Unfriended, page 16
“I’ve never texted with her in my life!”
“So then what were—”
“You don’t have to believe me, but I totally studied last night. I did. And then, well, I don’t see how I could get above a fifty on that quiz. And that’s if she gives show your work credit and likes the little extra where I wrote down the definition of algebra. Do you know what algebra means?”
“I don’t care,” Brooke said.
“Me neither. Davidson hates me. And I’m obviously an idiot, no matter how much I study. After this, my parents are gonna take away my, I don’t know. Bed. Pants. Arm.”
She shook her head. “You should ask your dad to go for a run with you.”
“Right. For company? How much of a loser am I? He doesn’t even run—”
“A fever,” she said. “I know. But, like, you could say, here’s something easy for me, but it’s hard for you. And then you could be like, studying for me is like running for you. It doesn’t come easy. I’m trying but it’s hard. And then maybe he’ll get it.”
I couldn’t say anything. I just stood there, where we weren’t allowed to be, and if we got caught we’d be suspended. I’d get drop-kicked out of my family for sure if that happened. But there was not one spot on earth I wanted to be instead of right there in the pee-stinking dark C Stairwell landing, with Brooke. She got it. She got me. Not that I’d be asking my dad to come run with me anytime soon, though the image of that was hilarious. Just, yeah. How does she just know . . . but she was still talking and I’d lost track again.
“It started out like normal stuff, joking around,” Brooke was whispering. “And then it got bad, fast. Really bad. And the thing is, I think it’s actually at least partly my fault.”
“Your fault?”
Brooke nodded. “Despite what Hazel just said, which was so confusing, because . . .”
As she talked a voice inside my head was grunting, Grab her grab her. Which was completely weird and inappropriate. I was like, Shut up stupid caveman grunty voice! What would I even do if I grabbed her? Like, knock her down? Hug her? The voice ignored me and just kept grunting, Grab her grab her!
So meanwhile I was forgetting to pay attention to what my very upset best friend who never gets upset about anything was saying at all.
“. . . was the right thing to do, but maybe it wasn’t,” she finished.
“So wait,” I said, trying to focus. “What exactly did you do wrong?”
“I was trying to shut down the Drama, and I think I made it worse. Clay . . .”
“What? I was listening!”
“Do you think I’m . . . weird?”
“Deeply,” I said.
She stared at me. I thought maybe she was going to punch me. But instead she put her hands on my waist. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Then she pulled me close and kissed me full on the mouth.
What?!
Her lips were so soft. I took my hands out of my sweatshirt pockets where they’d been lodged like a couple of rocks between us and circled Brooke’s back with my arms. Pulled her closer. Kept kissing.
I guess she’s the one who pulled away because I seriously would’ve stayed there kissing her until spring, without coming up for air or even a sandwich.
“Wow,” I said.
“I don’t know if you like me, that way,” she said. “And we’re friends, which I don’t want to wreck, but I, the thing is?”
“Brooke . . .”
“I like you,” she said. “Like, that way. So. There it is. And, so, whatever. I’m owning it. You can say no. Of course. And we’ll just, that’s fine. It’ll be weird and then it won’t or maybe it’ll always—”
“Brooke,” I interrupted.
“What?”
“I do like you. I’ve . . . yeah. Me, too.”
“Oh,” she said. “Okay, then.”
We didn’t know what to do then, either of us, so we just stood there awkwardly until finally I said, “We should, um . . .”
“Yeah,” she said. So we started down the stairs. We were late for social studies and of course my math problems were still a bunch of broken parts, unreunioned. But my fingers brushed against Brooke’s as we rushed down the steps, so for at least that one second, maybe a bunch more, everything felt really incredibly okay about my entire . . . situation.
NATASHA
I WENT STRAIGHT to the back corner of the social studies classroom to sit down with my group. None of them looked up at me. I slumped in my chair and took out my notebook. I wasn’t sure if I was back in for lunch and in general, or what Truly’s status was, but we were definitely stuck together for one more day at least, because of stupid History Day.
Brooke dashed in all flushed and smiley, a minute after the bell, apologizing. Clay was right behind her, grinning. Were they gossiping about me out in the hallway or something? Neither of them would even look my way.
Truly pulled a stack of typed, stapled packets out of her bag and handed them out to us without a word.
“Wow,” Brooke said. “Truly, this is . . . Thanks for doing all this.”
We all started reading.
“There are only four parts,” Evangeline said, flipping pages.
Truly nodded. She had a script on the desk in front of her, neat, pages unturned. She’d written the whole thing and none of us had even done any of the research to help. But she’d put all of our names up top, her own last.
Now watch, they’ll all think she’s so awesome for that, when they should be concentrating on all the bad stuff about her. Focus.
“Who’s not in it?” Lulu asked Truly.
“Me,” Truly whispered.
“You’re directing?” I asked. Of course, she’d made herself the boss. Typical.
“I’m nothing,” Truly answered.
