

“I tried. Dad found me with the note and bottle of sleeping pills. Those medics were at the house before he hung up the phone, he says. Pumped my stomach, kept me in the hospital, ended up at an in-house psych ward.”

“Did that help?” Ollie asks.

“No. I learned how to cope, but I was still a hot mess. Every day I wondered if there was something about me, something I’d done to make people think I was a slut. I hadn’t even had a boyfriend. It was just so out of the blue.”

I’m on the edge of my seat, breathing heavy. I so understand how the tide just turns. “So, what happened?”

“Dad dug around while I was in treatment. Looked at everything online, found out what was going on, had some conversations with people, teachers, cops, doctors, got an idea of what to expect.” Ella pauses and looks around. “He’d already moved when I was released. I went psycho. I had prepared myself to confront them. It was all I thought about. So it took me a month to even speak to my father, two more to listen to him explain. I still don’t know if I’ve ever really accepted it, even though it was for my own good. I doubt I would have changed anything. Just me.”

“But I remember you in eighth grade. You were quiet but normal,” I say.

“Looks can be deceiving.”

“Fuck, I never would have known. Never thought that.” Ollie rubs his face.

“And that’s my point. Don’t go feeling sorry for me. I don’t need that. But I do need the both of you to man up and roll with whatever comes at us. That’s what I’m doing now. You heard Taleana. Those pricks just now. The rumor mill’s at it again. Like me, you owe it to yourselves to fight this.”

“About that. This getting tougher shit, why do you get to suggest that? It doesn’t seem like you ever did? Your dad moved you away from the problem,” I say.

“Exactly. But it’s not as if I had a choice, so here’s my chance to make up for it. Do you think I like girls like Taleana calling me a whore and aiming to kick my ass? No. I want to expose them, and the guys that do the same. I owe it to myself. Got it?”

I do, and just when I thought I had a way to edit the story, Ella pulls me right back in, demanding more.

• • •

I work on my project in the computer lab, piecing together weigh-ins and workouts. I’m going to have to do another round of transformation shots.

The shadow appears before the clacking shoes and I don’t look up, just minimize the screen.

“Mr. Dunsmore?” Callaghan is behind me.

“Working on my project. That’s all.”

“I didn’t ask, but thank you for offering. Let me see.” He motions toward the mouse.

I realize how I just sounded. And it’s because of Alva. Is he really that connected? Because if so, the man responsible for those connections is standing next to me. I hesitate to play the video, but it’s school property. He has the right. It’s raw and choppy and I look like a mess on screen. There’s no way he can be enjoying what he sees.

Callaghan nods. There’s a knock at the door. We both turn and see Coach Mallory. I’ve rarely seen him in person, but have at enough events to know that he has a perma-scowl. But right now he looks downright pissed, as if maybe Callaghan forgot to meet with him or something. The principal stands and mutters, “Keep it up, Greg,” and moves to the ex-marine. They exchange a few words and move down the hall.

I stare at the screen. I know it’s a work in progress, and I know I intend to add more, but still, something’s missing. I need to make it work. Period. All of this. I pack up my shit and head to the gym.

I change while Quinn scribbles into his workout log. He’s sweaty again.

“You miss your run this morning?” I ask.

“No, never. Why?”

I stop tying my shoe. “Didn’t you work out here because you missed your run? That’s what you told me last time.”

I can see Quinn’s eyes behind the corner of his notebook. He’s shifting, trying to remember. Did he lie to me?

“Oh, yeah, I may not make it to Dad’s gym, so I figured I’d take care of things here.”

Total bullshit. Quinn spends more time at his dad’s gym than at home. I’d ask what the fuck is going on if I had the energy to think about one more issue.

Ollie and I weigh in and Q does his intro for me. I’m 320. Ollie is 368. We warm up, and it still baffles me how no one else is ever down here. Yeah, the equipment is old and kind of shitty, but still. Although, Quinn has told me how many guys from school are members at his dad’s gym.

“Just squeeze your belly like you’re about to get punched and keep that ass tight, no knee bend.”

We use Quinn’s cues and finish the sets, move on to more pressing with the dumbbells “for volume,” as Quinn says. Like we need more of that? We finish with bent-over rows and my shoulders burn as if I’ve been out in the sun.

“Nice job, guys.” Q leans on a bench. “And I’m glad you’re on board with the diet, Ollie. Big changes are coming. As my dad always says, ‘You can’t out-train a shitty diet.’”

Ollie and I look at each other and laugh.

“So glad you two find this amusing. How about—”

“That was the shittiest performance I have ever seen! Yesterday you made us look like a joke! Today, you pay!” Alva’s voice cuts through our conversation. We all turn toward the noise.

“Shit, G, hold up. They kicked your ass because they know you know what’s going down.”

“Your point?”

Alva yells again, and someone falls to the floor.

“You could be getting played again. There’s no guarantee that if you walk through that door it’ll be some hazing. It could be them waiting for you to come in, phone in hand.”

“Then they’ve got you, Greg. Quinn’s got a good point. You can’t record people the way you do,” Ollie says.

I look at my phone and listen at the door. Damn soundproofing. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I got this, G. Hold up.”

“What are you . . .”

But Q goes to the regular door, the one that’s always locked, and is through it before I can finish asking.

Ollie’s eyes bug. “Get ready to call 911.”

We hold our breath and we wait, but hear nothing.

A moment later the door opens and Quinn returns. “Just dropping their equipment and making them put it all back on. Like a race or something.”

“They see you?”

“Oh yeah. But I kicked my sneaker off when I got in, pretended I was looking for it, then held it up and said, ‘Assholes around here looting my locker.’” Quinn looks at me. “They were waiting, G. Alva and Gilbey, standing across from the door with their phones.”

“Greg, what Ella said at lunch, listen to her. Don’t trust anyone else,” Ollie says.

I nod and wonder if I should even trust myself.