Chapter 8
The let-down at Cat’s Cradle wiped us out for a while. We still came to practice, but it took months to regain the enthusiasm we’d had before. Something about getting shut down by the old man—on top of getting rejected by every other venue, and on top of the teachers stopping us in the cafeteria before we could even play one song—just made it hard to focus.
We got over it, though. With a little bit of time, we started to get better. Slowly. We got to the point where we began to wonder how we’d ever thought we were ready for a real gig—especially way back in November. Practicing became fun again, but it was productive in a way it hadn’t been before. Before, we’d just been playing songs without any direction, but now we had a specific goal to work toward. By the end of the school year, I felt as if our confidence had finally returned.
Then there was Jessica… I was naïve enough to forget that she existed. Obviously I was aware that a bitchy girl named Jessica went to the same school, but it had been so long since she’d done anything that I guess I forgot to worry about her.
Our English class had just finished our Final; at one PM on Thursday, we were officially done for the year. Since band practice wouldn’t start for at least another hour, I figured that meant I could go home and relax a little before walking over to Charlie’s. Maybe I could even start writing some more lyrics.
The group waiting for the bus was smaller than usual, since only the students with a seventh hour class had to go to school that day. Joey wasn’t there because he’d already gotten enough points to get a C in Algebra without taking the Final, and he didn’t seem interested in doing any better than that. Charlie never showed either, even though I waited for him.
My eyes were closed as I got an early start on listening to my summer playlist. About eighty percent of the songs were from Queen Anne’s Subtle Overdose—I liked their older stuff, but the new songs were pretty good too—and the rest was a mixture of rock songs, including one of Auburn’s. We’d recorded it with Charlie’s phone, so the quality was noticeably worse than the other songs, but I liked being able to listen to something I’d had a hand in creating.
“Hey,” I heard a boy say, almost too quietly for me to hear.
I opened my right eye. “Hey?” The boy in front of me was familiar; his dark skin and short black hair stuck out at our diversity-poor school. I remembered seeing him hanging out with Jessica and Maya. Will Strainer, the boy Joey had pretended to be during our first run-in with her.
“I saw you guys play in the cafeteria. You were pretty good.”
“Thanks,” I said, managing a small smile. It was cool to hear that someone else had liked one of our songs, that we weren’t totally delusional to think we sounded good. I reached up and pulled my earbuds out.
Will just nodded, glancing at the school’s main entrance. He seemed almost like he wanted to say something else, but couldn’t get around to it. “How do you think you did on our Geography Final?” he finally asked, referring to the one class we shared.
“I don’t know. It seemed easy, but I guess the only way to know for sure is when we get our grades. How about you?”
“Oh, I aced it for sure.” He laughed weakly. “Like you said, it was really easy.”
“Mhm.” Since I couldn’t think of anything else to say or ask, I just stayed quiet. Either Will would reveal what he really wanted to talk about, or the bus would arrive to end our awkward conversation. My bet was on the latter, since I could already see the yellow buses pulling up to the curb. Our driver usually arrived next-to-last, but even then it would only take a minute or two longer.
Finally, Will sighed and looked me in the eye. “Okay, honestly, I wanted to come over here to let you know… I don’t believe the Loser McGee stuff. It’s just stupid, and I don’t think you should worry about it.” He shrugged awkwardly.
“What Loser McGee stuff?”
“The stuff on Facebook. I don’t think you’re… Well, don’t worry. It’ll probably get taken down soon. I mean, the account’s obviously fake.” The way he looked at me was almost comforting, but in a strange way. It was laced with too much pity. “Anyways, I’ll see you next year?”
I frowned, trying to figure out what the hell he was referring to. “Hold up, what Loser McGee stuff?”
“It’s this account on Facebook. But don’t worry about it. I’m trying to convince Maya to take it down, and if she could just grow a backbone and stand up to Jessica… Look, I want you to know we’re on your side. The rest of it’s just Jessica and some other mean people with too much time on their hands. I’ll see you next year, okay?”
“Yeah, I guess I’ll see you next year.” I tried smiling to let him know that I didn’t absolutely detest that idea. His comments about the ‘Loser McGee stuff’ had piqued my curiosity, especially since it seemed like it involved me.
I didn’t have a Facebook, but I would have to make one. I couldn’t do it on the bus—my phone didn’t have roaming data—but I could do it once I got home. The stop for my apartment was one of the last, and even though the weather was nice and the sun was high, I had an awful pit in my stomach as I hopped off the bus.
My gray apartment building was visible from the moment I reached the sidewalk; the bus stop was only a few blocks away, and even though the building was something of an eyesore, it was certainly easy to spot. Vibrant lawns and tall trees passed by on both sides as I headed home, giving way to the black asphalt of our parking lot. I jogged up our metal stairs, listening as they clanged with each step.
Mom wasn’t home, of course. She’d been working more often, at her new bartending job. The apartment door creaked shut behind me; I twisted the lock and dropped my bag by the door before heading into the bedroom and falling on my inflatable bed. I pulled up Facebook on my phone and registered, determined to find out what the ‘Loser McGee stuff’ was about.