Truly was contracting on the chair. She looked like one of the caterpillars in the butterfly hatching kit I had once, when they started entering the chrysalis stage. Tight and hard. Then most of them died.
“So wait. This Peggy girl?” Lulu pointed at me. “She totally played Benedict, right?”
“Hold up, I’m still trying to read this,” Evangeline said. “Am I a traitor or not?”
“Yes, you are, Benedict,” Truly mumbled. “But nobody here is completely innocent because . . .”
“Yes!” Lulu shouted. “Exactly!” Lulu gets very psyched when she figures stuff out. Focus, Lulu. Remember what we were just discussing about Truly and how evil she is?
Lulu bounced in her seat. “So Benedict wants to turn over West Point to the Brits. But meanwhile it was Natasha!” She pointed her stubby finger at me.
“Wait,” I said. “Why am I the—”
“Natasha totally masterminded this whole thing, and then she, like, collapses on the floor when Brooke comes in!” Lulu said. “In a big fake fit! Natasha just pretends to be completely innocent when it’s all her fault!”
“Well, it’s not all her fault,” Truly said from inside her cocoon.
I was trying to speed-read through the script, but it was hard to concentrate because I was trying to figure out if everything they were saying had double and triple meanings and if they were actually attacking Truly or it was me they were turning on again. My stomach was churning.
Leave it to Truly to get everybody back on her side with a stupid school project.
“I’m starting to get confused about who to feel sorry for,” Lulu said.
“Preach,” I agreed.
“Well, you’re the worst,” Evangeline said. I looked up.
She was staring at me.
“Me?” I asked.
Evangeline slammed her palms onto her desk. “I should fully divorce your butt.” Oh, shoot me. She was actually talking about the freaking script? What is wrong with everybody?
“He’d never divorce her,” Truly said. “Even if he knew she was cheating on him with the French guy. And not just because it wasn’t that common back then. He couldn’t believe somebody so charming and beautiful and popular as Peggy would ever be with him. He felt completely unworthy all the time. Which maybe explains some stuff he did. He felt so desperate and, like, inadequate, it made him just forget to think. He knew he was hard to get along with,” Truly said quietly. “He was really smart but kind of, anti-charming?”
“I like that,” Brooke said. “Anti-charming. That’s awesome.”
“Only George Washington really liked him,” Truly said. “And then Benedict betrayed him.”
“What a fungus,” Lulu said. “Betraying your best friend?”
Truly shrugged.
“Yeah,” I said, raising my eyebrows. “Who would do a nasty thing like that?”
“He had this idea he could maybe be a hero,” Truly said. “John André—the French guy—put the idea in his head that maybe he, this big ugly rough guy nobody liked, no social skills, anti-charming . . . Maybe he could turn West Point over to the British and end the war and everybody would hail him as a hero.”
“Hail him?” I started to mock, but they were all looking at Truly, into it, so I stopped. My stomach made a loud embarrassing gurgling noise.
Maybe nobody heard though because Truly kept talking: “Benedict thought, maybe if he did this, this one maybe questionable thing, he could be even cooler and more beloved than George Washington. So he took a chance and did it. And then he got caught and had to run away, like a rat through the woods, and he lived the rest of his life in England.”
“Wait, he got away?” Lulu asked. She flipped to the end of the script. It was five pages long. “They didn’t catch him? I thought they killed him.”
“Nope,” Truly said. “They tried, but he survived. He lived a long time, after that. He died an old man. And his dying words were about how he wished he’d died with his friends on the battlefield.”
Nobody said anything. Around the room the low murmur of other groups discussing their projects burbled. Our group had ground to a stop.
“That’s sad,” Evangeline said, after a full minute.
Come on, people. “He betrayed his only friend,” I reminded her. “Doesn’t get any lower than that.”
“Still,” Brooke said. “He made some bad choices, sure, but, like, you can see somebody’s flaws and still have compassion for them”
“Maybe to be a hero,” I said, “you just have to die before everybody finds out the truth about you.”
“Yeah,” Truly whispered. “Maybe.”
“I mean, obviously it’s just a first draft and it’s kind of a muddled mess. So it’s hard for any of us to really know what you’re trying to say here,” I told Truly. “But maybe you mean that if a person realizes he or she has been a betraying, lying, conniving douche, who doesn’t even know how to be a decent friend? It would be better for that person to just go ahead and die.”
Truly stood up. Pale and shaking, she stood there for a few seconds and then walked right out of the class.
After the door closed behind her, everybody turned and stared at me, like it was my fault.
“What?” I asked. “I was just saying.”
The bell rang a few seconds later. We all collected our stuff, shoved our scripts into our bags. Nobody said I should join them, I could sit at their table. My mom had been so sure they’d grab me right back in, once we exposed Truly. Everything would be normal again.
But nothing was.
I went to the girls’ room, locked myself in a stall, and texted my mom. So pathetic, I know. But who else could I text?
I did what you said, head high, no mercy. Truly just walked out of school. I’m a little worried about her. Maybe I was too mean?
