The Takedown(8)

Someone took my pic. Audra’s Doc dinged when I was tagged in it. Yulia Yap muttered something about “got him fired.” Her best friend, Heather Ru-Weinberg, shot me some serious eye daggers. I blew them both kisses.

“I don’t think that’s helping,” Audra said.

I needed to find Mac. He would make this better, either with a totally inappropriate comment or a really long hug.

We went down two flights of stairs in utter silence. At the new attendance and security sensor, our clunky tablets beeped. The sensor lit up green as it registered our passes. Mr. Watkins, the jovial guard the sensor had replaced, never would have let us leave this easy. For once, I didn’t miss him.

Outside, Park Slope had that hush that only a snowstorm could instill in the city. An interborough taxi navigated the unplowed street at half its normal speed. White Christmas lights twinkled mutely beneath the snow-encased potted pine trees that guarded the school. I took my first real breath since Fawn showed me the video. And then there he was, my Mac. I wondered if one of the girls had txted to tell him we were leaving. His tablet was flashing red. No off-grounds pass for this boy. Unless he went back inside quick, detention would ensue. For once, I couldn’t care less about Mac’s truancy record.

“Macky.”

He hadn’t heard me. Barely off school grounds, he’d already swapped out his EarRing for his headphones. They were supposed to keep sound in, yet I could hear his music twenty feet away. He was completely absorbed in his Doc, the way he only got when he was searching for exactly the right song. I broke into a trot. The girls called out, trying to stop me. Didn’t they know everything would be okay as soon as those arms were around me?

When Mac finally noticed me, he quick swiped at his eyes, then nonchalantly turned away and continued to tap at his Doc. Now that I was closer, I saw that he wasn’t searching for a song; he was scrolling through pics of us, deleting them.

I’d expected his hands cupping my face and a stream of affectionate Spanish. Not to be ignored and erased. I almost laughed from the shock and hurt. Like that time Mom yelled at me, “Stop it already, Kyle,” in the middle of GoodMart because I wouldn’t stop citing reasons why microalgae should immediately be incorporated into all our meals.

“Rodriguez.”

He looked awful. Like he’d come down with a sudden scorching fever. His face was flushed. His eyes were red and puffy. I could tell he debated ignoring me again, but seeing as I was only inches away, that wasn’t really feasible.

I put a hand on his arm. He immediately shook it off.

“Don’t touch me.” Maybe it was because his music was up so high, but he was kind of shouting. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“Mac.” I was like some useless bot only programmed to say his name. “Hold on. Can you please lower that so we can talk about this?”

He pulled a headphone forward off one of his ears.

“No, you don’t get to talk to me anymore. You don’t get to send me cute pics before you go to bed or make plans with me of what we’ll eat for after-school snack. You don’t get to call me crying every time you fight with your mom. You don’t get to be my ‘just friend’ anymore.”

Behind us, the girls moved in, their shoes crunching on the snow. I couldn’t believe it. Mac thought the video was real. Me. The girl who covered her eyes during sex scenes in movies. The girl who refused every single one of his advances, even though it would have been much easier and more enjoyable not to. She had suddenly up and done this? With her teacher?

There was little doubt it was me, except for the important fact that it wasn’t. I thought that’d be clear to anyone who knew me even a little. Panic and rage coursed through my body in equal measure.

“Kylie, honey,” Fawn said. “Let’s go.”

At their approach, Mac’s eyes took on that faraway, heavy-lidded it’s all the same to me gaze that his primos were so good at. It was the expression he wore on constant at Prep. The one that covered up how funny, sweet, and silly he was when he wasn’t surrounded by kids who had their own assistants and drove beamers.

As calmly as possible I said, “Macky, you know that isn’t me in the video.”

Still not meeting my eyes, he gave me a slow, lazy smile. I’d seen this before too. It was the same smile he gave Avery Gibson the time Mac pulled Avery’s soda can out of the trash—Mac hated when people didn’t recycle—and Avery saw and said, “Hey, Rodriguez, if you’re that desperate for the deposit money, I’ll just txt you some credits next time.”

And Mac replied, “Hey, Avery, eat SHT,” and then whipped the can at his head.

“No preocupes, princesa,” Mac now said, calmly, like he was over it. “I should have seen it coming, right? Only, you know the part that gets me? All these months, you’ve acted like I was the slut.”

I felt the sting of his words as sharply as if he’d smacked me.

“Hey,” Sharma said.

“No,” Fawn snapped. “You don’t talk to her like that.”

She began to push past me, but Audra grabbed her back. Mac held his hands out, like You want me? Come get me. Luckily, a cab pulled up. Mac’s cousin Rupey was hanging out the passenger-side window. Two of his other cousins were in the back. Rupey and Mac slapped hands.

“Have a nice life, Kyla.”