Perfectly Messy (20 page)

So when are you available? ~ Ryder

Available? What?

Buzz
. Crap, I forgot to leave my phone in my locker. I reach in my bag, moving it under my sweater so hopefully Mr. Tate doesn’t hear it and take it. I keep my eyes on the board as I move, knowing there’s no way I can check the text until the two-hour block is done. My leg rests against the bag, so I can feel each text come in. They never seem to stop. What if something’s wrong? If Mom or Dad were in an accident, surely the school nurse would come get me, right? When class is nearly done, I can’t take it anymore, opting to use the one bathroom pass we get a quarter. As I walk in, a girl from the sophomore basketball team leaves. “Hey, excited for your game tonight?” I ask.

“It should be fine.” She steps away from me.

“Well, if you want to practice before the game, we could. I like to keep busy with a ball before our games. I’d love to help.”

“No thanks.” She scowls at me then.

“Um, okay? Another time?”

She walks past me and I swear she whispers “Doubtful.” Okay, that was rude. I was only offering to help. I step into the bathroom, thankful it’s empty as I pull out my phone to figure out what’s behind this Bermuda Triangle affect.

Fourteen missed texts from Justin. Reading each text is like someone reaching down my windpipe and squeezing my lungs. It’s then I glance up, experiencing everything he just warned about, pasted to the mirror—a photo of Justin and I together at the party, in the bedroom. Me kneeling on the floor in front of him. My back completely bare. Justin, shirtless, stretching backwards.

Oh my God.

The position makes me look like I’m giving him a bl…

Weight presses in on my chest. My breath struggles to maintain support.

Who did this? And why the hell am I topless? I was wearing a tank top and tying my shoe! This Photoshopping is insanely good. There’s no way people are going to believe this is fake.

Marissa’s the only person I know who understands that program, but she couldn’t have taken this shot. She was down the hall having her own photo shoot. Heck, there’s no way anyone could have taken this picture unless they were tucked in a tree on the other side of the lake with some sort of telephoto lens.

I scroll through Justin’s texts again. He lists websites where I should
not
go. So of course, I switch over to my browser as I close myself into a stall and pull up each trashy gossip site.

The photo is everyone’s newest post:
The Governor’s Son Who Knows How to Get Some.
On one blog, there’s even a photo that includes curved side boob. My fingers tremble as I stare at this fake piece of flesh edited into my body. This can’t be happening. My fingers hover over the respond button, but what do I say?

The bell rings then and I suck in a deep breath, not letting go. Girls wander in, laughing at the photo on the wall. Some gasp and others just call me a slut. Frozen, each moment of torture from my freshman year flies back at me. My stomach turns over as fear overrules reason. Sweat drips down my back as I brace myself. That stall door will fly open and I’ll be dragged out by my hair… No! I close my eyes, fighting it. No, no, no. I cannot do this again. I
will
not be this girl again. These girls have no idea I’m here. The photos are not real. I’m stronger than this now. Going back to that place is not an option for me. I take a deep breath, opening the stall door. I vowed this summer to never spend my life acting afraid anymore.

A few girls gasp as I walk out and wash my hands. I take the photo from the wall, crumpling it and throwing it in the trash. Then I step out into the hall and move towards Math class. Each step is work, but I move forward.

Laura catches my arm. “Lucy, are you okay? Who took that photo? Holy crap. I’d feel so violated!”

I clench my teeth. “Laura, the photos aren’t real.”

“You don’t have to pretend with me, Lucy, I swear. I mean, everyone knows Justin took you up to the room at the party.”

“It’s not real. Someone Photoshopped it.”

She pulls a handful of photos out of her bag. “I’ve been taking them down in the girls’ bathrooms,” she explains. She gazes into my eyes and I stare back.

“I’m telling the truth.”

Her eyebrows fold in, then after a moment, fall back in place. “All right, girl, I believe you. But these look freakishly real. What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to keep going.”

