A Very Large Expanse of Sea(54)

Regardless, Ocean and I did not have the same reaction to the insult.

I was irritated, but Ocean was angry.

I could feel it then, in that moment, that Ocean was even stronger than he looked. He had a lean, muscular frame, but he felt, suddenly, very solid standing next to me. His whole body had gone rigid; his hand in mine felt foreign. He looked both angry and disgusted and he shook his head and I could tell he was about to say something when someone, very suddenly, threw a half-eaten cinnamon roll at my face.

I was stunned.

There was a moment of perfect silence as the sweet, sticky bun hit part of my eye and most of my cheek and then dragged, slowly, down my chin. Fell to the floor. There was icing all over my scarf.

This, I thought, was new.

Whoever threw the thing at me was suddenly laughing his ass off and Ocean just kind of lost it. He grabbed the guy by the shirt and shoved him, really, really hard and I wasn’t sure what was happening anymore, but I was so mortified I could hardly see straight and I suddenly wanted nothing more than to just disappear.

So I did.

No one had ever thrown food at me before. I felt numb as I walked away, felt stupid and humiliated and numb. I was trying to make my way to the girl’s bathroom because I really wanted to wash my face but Ocean suddenly caught up to me, caught me around the waist.

“Hey,” he said, and he was out of breath, “Hey—”

But I didn’t want to look at him, I didn’t want him to see me with this shit all over my face so I pulled away. I didn’t meet his eyes.

“Are you okay?” he said. “I’m so sorry—”

“Yeah,” I said, but I was already turning around again. “I, um—I just need to wash my face, okay? I’ll see you later.”

“Wait,” he said, “wait—”

“I’ll see you later, Ocean, I swear.” I waved, kept walking. “I’m fine.”

I mean, I wasn’t fine. I would be fine. But I wasn’t there yet.

I got to the girl’s bathroom and dropped my bag on the ground. I unwrapped my scarf from around my head and used a damp paper towel to scrub the icing off my face. I tried to clean my scarf the same way, but it wasn’t as effective. I sighed. I had to try and wash parts of it in the sink, which just made everything wet, and I was feeling more than a little demoralized as I hung the slightly damp scarf around my neck.

Just then, someone else walked into the bathroom.

I was glad that I’d at least finished with the scrubbing of my face before she came in. I’d just pulled my ponytail free—I’d had to wash a little icing out of my hair, too, and I needed to retie the whole thing—when she walked over to the sink next to me. I knew I’d made myself super conspicuous in here, because I’d tossed my bag to the floor, disassembled myself, and was surrounded, at the moment, by little mountains of damp paper towels, but I hoped she wouldn’t notice. Wouldn’t ask questions. I didn’t know who she was and I didn’t care; I just didn’t want to deal with any more people today.

“Hey,” she said, and instinct forced my head up.

I’ll always remember that moment, the way my hair fell around my face, how it shook out, in long waves, as I turned, the hair tie still wrapped around my wrist.

I looked at her, a question in my eyes.

And she took a picture of me.

“What the hell?” I stepped back, confused. “Why did y—?”

“Thanks,” she said, and smiled.

I was dazed. She walked out the door and it took me a minute to find my head. It took me another few seconds to understand.

When I did, I was struck still.

And I suddenly felt so sick to my stomach I thought I might faint.

It had been a really shitty day.

Ocean finally found me in the hall. He took my hand and I turned around and at first he didn’t say anything. At first he just looked at me.

“Some girl took a picture of me in the bathroom,” I said quietly.

He took a tight breath. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

“You do?”

He nodded.

I turned away. I wanted to cry but I swore I wouldn’t. I promised myself I wouldn’t. Instead, I whispered, “What’s going on, Ocean? What’s happening right now?”

He shook his head. He looked devastated. “This is my fault,” he said. “This is all my fault. I should’ve listened to you, I never should’ve let this happen—”

And just then some guy I’d never even seen before walked past us, slapped Ocean on the back and said, “Hey man, I understand—I’d hit that, too—”

Ocean shoved him, hard, and the guy shouted something angry and fell back, landing on his elbows.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Ocean said to him. “What happened to you?”

They started yelling at each other and I just couldn’t take it anymore.

I needed to leave.

I knew a little about digital cameras, but I didn’t own one myself, so I couldn’t, in that moment, understand how people were sharing photos of me so quickly. I only knew that someone had taken a photo of me without my scarf on—without my consent—and was now passing it around. It was a kind of violation I’d never experienced before. I wanted to scream.

It was my hair, I wanted to scream.