The Takedown(7)

“My Doc died.” I didn’t mean to shake her, but I did. “Seen what?”

Fawn was the most dramatic crier ever. The first time I saw her cry—over a documentary about the NYC public school system—I thought she was kidding and laughed. But now, watching her pouty lip quiver like she’d downed ten grande lattes, I didn’t find it the least bit funny.

“Oh, worried face.” Tears gushed down her cheeks as she gave me her Doc. “It’s getting worse. Thirty-five people shared this link.”

I jabbed play. The screen whirled and connected to a YurTube video titled HOW DOES IT FEEL?

“Oh, gross,” I said, because the video was of Mr. E. He was with a girl in his classroom and they were, well, doing it. I handed it back to Fawn. “Swipe it off, Fawnie.”

“No, watch.”

Since the girl’s face was completely obscured by her long black hair, I watched Mr. E.’s face, trying not to think how his whole career was over. Lots of us probably imagined doing stuff like this with him, but when we imagined it, it was in a foggy, fairy-tale way. Seeing it in real life was gruesome. I couldn’t look. Instead I watched the video’s time run down. Twenty more seconds.

“How could he be so stupid as to make a sex vid of himself in school?”

There was no doubt it was the real deal. It wasn’t grainy or blurred the way fake videos were. It looked like it had been recorded from the exact hub that always bombed out in class. And here I’d felt flattered by his extended looks this morning. When he came to class he must have already known about this. Everyone knew I was one of Mr. E.’s favorite students. Those looks he’d given me were looks of mortification. I shivered.

“Almost there,” Fawn said, her eyes glued to the screen.

Throughout the video the girl kept her head down. Now she lifted it up and shook her hair out of her face. It was like I could almost hear it. Like when you step on ice and it makes that satisfying crunch under your heel.

Except now it was my life cracking and splintering.

If you hadn’t already guessed, I was staring at myself.





The next two minutes weren’t flattering. I’ll spare you the details. The sudden drenching underarm sweat. The insane-person pacing. My insisting it had to be some kind of joke.

All you need to know is that it didn’t look like a joke. Or like a face-swapping filter. It looked like me in the video. And not just “like” me. It was me. For one click, I worried I’d experienced a massive brain reset and had actually slept with Mr. E. All my classmates knew I was completely obsessed with him thanks to the swooning Quips I posted daily. The last one from barely fifty minutes ago, sent while Audra was grilling me:

Almost time for Huck Finn in English. Me. Raft. Mr. E. Now that’s a story I want to get lost in.

Whose parents hadn’t warned them about the content they posted online? But I thought they meant, like, don’t post pics of your butt. Everyone superfanned over some guy, girl, or other. Right?

Or this was what I told myself as I tried to remain calm and watched Fawn cry. Good lord. It was like someone had told her she’d never eat butter again. I pulled her in for a hug, then wiped giant tears from her cheeks.

“Fawnie, you goof. Stop crying already, betch,” I said in my best Audra impersonation. “I’m sure this isn’t that big a deal. Ms. Sandoval in New World Borders just said that at one point or another every living person in modernized society will fall prey to some kind of online scam or identity takeover. So this is mine.”

Fawn nodded, not meeting my eyes. There was an urgent knock on the door; then Audra and Sharma slipped into the bathroom. Considering Audra must have been getting pinged like crazy, why hadn’t she immediately shown me this after English? Her Doc must have been off.

“Sharma got us off-grounds passes.” Audra handed me my coat.

“Been saving for an emergency.” Sharma shrugged as Fawn’s jaw dropped.

“Wait. We’re leaving?” And this was an emergency? My brain was having trouble keeping up. “You can’t tell me this is any worse than Boobgate. I mean, you guys, that’s not even me. You know that, right?”

Three pretty heads looked from one to another, then too readily bobbled up and down.

“Okay,” Audra said, albeit a little stiffly. Mentioning Boobgate still did that to her. “It’s not you.”

“Wait,” Fawn sniffed. “Come here.”

Only later, when I dissected every second of the previous and future twenty-four hours, would I appreciate what Fawn did next. She grabbed my bag, took out my compact, and dabbed at my face. Then she applied a light pink gloss to my lips. In the next eight minutes, 104 different pics would be snapped of me. Yev Baker would PhotoMix half of them into a video titled “Walk of Shame.” At least I didn’t look stunned and shiny in them.

“There. Now you look lovely.”

Audra linked her tiny arm protectively through mine. “Two hallways, two flights of stairs, and we’re there.”

“What is this?” I laughed. “Witness protection?”

“Yeah, kind of, Kylie,” Audra said, and tsked.

The girls all took a deep breath. Then Fawn opened the bathroom door. It was still between periods, and the halls were packed. Fawn took my other hand. Sharma trailed behind, her fingers a blur above her Doc, hopefully unleashing a world of doom on whoever had made the video. It was like the morning Walk all over again, except faster with no banter, and now there was a whole different reason we weren’t meeting anyone’s eyes.