Viral (5 page)

I begin picking up Lindsay's clothes. This is the first time I've seen her naked since we were little kids. She's beautiful. But it's hardly the way I'd imagined it to be.

I toss her skirt and underwear on the bed and stuff her bra into my pocket. That'll be too hard to get on right. I tug her shirt down until it covers her belly. Next up: underwear. I work them up over her legs and onto her hips.

I slide her jean skirt up and over her legs, straightening it until she looks pretty much decent. She's still passed out, breathing deeply. She hasn't moved since I came in. I reach out and brush her hair off her face.

And suddenly I'm overcome. What's going
on
? How did things get so messed up for my best friend? I rub my hands over my face. A black thought gnaws at the edges of my mind. The thought that, maybe if I hadn't screwed things up so badly back in June, Lindsay and I would be together right now. That maybe she wouldn't have gone away for the whole summer and come back a sleazy guy pleaser who only cares about looking good, being thin and beating her friends at this stupid game they're playing.

That maybe she wouldn't have to wake up and realize she's just lost her virginity to two guys at a party where she was drunk and high on E.

That maybe—if I'd manned up and tried harder to actually straighten out the mess between us—this never would have happened.

Chapter Ten

I look at the clock:
10:21
. I lie down next to Lindsay, curling my body against hers. I think about how much I've let her down. And then I think about what I can do to make it up to her.

Eventually her steady, deep breathing lulls me to sleep.

I wake up just after midnight. The music is still thumping. Party's going strong. I prop myself up on one elbow. Lindsay is waking up. She moans and opens her eyes. She sees me. Covers her face with one hand.

“Mike,” she whispers. “It's you.”

I touch her hair.

Without a word, she rolls toward me. I put my arms around her.

“I feel like shit,” she says. “Where are we?”

“At Erin's,” I answer.

She's quiet for a moment.

“Why are we in the bedroom?” There's dread in her voice.

Briefly, I consider lying to her. Maybe I can save her from herself.

But no. That's not going to work. I can't lie about this.

Choosing my words carefully, I tell her what happened. That she drank, and dropped E, and then took Josh into the bedroom. That Bryce came too. That I tried to stop her, but that she shut me out. I don't tell her that Bryce threw me down the stairs.

“Both of them? Did I…what happened?” She looks up at me. “Josh
and
Bryce? Was it…did they…?” Her voice trails off. Closes her eyes. She can't even finish the question. “Are you sure?”

I nod.

She doesn't want to hear it. “But I'm wearing all my clothes, Mike,” she says. Her voice is pleading. It trembles and rises a bit, panicky. “I didn't. They couldn't. Look, see? I'm still wearing all my clothes.” She looks up at me desperately.

I smooth her hair off her hot forehead. I wish I could lie, but I can't.

“I got you dressed,” I say.

And then she starts to cry.

She cries and cries, and I hold her and try to think of something to say that will make her feel better. But I can't.

When her tears finally run dry, she stays there, face pressed into my shirt, for a long time. Finally she pulls away and wipes the last smudges of makeup from her eyes. Her face is red and blotchy.

She lets out a shaky sigh. “You must think I'm awful,” she whispers.

I'm surprised by her words. “Why would I think that?”

She ignores my question. “I never meant for this to happen. I don't know what I meant to happen, but it wasn't this. I never wanted this. I don't care about those”—she shudders—“those losers. None of them. None of them matter to me. They're all jerks.”

So all this crap since she came back from summer holidays…there's no point to it? It's all just been for show?

Who is she trying to impress?

“Then why are you doing all this crazy stuff?” I ask. We both know what I'm talking about.

“I don't know,” says Lindsay. She sounds defeated. “It's all just so stupid. I guess I was hurt. After you—” She takes a big breath. “After last summer. I was so hurt when I found you and”— she hitches in a big breath—“you and Scarlett. On the swing. I w-w-wanted to show you I didn't care,” she says. She hiccups and another sob erupts. “I just w-wanted…” Her voice trails off. “And now you think I'm a s-slut. Because of all this.” She starts crying again.

This is the moment I've been waiting for. I need to tell her that it was all just a big mistake. That we've been misunderstanding each other all this time.

That I don't think she's a slut. That I totally, fully,
hugely
want to be with her. And only her. Not that dumb little tramp, Scarlett. Not anyone. Just Lindsay.

“Linds,” I say. I pull away from her a bit so I can look at her. She sniffles and wipes her eyes. She won't look at me.

“Hey.” I put my hand under her chin and lift. Her eyes meet mine. They're soft and gray and sad—but I'm about to change that.

I open my mouth to tell her everything that matters.

And that's when the door crashes open.

Chapter Eleven

Morgan and Aamena. They're laughing, pushing each other. Looking for a place to be alone. By the time they see us and shut each other up with loud
Ssshhhhh
noises and apologize for barging in, the moment is completely destroyed.

I walk Lindsay home. We don't say anything. It's totally strange. She's still pretty tipsy, but she's become hard again, locked up. At half past midnight, I walk her right up to her door. We're ahead of her one o'clock curfew.

I reach out to give her a hug, but she ducks me. I end up giving her an awkward two-handed pat on the back as she steps inside. The door closes and I stand there for a second, unsure how I should feel.

My mind runs on overdrive the whole way home.

