The ‘Diary of a Fat Bitch’ page had started a few weeks earlier. Someone had posted it on Facebook, and though we thought it was probably Manisha because she was the worst of the bullies, she was denying it. It was beyond mean, too far, as Tilly had said, and I just felt so bad for Amy – the subject of the ‘diary’. I couldn’t begin to imagine how it made her feel.
Amy wasn’t exactly a close friend, but I’d known her for most of my life. Like Tilly and me, we’d met at junior school, and then later our mums had become friends.
She’d always been a bit chubby as a little girl but back then she didn’t seem to care. The trouble really started when we got to secondary school. The boys were the first. A group of them, led by Jamie Walker, made up stupid rhymes about her size. Then Manisha and her bitchy gang joined in.
And Amy reacted by shutting herself off. We grew further and further apart. Every time I tried to talk to her, she would just clam up and walk away. All her old friends, including Tilly, got the same reaction. As we made other friends it was like Amy had just given up, or something. And as she became more and more isolated she seemed to get bigger and bigger; now she spent most of her time alone.
The Facebook page was the worst thing, though. It was public so that anyone could see it and comment, and full of really heartless jokes. Someone had even photoshopped a picture of a whale in a bikini, posted it and tagged Amy. It was so cruel.
When Amy didn’t report the abuse, Tilly and I decided to instead. We found the violations procedure online and went directly to Facebook. It had finally been taken down two days before Tilly went mad in the café. Too late to help Amy. Her already shitty school life had been torn apart all over again.
That’s what I considered as I knocked on her door, later that evening. She lived only three streets along from my mum and me so I’d decided to stop by there on my way home. I couldn’t get her face in the café out of my head and I wanted to check she was OK – even if she had pushed me away every other time I tried to speak to her recently.
‘Hey!’ I tried to sound cheerful as she opened the door and saw me standing on the step.
Amy didn’t look happy. Her brown eyes narrowed. ‘Why are you here?’ she almost whispered.
She’d grown her light brown hair – long enough to cover her pale brown eyes. Her clothes were loose and baggy so you couldn’t really tell what size she was any more, but actually she was really pretty. Only now you had to look past the misery and her hair to see it.
‘Are you OK?’ I asked. ‘You know – after earlier?’
Amy shook her head. ‘Don’t care,’ she told me. But her shoulders seemed to curve inwards, telling me otherwise. ‘I don’t need your help. Or Tilly’s. I’m fine.’
I shook my head. ‘But you can’t let Manisha keep speaking to you like that,’ I replied. ‘Or anyone else.’
‘Too late for that,’ she told me flatly.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
She looked down at her feet. ‘Oh, nothing . . . Well, I better go back in – homework to do and stuff.’
She was pushing me away again. ‘Can’t I come in?’ I suggested brightly. ‘Maybe we could have a proper catch-up? Or do you want to nip to Costa or something?’
Amy shook her head. ‘No thanks. I’m OK,’ she replied. ‘I’ve got other friends now. People I’ve met online. People like me . . .’
I shrugged. I wanted to know what she meant; which people like her? I let it go, though. She really didn’t seem to want me around. Well, I’d tried my best. But when she looked at me, the sadness in her eyes made me want to cry and I couldn’t leave.
‘Amy . . . I’m sorry.’
‘Why are you sorry?’ she replied. ‘You’re one of the few people who isn’t mean to me.’
‘Because you have to deal with this,’ I told her. ‘You think you’re alone, but you don’t have to be. I know we haven’t been that close for a bit, but you can hang with Tilly and me. Like we used to.’
Amy shook her head again. ‘Listen, I’m fine,’ she said with more conviction. ‘Honestly, Lily – it might not look like it but I’m dealing with things . . .’
‘But . . .’
Amy just repeated herself and then shut the door in my face.
‘Aargh! I get so angry,’ Tilly said.
She lounged on her purple Ikea duvet as I told her more about my earlier visit to Amy’s.
‘I just want to slam Manisha’s head into a table whenever I see her,’ she added.
Tilly only lived in the street behind mine, so after remembering that Mum was going to be late, I’d gone over to hers. We were like sisters. Mum called us the Lily and Tilly Show. I loved my best friend more than anyone, but she could be seriously fiery. If you messed with her, or people she liked, she would snap and do silly things. Like dumping a plate of food on your head. She could be kind too, but she defended her friends like a lioness with new-born cubs.
‘How does hurting Manisha help anything? You’ll just get yourself into trouble.’
We were in her bedroom, messing about online. Her Facebook page was open. In a second window, so was mine.
Our friend, Danny, was fending off comments about his sexuality. Danny was openly gay, and most of the lads at school didn’t even pretend to be OK with it. The Asian lads were the worst. Vicious. I think it was because Danny’s from the same background as them. It was like they couldn’t handle the idea of a British Asian gay boy.
Even though he didn’t seem to need it, Tilly was always ready to step in and defend Danny. He was my favourite person online – funny, savage, rude. He was like a caricature of a bitchy gay man, with bells on. Seriously, that boy had a put-down for every occasion. We were quite close, having met at junior school, and behind the bravado, I was one of the few people who Danny really spoke to. For most people, he wore a mask, sometimes even with Tilly – who often got irritated by him. He guarded his real emotions like they were jewels, but I knew that secretly all the horrible comments were wearing him down.