Registration was easy. I just entered my email address and name, and I was in. Finding the page the boy had been talking about was almost as simple. A search for Loser McGee brought up a profile with that exact name, living in the same city in California. The description mentioned that it was fake, but…
Starting way back in October, Loser McGee had been posting about me. It was like she was living my life, only making fun of herself for being ‘such a miserable excuse for a person that no one could ever take her seriously.’ The pit in my stomach grew to a black hole as I scrolled through the posts:
Loser: Had a lot of fun fake-kissing Romeo in English today. It was the closest I’ll ever get to someone actually wanting to touch me.
Loser: Had to go to the principal’s office for trying to sing in the cafeteria. She expelled me because I sounded like an eighty year-old man.
Loser: Figuring if I dress like a skank, people will ignore the fact that my face looks uglier than a burn victim.
That was what Jessica had been doing. Instead of making fun of me to my face, she’d been doing it on Facebook. Her words, the way she phrased some of the hardest moments of the year, hurt. But far worse were the comments from other kids:
Aaliyah: LOL if I were this girl I’d probably just kill myself.
Jake: Seriously, does Loser have any friends?
Desiree: Wait, are you sure this is fake? I think I saw this happen to a girl in one of my classes. It’s okay, though… She’s a total freakshow.
My emotions didn’t know how to come out; I was crying before I knew it, and as much as I didn’t want to read on I felt like I had to. It was like someone had peeled back the civil mask of my classmates, and I was seeing them the way they truly were. It was devastating, it was hurtful, it wounded me on a level I honestly couldn’t explain.
At some point, I was aware of my nose becoming totally stopped up and my tears running onto the white sheets, but I forced myself to keep reading. My morbid curiosity wouldn’t let me do anything else.
If I were this girl I’d probably just kill myself; the words reverberated around my skull, even once I f
inished reading the last comment. I turned my phone off and twisted to lie on my back. All I did was lie there, processing. I’m not suicidal, I told myself.
A different part of my mind—a dark place—answered. How do you know? Maybe it would make things easier. I had no response for that. For several minutes, I just sat on the bed, wishing I could end the sadness.
Like a reminder that life wasn’t over, my phone buzzed with a text from Charlie, asking why I hadn’t shown up to practice. I didn’t have a good excuse ready; in my Loser McGee panic, I’d simply lost track of time. With a sigh, I texted back to tell him I’d be over soon.
Before I left, I needed to clean up. My nose was still plugged, and sniffling might give me away. So would damp cheeks and puffy eyes. I rose up from my bed and slipped out of the bedroom, flicking the switches for the bathroom lights before shutting the door behind me.
The stippled, canary yellow walls surrounded me, but I was focused on the oval mirror above our sink. I stepped toward it, examining my own face. Sure enough, there were some obvious signs of crying. My eyeliner and mascara had run all the way along one cheek, making it look like I’d put on some kind of strange war paint. My eyes still had tears swimming in both corners, and I had to blow my nose. I grabbed a tissue and dabbed at the stray makeup, desperately trying to fix it. After a few seconds of smudging and wiping, it looked mostly clear; I tossed the tissue in a trash can and grabbed another to blow my nose. It didn’t look pretty, but after a few seconds I was reasonably confident that I could pass anything that was still amiss off as nothing more than seasonal allergies.
“Damn it,” I whispered, tapping a hand against the counter. “Okay, I can do this.” Even with no one there to call me on it, I knew that was an obvious lie. Part of me wanted to tell Charlie I was sick, but if I started down that road I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to stop. If I just stayed home and wallowed in self-pity, Jessica would win.
With a slow, ragged breath, I stepped out of the bathroom and headed for the apartment door. I locked it behind me, made my way down the metal steps, and tried to calm my mind as I walked in the direction of Charlie’s house. That’s a lovely tree, I thought, staring at a towering maple as I passed it. In my head, I composed a Loser McGee post for the maple. Stood around and waved in the breeze today. Haha, isn’t my life so boring?
Then the responses:
Linden: LOL I saw that tree just down the block! He’s such a skank. He lets all the boys hang off him.
Aspen: What a total freakshow!
Pine: Screw you, maple! If I were you I’d probably just kill myself.
Only, that last one wasn’t funny. That last one made me stop, sucking in air as I tried to get a grip on my emotions. I was nearly at the ‘sop’ sign, and I had to hold it together. I told myself that we could cut the practice short. One hour, I just had to pretend for one hour.
When I reached Charlie’s garage, he and Joey were sitting on their stools with the door up. They both waved when they saw me, as I walked up the concrete and stopped in front of them.
“I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t show,” Charlie joked.
“Yeah, well, me too. Let’s just get started.” Normally, we talked about our days for the first half hour or so, but I didn’t trust myself to do that without spilling about Loser McGee. “Do you wanna practice Jaded?”
Charlie frowned. “Okay. But once we finish that I was thinking we could work on our covers.”
“Yeah,” Joey agreed. “I need to figure out the bass line for Feel Sorry for me.”