“Dude, go home. Your parents will understand.”

“What? Am I supposed to show them this?”

“Lucy, these photos are everywhere. They’re going to find out anyway.”

“I can’t go home. I have the game tonight.”

“So you’re going to stay here? That’s like serving yourself up on a platter for ridicule.” A girl walks past, whispering “whore” as she bumps my shoulder. “See.” Laura flips her off.

“I’ll endure it.” The scars left on my hip and butt ache now. They’re the only evidence left of the horrid year of being beat up and thrown against the gym lockers. “Laura, trust me. I’ve handled worse.”

Before Statistics starts, I slip out my phone under my desk and try to figure out how to respond to Justin. This must be a disaster for him on his dad’s big day.

Me: Are you okay?

My phone vibrates in response. Suddenly, Mrs. Peterson, the old bat, is standing at my desk, hand extended.

“You know the rules, Lucy. I’ll need to confiscate this for the day.”

“No, please. I’ll go put it in my locker right now.” My eyes meet hers. “Please, not today.”

“Since this is your first offense, I’ll tolerate it. Be back before the bell rings though, otherwise you are tardy.” She nods toward the door.
Thank God.
I read Justin’s response on the way to my locker.

Justin: Don’t worry about me. Is everything okay for you?

No. But how can I tell him that?

I put my phone into my locker. I can’t lie to him, but I don’t think he can handle the truth right now. I’ll respond later once I figure out how.

After Math, I opt to risk losing the phone again, slipping it into my backpack again. The rest of the day passes with a heated face as I shuffle from class to class. Teachers glare at me. I pray none of them approach me, totally avoiding the health teacher who tried to catch up with me after class. There’s no way I can handle an STD talk right now.
No thanks
. Justin keeps texting, asking if I’m okay. I still don’t know how to respond. If I tell him the truth, I’m afraid he’ll leave the inauguration. Plus, somehow I think having him here will make it worse.

My strength cracks with each whispered insult. Only my experience of surviving a history of brutal bullying gives me the superglue to keep moving on. But when a guy catches my eye then looks at his junk, that I’m-going-to-lose-it sting returns to my eyes.
Screw this.
I’m out of here. The teacher calls my name as I stand from my desk, seven minutes early. As I bolt to my locker, I pass Alex walking out of the bathroom. His eyes skip right over me.

“Um, Alex? Excuse me?” I say sharply. The last time I saw him he was throwing up in Justin’s driveway and now he’s ignoring me?
Um, no
.

“Whatever, Lucy. You and Justin are such hypocrites.” He walks away from me then. Actually walks away!

I grab his sleeve. “The photos aren’t real, Alex.”

He shrugs me off, not saying anything as he crosses in front of me. “Alex, what has happened to you?” I say under my breath. He hesitates for a second, so I know he hears me, but then moves on.

Somehow, him blowing me off is what finally breaks me. Tears fall. I gasp as the final bell rings, ducking my head as kids pour out into the halls. I pull open the only door where I know it’s safe and shut myself in the janitor’s closet. Hugged by its total darkness. There’s safety in being alone.

I wave my hand above my head, yanking the cord that’s always hung above.

The light flickers on and that’s when I realize this isn’t my closet anymore. Marissa stares back at me, face swollen and mascara-streaked, sitting on the bucket that used to be my loser throne.

“Hey,” she says, her voice cracking. “Welcome back.”

Justin

I duck out of the main ballroom, phoning Lucy for the thousandth time. She hasn’t called back, and it’s killing me. I slam my phone shut as it once again goes to her voicemail. Maybe she’s ignoring my calls because she thinks I failed her.

Did I?

Dad’s support staff follows me into the side conference room, pulling the curtain as Dad joins. His fingers pull on his tie, loosening it, as his eyes find mine then drop away. I’ve never seen him more disappointed in my life.

