whatever hole he crawled into. And she’ll have to deal with Orly, still. Somehow.
But that’s a problem for another day.
Today is a different barrel of monkeys.
Shane taps a key. The screen comes on. Atlanta’s on it. The camera’s already showing her own face—everything she does, her digital doppelganger does at the same time. She pulls her red hair back and pulls it through a blue rubber band. “I feel like I should be wearing lipstick.”
“This isn’t a dating video.”
She hrms. “I suppose you’re right.” Suddenly a part of her wishes Steven came. As a friend, at least. She called him—multiple times, actually—but he never called her back. She hopes that bridge didn’t burn beneath her feet. She still remembers the kiss. It thrills her and terrifies her in equal measure.
“You sure you don’t need a script?”
“I don’t need a script.”
“Okay. Just hit the space bar when you’re ready.”
Her tongue snakes out over her teeth. Then her lips to moisten them. She shifts nervously. The space bar looms—she almost hits it, then doesn’t, then finally stabs it with a finger.
A red circle blinks on the screen. Next to it in white text: RECORDING.
She takes a breath. Looks up. Then at the pinhole.
She starts talking.
“They say it gets better but that’s a load of horseshit. Like one day you wake up and things are just… taken care of, like they one day get easy. That bullies come and bullies go and eventually everything sorts itself out. It doesn’t. That’s not how the world works, and it won’t ever work that way. Whether you’re gay, black, Jewish, a girl, crippled, mentally handicapped, a foreigner, whatever, somebody’s always going to be there to try to hold your face against the ground and kick you while you’re down there. They make themselves feel better by making you feel like dirt.
“It doesn’t get better.”
Another deep breath.
“I know what you’re thinking. Sounds like I’m saying there’s no hope. This girl’s a bummer, you’re saying, maybe I should put a gun in my mouth or a rope around my neck or take whatever pills I find in my Mama’s medicine chest. That’s one road you can take. But that’s the coward’s way. That wrecks the world for those you leave behind. Those who you think don’t care but really they do. Suicide is selfish. Doesn’t do squat but leave behind a lot of mess. Worst of all, it makes sure that the bullies win. Because now they live in a world with one less person they hate—in a world that looks suddenly a little more like them.”
Now she leans closer. Narrows her eyes.
“I’m saying it doesn’t get better on its own. But I am saying you can make it better. You can fight back. You can kick and scream and shove and make sure nobody gets the better of you. You can vote. You can punch. You can stand your ground and stick out your chin and take pride in who you are.
“That’s how you really get ‘em. By being proud of yourself. By owning it and being awesome and giving them a big old middle finger that tells them that no matter what they do to you, it won’t change you one teensy tiny little bit. Let them be uncomfortable. Let them squirm. They don’t like who you are? Hell with ‘em. Because you know what?
“You defeat them by being undefeatable.”
Now she smiles. A mean, sharp-angled grin.
“But I know it’s not easy. Standing tall. Fighting back. So I’m here to help. Sometimes you need a hand just being who you are and keepin’ the bad folks at bay. You do, you call me. You go to my school, you already know me. You live in this town, you already know me. You already know what I did. What I’m capable of. It won’t get better on its own but together… well, maybe we can make it better.”
The smile drops off her face like a framed photo dropping off a wall.
“To you bullies out there? To the haters, the monsters, the Nazis and criminals, the tyrants and tormentors? I’ve got a message for you, too—“
Whitey jumps up in her lap. Almost knocks her off the chair. On the laptop screen she sees his big doofusy droopy face. One eye missing and one ear cocked away from the other in a permanent 45-degree angle. Little starburst scar above his gone eye. But he’s got a big sloppy grin on his face and a goopy strong of drool hanging from