Faking a happiness I didn’t feel, I smiled at him as I grabbed my mic. After all, it was my favorite song… “Sounds good to me.” I turned to face the empty street. Since it was a nice day out, we probably wouldn’t put the garage door down.
I managed to keep my composure as I sang Jaded. Afterward, I even managed to convince Charlie and Joey to play a couple of our other songs before we moved onto the covers. I couldn’t quite get out of my own head, but I didn’t feel as bad as I had on the walk over. Music was like that for me; it played on my emotions, molding them to match the tone of whatever song I was singing.
Then we started to play Feel Sorry for Me. I held the mic up. “One chair, a piece of rope.” My voice trembled so terribly that even I could hear it. “Two men, one out of hope. Out of time, one tired of crying…” I closed my eyes, breathing slowly. “One void soul locked in a basement, gonna find out just what my life meant. And what it—what it means…”
Charlie stopped playing, and after a moment Joey did too. “Are you okay, Ash?” Charlie asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I wished I could keep my voice from trembling, but I couldn’t do it. When I felt a comforting hand on my back, it only made things worse. I could feel a single tear roll down my cheek, and in a moment my entire façade, my no-I-haven’t-just-been-crying façade, was broken.
“Come on, you can talk to us. Do you wanna hold off on practicing?”
For a moment, I didn’t say anything. My mind was lost in the comments I’d read. Loser McGee, the girl who should just kill herself. “Could you close the garage?” I whispered.
The hand fell away from my back, followed by the sound of soft footsteps; I heard the familiar groan as the garage door descended, shading us from the warm sun. It took me a couple breaths before I was ready to face Charlie and Joey. “Guys,” I said, turning to look at them. “Jessica… She made a fake Facebook profile, and she uses it to make fun of everything we do. Like the thing in the cafeteria.”
Joey’s brow knitted. “She does? What did she say?”
“A lot of things.” I shook my head—not because I didn’t remember them, but because I wasn’t sure I wanted to repeat all of them. “The one that really got to me wasn’t even hers. It was… This one girl said that if she was me she’d probably kill herself.”
Charlie grimaced, but didn’t say anything. Joey’s lip curled. “What the fuck! Who was it? I don’t even care if it’s a girl, I’ll kick her ass!” His eyes were narrowed, and his fists clenched like he actually intended to make good on the promise.
It was nice to see that, in a way. Although I’d never let him do it, it was nice to have a friend who was willing to fight the people who’d hurt me. “I don’t even know her. That’s how it is with most of the comments. Just random people who think Loser McGee’s life is a joke.”
“Your life is not a fucking joke! Ash, tell me who it was.” Judging by the way Joey’s breath was coming out—in short, powerful bursts—he was getting almost as worked up about the whole thing as I was. Only, his response wasn’t tears.
His response was to get totally pissed, and threaten to hurt anyone who’d hurt me. I found myself wishing I could react a little more like that. “Some girl named Aaliyah.”
“Aaliyah.” Joey nodded, like he was committing the name to memory. “I’m serious, just show me a picture and the next time I see her…”
“Guys,” Charlie said, putting a hand on Joey’s wrist, “We need to tell the principal. She’ll punish Jessica.”
It sounded like a good idea, but there was one big problem. “How would we prove it’s her? It just says Loser McGee…”
I could see Joey’s muscles twitch again at the name of the profile. “That’s why we need to handle this ourselves. We don’t need any proof to show people that they shouldn’t mess with you. You could just trip one of ‘em in the hallway. They’d get the message pretty quick.”
Charlie wrinkled his nose. “I don’t think violence is the answer. Ash, we’ll just find someone who can tie it to her. Like Maya.”
“Right.” Based on what Will had told me earlier, I doubted that was a possibility. I didn’t know Maya well enough to approach her directly, and besides, Maya was Jessica’s best friend. Trying to talk to her might only make things worse.
“Well, we’ll figure something out,” Charlie promised. “Something that doesn’t involve hurting anyone.” He stepped forward and wrapped me up in a hug.
“But if nothing else works, I suppose we can let Joey have at her.”
Over Charlie’s shoulder, I could see Joey shake his head. “Ash, you need to stand up to her. That’s the way to end this. You don’t have to trip her—although she definitely deserves it—but you’ve gotta show her that any time she pushes you you’re going to push back.”
He had a point. So did Charlie. “Then Jessica’ll just push even harder the next time,” Charlie argued. “I get the whole not wanting to involve adults thing, but in this case I think we should. At the very least, it’ll scare Jessica to know that the principal’s looking into it.”
“I don’t know…” I understood Charlie’s way of thinking, but I’d also seen the way Jessica had shut up when Joey cussed her out. Perhaps if I could just do that whenever Jessica bothered me, I’d be okay. Only, I couldn’t exactly do it online.
Charlie cleared his throat. “Well, I guess school won’t be back in session for a while anyway. Until then, you can talk to us about anything they say on there. Day or night, if you call me I’ll pick up.”
“Thanks,” I whispered. I figured I wouldn’t take him up on it, any more than I would run to the principal. I didn’t want my friends—my bandmates—to think I was unstable, or that I was letting Jessica get to me.
Letting her get to me. That makes it sound like I had a choice…