There’s a lot I want to say, but I settle for short and to the point.
Go to hell, Maeve.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Maeve
Wednesday, March 4
The first person to greet me at school Wednesday morning is Sean Murdock, and he does it by grabbing the front of his pants. “Climb on any time you want a real man,” he leers, thrusting his hips while Brandon Weber cackles behind him. “Satisfaction guaranteed.”
My face burns with the kind of combined horror and shame I haven’t felt since Simon Kelleher wrote a scathing blog post about me freshman year. This time, though, I can’t slink into the shadows to get away from it all. For one thing, my sister’s not around to fight for me. And for another, I’m not the only one affected.
“First off, gross,” I say loudly. “Second, that stupid game is lying. Nothing like that ever happened.” I spin my combination and yank the door to my locker so hard that I lose my grip and slam it into my neighbor’s. “You’re an idiot if you believe everything you read. Well, you’re an idiot regardless. But either way, it’s not true.”
That’s my story, and come hell or high water, I will stick with it.
“Sure, Maeve,” Sean smirks. This is a sucky time to find out he knows my name after all. His eyes travel up and down my body, making my skin crawl. “Offer still stands.”
Brandon laughs again. “Literally,” he says. He puts his hand up for a high five, but Sean just looks confused.
Laughter echoes in the hall, and Sean brightens as he turns in its direction. There’s a group of people clustered around the bay where Knox’s locker is. “Looks like your boyfriend’s here,” Sean says. “Well, ex-boyfriend. Can’t blame you for that. Hope he likes his present.” My heart sinks as he and Brandon saunter down the hall toward the growing crowd. I grab a random assortment of books that probably aren’t even what I need for class, stuff them into my backpack, and slam my locker door closed.
I’m halfway to Knox’s locker when someone grabs hold of my arm. “I wouldn’t,” Phoebe says, pulling me to a stop. Her curly hair is in a high ponytail that swings when she turns her head to look behind us. “You being anywhere near him right now is only going to make things worse.” She doesn’t sound mean, just matter-of-fact, but the words still sting.
“What’s going on?”
“Limp noodles glued to his locker. In a—shape. You can probably guess.” She shrugs in what she clearly wants to be a breezy manner, but the tense lines of her mouth don’t match. “Could’ve been worse. At least noodles are easy to get off.” Her jaw twitches. “I mean, clean.”
I slump against the locker beside me. “Oh God. They’re such assholes. And it’s not even true.” I raise my voice. “I never said that.” I dart a glance at Phoebe, testing out the lie on somebody with significantly more brain cells than Sean.
“It doesn’t matter,” she says, in that same breezy-yet-bitter voice. “People will believe what they want anyway.”
I grimace in frustration. “The worst thing is, I was actually making progress in figuring out who’s doing this. Not fast enough, though.”
Phoebe blinks. “Say what?”
I catch her up on the latest revenge forum posts from Darkestmind. “I’ll bet that last one was about me,” I say, holding out my phone so Phoebe can see the screenshot I took. More to come soon. Tick-tock.
She sucks her lower lip in between her teeth. “Hmm. Maybe? Still doesn’t give you any idea who’s talking, though.”
“Not yet,” I say. “But you’d be surprised. People who think they’re being stealthy and anonymous give themselves away all the time.” Simon certainly did.
“Can I give you some advice?” Phoebe asks. I nod as she leans against the locker beside me, her face serious. “I was thinking about this stupid game all last night, and how it has everybody dancing like puppets on a string. Whoever’s behind Truth or Dare is on a massive power trip. And the thing is, we’re giving them that power. By caring. Reacting. Spending all our time worrying about who’s next and what’s true. We’re feeding the beast and I, for one, am done. I blocked Unknown last night, and I think you should too. Back away from the revenge forum. Stop handing those anonymous weirdos the attention they want so much. If everyone ignored them, they’d stop.”
“But everyone won’t ignore them,” I protest. “This