The lads saying stuff online were wannabe bad boys with homophobic issues. They didn’t quite dare do it at school, but saying it online – not right to his face – was easier for them, the cowards. They called him all kinds of names. Tonight, Danny had just effortlessly confirmed how stupid they were.
Yeah, he’d written. I’ve seen you eye my ass when your boys ain’t with you. Pop over and pop it out, babe. Lemme see what you got. #pencildick.
I saw it and burst into giggles.
‘What?’ Tilly asked, looking up from the text she was sending.
I pointed at the screen. ‘Look at how Danny’s just dissed this idiot!’
When she saw Danny’s reply, she sniggered too, and for a moment we forgot about Amy. But only for a moment.
‘I’m going to write something nice about Amy,’ Tilly said.
‘Huh?’
‘After earlier,’ she replied. ‘What do you reckon?’
I smiled at her – the lioness defending her cubs again – and I wanted to hug her. But Ria Smith had got there first, and she wasn’t defending Amy. She was slagging Tilly off, and had compared Amy to a baby elephant.
Dunno where the Fat Bitch page went but someone should bring it back. That was the best laugh ever. Like, seriously! PMSL every time!
Tilly almost growled at the screen.
‘Forget about it,’ I said. ‘Ria isn’t worth your anger.’
I maximized my page. A load of posts clogged up my news feed, mostly from people at school. Some of them had posted pictures or videos of themselves – with new haircuts or showing off their latest gadgets. A lad called Daniel wanted me to like some band page. Molly Cooper, another of the self-obsessed tribe but nicer than Manisha and her lot, had posted a ‘rate my looks for a rate back’ selfie. She was all tiny tight red shorts and a white boob top, and had about fifty likes – most from lads. Just the usual crap.
In the top left corner, I had some friend requests. I clicked on the little icon, and looked down the list.
‘You got any good books?’ Tilly looked up from her phone again and asked out of nowhere.
‘Books?’
‘Yeah – you know those things with covers and words in them. We like them?’
‘I’ve got a few,’ I replied, smiling at her random question. ‘But you didn’t give the last one back.’
Tilly pointed to a mess of clothes and shoes in the corner of her room. ‘It’s under there,’ she told me. ‘I think.’
‘I’m not searching under all your dirty knickers!’ I told her.
‘Come on! I’m in the mood for something girly and real. Though,’ she added, ‘I don’t want anything about undead lovers, nerdy magicians or anything like that.’
I started to think through what I’d read recently that Tilly might enjoy when one of the friend requests particularly caught my eye.
It was from a boy I didn’t recognize. I did recognize that he was hot, though. And I mean seriously, seriously attractive.
‘Hello!’
‘Hmmm?’ said Tilly.
‘Look!’ I tapped on the picture.
Tilly’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. ‘OMG!’ she squealed. ‘Who’s he?’
On my screen was a lad with dark chestnut hair, pale blue eyes, and the most amazing ripped abs and chest I’d ever seen. He looked like a Hollister model. His tag said ‘Benedict Pablo, NYC, USA’. I hit confirm so fast I thought the button on the keyboard would break.
‘I dunno,’ I replied. My tummy was turning, and not in a horrible way. He was gorgeous.
‘But . . . she said, as my new friend messaged me immediately.
Hey Lily – Thanks for the friend confirmation. Good to be talking to ya! You’re very pretty. Holla back, if you wanna chat, yeah?
‘Wow,’ I replied. I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
The Spider places his feet on his desk and smiles. The mouse and mat sit in his lap, as he takes control of another computer. Weaves another section of his latest web.
Boy #1 hasn’t noticed that his browser address is faked, or that his webcam has turned itself on. The boy is too busy searching the Web for nude pictures of celebrities. A cursory glance at his search history reveals his preference for one particular actress. The woman in question is stunning but her acting leaves much to be desired.
This is the knowledge the Spider used to send his virus across – a Remote Access Trojan that gave him control of the infected PC, so that it became his slave. The boy was so eager to download ‘new and exclusive nudes’ that he clicked on every prompt given. Like stealing candy from a baby, if clichés are your thing . . .
Then Boy #1 met the woman of his dreams. Older, experienced and looking for a fling – she found him in a chat room, and they exchanged details. Boy #1 was eager to connect with his new friend. So eager that he didn’t stop to think. He is communicating with her now – a chat-room session in which he cannot see her. However, thanks to the virus, she can see him . . .
The webcam begins to record the boy’s actions – something the Spider has no desire to watch. Such things excite the OTHER. The recordings are for him and his kind. For the Spider the video is simply a lever; something he will use later on . . .
The Spider gets up and walks across the room to yet another laptop. Girl #2 is also oblivious to the webcam light above her screen. She is too busy crying at comments on Facebook. In public, she is sassy and confident. In private, she bubbles with insecurity. A pathetic creature.
When, finally, she stops blubbing, the Spider makes himself comfortable. As several more laptops around the room watch their prey silently, Girl #2 begins to undress for bed, and the Spider watches and records every single move she makes . . .