He doesn’t believe me.
They’re fake
, I scream back with my eyes, the same words I’ve told him all day. I’ve never given Dad a reason to not trust me and now he’s tossing me to the wind. He has no right to treat me that way.

Paul hovers behind Dad’s left shoulder, helping him take off his sport coat. A bead of sweat drips down his brow. He’s such a creep. They exchange some words before Paul finally leaves his side. That should be one of
us
standing there. Probably Mom, but she’s on the couch, listening to an education proposal from a volunteer. When Paul finally leaves Dad alone, I step forward. I’ve had enough of this guy and Dad’s tolerance for his crap. I cut to the chase. “Why is Paul still here?”

“To help deal with incidents like yours,” Dad explained.

Right. Everything in me wants to explode. I’ve never felt this way before. I don’t answer him, he doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve any of this. Heck, maybe it’s a good thing these photos ruined his day.

A few staff members shoot me scornful looks as I walk away. Uncle Alex won’t even look at me. And Alex? He’s monopolizing the cheese tray. Nice of him to finally show up. I can’t believe he bailed on the actual event. He chose a Math test over this? Yeah, right. He’s still pissed about what I said to him on New Year’s.

I eye my phone; two minutes until Dad said I can leave. That’s just enough time to catch the last half of Lucy’s game. I gather my laptop bag and move towards the exit, only to run into Paul.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

It takes every ounce of control for me to not shove him away. Dad must have sensed it, because soon his hand rests on my shoulder. For the first time in my life, I feel that electric impulse to shrug it off, but I don’t. I can’t do that here. Here, I can’t do anything I feel.

“I’m heading out to Lucy’s game,” I look at Dad, “like we discussed yesterday.”

Dad rubs the bridge of his nose before pulling his hands through his hair. He’s about to say something, but then Paul jumps in.

“After your viral debut with that girl this morning, it’s best for you not to see her in public today. Let it blow over a little bit, just a few days, so it doesn’t damage your father’s reputation before he gets a chance to begin.”

That girl?
My fists ball up and my brain goes warp speed into trying to control the maniac that wants to break Paul’s nose.

Dad clears his throat. “I have to agree, son. I’m sorry. You can see her after the game. But showing up there? The gossip blogs are probably waiting to pounce on you. We can’t take the hit from more photos right now.”

“Dad, they’re fake.”

He holds up his hand. “We’ll discuss this later. Please give me the time I need to handle it correctly. The number of emails I’ve received today about my inability to raise my own son outweighs everything else. I’m temporarily at a loss for what to do with you. I never dreamed you would be the issue on a day like today. My own son…”

Whoa.

“Dad,” I lower my voice and take a step with Dad away from Paul, “I never meant to disappoint you. And…” I struggle to find words when everything in me wants to blow him off. I deserve way better than this, but I am better than he is. I will maintain control. “I’m sorry you feel that way but I’m a good son.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then swears under his breath. “Just give me the time I need to figure this out. Okay?”

Paul glances at me like I’m an immature fourteen-year-old who was just caught humping a statue.

“Fine,” I spit out as I distance myself from them both. Dad rubs his forehead as I leave. He better be questioning who he is right now. How could he imply I wasn’t a good son? I’m nearly killing myself trying to support his dream. Not to mention giving up another night with Lucy.

Tonya tugs on my sleeve. “Want to grab some fresh air?”

“Hell, yes.” We step out into the back hallway. Empty. My back finds the wall, sinking down to the floor. She slides down next to me.

“Bad day, huh?”

One of the worst. But is it? No. Jackson’s diagnosis, his failed remission, his death…. Those will always be the worst. This simply blows.

“Justin, it’ll pass. You’re only eighteen. No one can expect you to be perfect all the time.”

“Tonya, the photos are altered.”

She picks at her bracelet. “Listen, I know you don’t want to talk about your sex life with me. But let’s not lie to one another,” she says softly. “I’m not going to stop loving you, you know that.”