By Monday, we're back at school. And Lindsay's walls are still up. She doesn't even look in my direction. I guess she's feeling pretty crappy about what happened at the party. I wonder if she's mad that I didn't fend off those guys. But then I think that's crazy. She didn't even want me there in the first place. Maybe she's ashamed that I found her naked. Maybe she's pissed that I'm meddling. Maybe she's embarrassed that she said too much.

Maybe I should just chill out and forget about it. Jesus.

At break, I'm headed toward the vending machine—the one that sells good stuff, not all that heart-healthy crap. As I pass a row of lockers, I hear hooting noises. I look over and see Joshthe-drama-dork standing there. He's surrounded by a few guys in his grade. They're all kind of laughing in a weird, quiet way.

I'm curious. And I'll admit to a certain sick urge to find out more about this loser.

I drift over to the group. They're all clustered around, watching something on the cell phone that Josh is holding. I stand a little ways behind them so as not to draw attention to myself. But I can see what they're looking at.

It's video footage of someone having sex with a girl. No audio. Her hair covers her face. It's pretty obvious that she's completely out of it. She's not even moving. Although you can't see his face on the screen, I take it that Josh must be the loverboy, judging from the backslapping and
Whoo
ing that's going on between these guys.

But if Josh is doing all the…um, work…then who's holding the camera? There must be someone else there. That's a bit creepy.

I spy something bright pink on the screen, and that's when I start to put it all together. My mind resists, but I can't stop the pieces of the puzzle from dropping into place.

The bright pink thing is a bra. It's on the bed. It's by the pillows.

Lindsay was wearing a pink bra on the night of Erin's party.
That
pink bra. I found it on the pillows.
Those
pillows.

I take a step closer just to make sure I'm seeing things right. Pink T-shirt. Long hair. Long legs.

God.

There's no doubt. My stomach twists as I realize this jerk has footage of himself having sex with Lindsay at the party last weekend.

And the guy behind the camera was Bryce.

Josh and Bryce knew they were going to do this. They planned it. They'd set it all up from the start. Josh was going to nail someone, and Bryce was going to catch it on video.

And it just so happened that Lindsay was the one who rubbed herself all over Josh that evening. So she got to be the star of the show.

Who the hell does this kind of thing? What game is this?

My blood boils as I look around at these idiots. They think this video is funny. They're loving it. They think Josh is a superstud. I want to smash my fist through the classroom window beside me. I want to smash my fist into every face in this group. And I want to take Josh and pound his head right into this ugly carpet below our feet.

But I don't. I'd get killed. There are five of them and one of me.

My jaw clenches. I back away quietly until I enter the flow of students headed to class. My blood pulses in my ears. I feel sick.

I wish I could stop what just happened. Stop Josh from showing people his stupid video. Speak up and tell him he's a bastard. That he's done something really wrong—illegal, actually. If I had the balls, I'd walk right up to him and tell him to hand the phone over to me.

But I don't do any of that.

I'm too mad to think straight. So I just walk away. Feeling like a coward, but not sure what else I can do.

I crash through the double doors leading outside. I need fresh air. But the smokers are standing right there at the entrance, and instead of grabbing a breath of O
₂
I suck in a bunch of airborne carcinogens that other people have breathed out. Nice.

I duck back inside. I need to think.

Should I tell someone? Should I call the counselor? Or the principal? Should I tell a teacher? Or maybe the nurse. She would be the best place to start. Wouldn't she? Maybe I should just go straight to the cops. Josh and Bryce have definitely crossed the line. And even though her hair covers her face in the video, I can prove it's Lindsay. It was the same bed. The same bra.

The same body.

The next question hits me like a ton of bricks: Should I tell Lindsay? It's her right to know that this video is out there. But what good would it do to tell her? It would hurt her, no doubt. Shock her. Make her even more ashamed when she's already feeling like a skank.

No. I decide I can't tell Lindsay. There's nothing she can do about it now. It would kill her to know about this. What she doesn't know won't hurt her. Josh sure isn't going to tell her about it. Why would he? He'd get in huge trouble if the school or the cops ever found out.

But what if the video gets out? And what if people somehow found out it was Lindsay? She'd never live it down.

My head hurts.

My only option is to get that phone away from Josh. If I could somehow scoop it, then I could delete the footage and slip the phone back to him. He wouldn't even know the difference until he looked for the video again. And then he'd probably figure he just deleted it by accident.

I like this idea. I head back toward the lockers, turning it over in my mind. Yeah, that's what I'll do. I'll boost his phone from his bag when he's not looking.

I turn the corner back into the hallway. I'm relieved to be taking action.

The crowd has dispersed. I watch Josh hit a button on his phone. He's still grinning. The screen goes dark. He slips the phone into the front pocket of his jeans.

No way I'm getting that phone now.

And just like that, my great idea falls to pieces.

Chapter Twelve

After school, I fly home on my bike. I need to think things through. I need to figure out how to stop that video from being shown to anyone else. I also want to make sure Josh gets his ass kicked. Hard. So that he doesn't do this again.

At home, I sling my schoolbag onto a hook and head to my mom's office. She's good to talk to. She might have some thoughts.

I stick my head around the doorframe. “Hey. I'm home.”

Mom looks over from her monitor. Some complicated map of heat zones under the ocean. Geothermal something-or-other. She's been working at home for as long as I can remember. After I was born, she decided she didn't want to work in an office downtown. She wanted to be there for me when I came home from school. And she always is.

“Hey, baby,” she says.

Out of old habit, I check in with her every day. I usually just say hi and then go upstairs and find something to eat. But today I stick around.