I sat there on the disgusting toilet with my pants up, trying not to touch anything. Waiting.
Stay strong! Mom texted back.
I’m trying, I typed quickly with my thumbs. And then added: I’m just not sure what STRONG would be, now, though.
TRULY
JUST KEEP WALKING, Butterfly.
Don’t think.
Don’t feel.
Don’t decide anything.
Just walk.
HAZEL
URGENT—CALL ME. Seriously, Truly—answer your phone, your texts, your e-mail.
Come on, Truly. Answer. I have to tell you some stuff about what’s been going on. You don’t know. It’s my fault. Mine and also Natasha’s, the two people you’ve ever thought of as best friends.
Okay you never cut school in your life before, so this is freaking me out. You never even faked being sick, unlike for example every other kid in the world. So this is really weird and hyperdramatic, for you.
And I am the one who is supposed to be weird and hyperdramatic. Stop taking my part hahahaha.
I’m thinking of stopping that, btw. Maybe trying to be more normal. Or at least not trying so hard to be the weird kid. But that’s a story for another day. For now PLEASE ANSWER.
Truly?
Please, Truly.
Please connect.
TRULY
STANDING BY THE side of Big Pond.
Never been this close to it before. I’m not allowed, so I never even thought about stepping off the sidewalk toward it, never mind down the hill.
I can’t see my reflection in the murky water.
My fingertips are cold on my buzzing phone.
Last thing I need is to read any more of the truth about how horrible I am, posted everywhere. So I don’t bother to look at it. I just look down into the bottomless murky water.
What did I do?
Why are they all so mad at me?
I haven’t been a great friend, or a good person. I know that. I’ve messed up and been awkward and selfish. I’m too sensitive. I was so excited at the thought of becoming popular that I forgot to think. I left my best friend, Hazel, hanging alone. I wasn’t sensitive enough to what Natasha was going through, and maybe I enjoyed the attention the boys were paying to me too much. I don’t know how to be cool.
But if the choice in life is either having no friends, or handing over power to your friends to hurt you, I’m not sure how you decide. Both options stink.
I knew when Mom and Dad got home they’d be so mad—the school sends out robocalls or alerts, supposedly, when a kid cuts. Which I did. So I was stalling, here at Big Pond Their star, their easy kid, the good one. Yeah, well. Sorry. Blew that, too.
I flipped through some apps on my phone. More of the same. People were about evenly split between saying gross positive stuff and gross negative stuff. I was madly pointlessly untagging myself when I got a text from Hazel, the first since that day I walked away from her at our lockers: URGENT—CALL ME.
I ignored it. She probably just wanted to join in on the fun of hating me. She was the one person I deserved it from most. But I had all those photos to find and untag.
Another text: Seriously! Please Truly. I have to tell you something . . .
I ignored that one, too. That the photos of me look all slutty and stupid? Yeah, thanks Hazel. Seen ’em. You have every right to hate me, but I seriously can’t take it on right now. I’m too busy deleting myself, bit by bit.
A bunch more texts from Hazel, which I ignored/deleted until this one:
I know you’re seeing this, Truly—and you don’t have to respond if you don’t want to but I have something really important I need to tell you. And everybody; I’ll tell everybody it was me if you want me to. But I want to tell you first.
I need . . .
I closed my eyes and took a breath, my phone cold and heavy as a gun in my hand. I was so tired. She needs . . . what?
Maybe something happened with her parents, or her brother, or her grandmother?
But what could I possibly do for her? Or for anyone? I was like the opposite of Midas—everything I touch turned to . . .
Another buzz.
Please, Hazel texted. Truly—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . ugh. It’s too long to explain by text. If I e-mail you something, will you please open it?
There was just nothing left in me. I wasn’t thinking about whether to say yes or no, wasn’t wondering what could possibly be making Hazel push her own drama onto me right at that worst moment of my entire life. I wasn’t doing anything. I couldn’t even muster the necessary grace to say, I’m the one who should be apologizing, Hazel—you have nothing to be sorry for!
I knew that’s what I needed to do. My mom says when you feel down, the best strategy is to find a way to be kind to someone else. Here it was, presenting itself to me, a chance to be kind to someone who completely deserved my apology and kindness.
But I didn’t text her back an apology. I didn’t text her back at all. I didn’t even do that one small good thing. I just stood there, feeling the wind blow around instead of through me, wondering what right I even had to make those air molecules change their paths.
Then this text came through from Brooke: Hey. Why’d you cut? Are you coming to Evangeline’s to rehearse after school?
No, I texted back. Why would I answer Brooke and not Hazel? Because she’s popular and despite everything I still feel buzzy when her name shows up on my phone?
Don’t let Natasha get to you, Brooke texted.
It’s not just Natasha, I texted back fast. It’s everybody. Including me.
As soon as I hit SEND on that to Brooke, this text came through from Hazel:
If you want to hate me forever I won’t blame you but first know this:
1. everybody screws up sometimes
2. especially in middle school
3. I love you
4. Please sign into your e-mail and then
