The worst day of my life starts uneventfully. My wired headphones were plugged into the Walkman that Mikael gifted me, with the earbuds stuffed extra tight so that they didn't fall out. I'm going through the CDs he gave me, trying to pick a song for my commute. I settle on the third CD out of the five, plucking it straight from the middle of the stack.
Mikael's favorite music keeps me company in the train tunnels. I would have preferred the boy himself, but we took two different train lines in two different directions. I came up from lower Manhattan while he came down from the Upper East Side. A tale of two cities on one island.
When I get to school, I realize something is wrong. Normally, I can walk to homeroom unnoticed, eavesdropping on the conversations as I find my friends in the throng. But today, things are quiet.
People are staring at me. Or rather, they're pretending not to notice me but doing a very poor job of sneaking glances. I walk to my seat in the homeroom, the hairs on the back of my neck standing from all the eyes on me. I want to ask someone what's going on, but everyone is sitting at least one seat away from me, like I'm patient zero for an infectious virus.
After an agonizing five minutes, Yuey enters the classroom. She sits next to me, ignoring the rest of our peers.
"Check your phone," she orders.
"But we're not allowed to have them out."
She gives me a look that silences further protest. I pull out my phone surreptitiously behind a stack of schoolbooks.
"Look at your socials."
I obey, clicking through the apps. The red dot on my profile shows me that I have hundreds of unopened notifications. I nearly dropped my phone in shock.
Several messages and comments on my posts across all platforms were from the account DieNatLee. In between the degrading messages and lewd taunts, one thing was clear.
My secret was out. Or rather, all of the scholarship students in Two Bridges were exposed by the account. Every post was an in-depth exposé on the four people who received financial aid. It was complete with photos of the students and private details about their living situation. I'm horrified at the utter violation of privacy.
The question is, who let the cat out of the bag?
Natalie and Yuey are the only ones who know the truth about who I am. Judging by the concerned look on Yuey's face, she wasn't the one who sent my information to Natalie's online bully.
The two other scholarship students, aside from Natalie and me, are Louis and Evan. Louis's status as a poor student surprised me, given the way he carried himself. Maybe his overconfident attitude compensated for his life at home, which, according to the online bully, consisted of an alcoholic father and a deadbeat mother.
Evan Cummings was a new student. His post had the least fanfare since no one in the student body really spoke to him. He had a habit of keeping to himself and tended to shut down any attempts anyone made to be his friend. His parents were divorced, and he lived with his father in Queens. There was something melancholic about the way he carried himself, like he had seen too much.
Not that it was any of my business. That was what the account posted about him.
But to my dismay, my profile, which the online bully posted, got the most attention. The photos were extensive. There was a showcase that included images of my family's bakery, our public housing building, and a scathing breakdown of my social media presence. They theorized that some of my designer clothes and jewelry were fake or that I was selling my body to fund a deceptively luxurious lifestyle. Little did they know the true lengths I went to conceal my secret.
Those efforts were clearly wasted now that I've been exposed.
My vision darkens. The world closes in. I find it harder to breathe, my chest rising and falling rapidly. My fingers tingle, losing feeling.
"Yan, stay with me. It's not the end of the world."
Yuey's voice sounds far away. I cling to it, trying to slow my breathing. I try to pretend that it doesn't feel like my brain is melting or that my skin is freezing.
"They're not supposed to know. No one is supposed to know."
"It won't be this way forever. People will lose interest. Not everyone cares about the scholarship students or thinks they don't deserve to be here."
As rational as her words were, they applied to the future. In the present, I still have to deal with the fallout.
To make matters worse, Ainsley and Maia rush into the classroom and immediately come to my side. A desperate part of my brain thinks that they're here to offer support. The smart part of me already predicts what's going to happen next.
"Yan, please tell me it isn't true," Maia says. "This is slander. Whoever wrote this doesn't know you like we do."
Ainsley stares at me, poised as a snake ready to strike. "Unless they aren't lying. But you would tell us if that was the case, right?"
"Leave her alone," Yuey says. "She isn't feeling well."
"Let Yan speak for herself," Ainsley shot back. "We're the ones who are her real friends."
Hurt blankets Yuey's features, but she quickly composes herself. Her cold mask slips into place, and my guilt intensifies.
"It's true," I tell them, ignoring the wave of nausea that accompanies my confession. "I'm poor." I pull up the photos. "That's where I live. That's where my family works. And you guys know those are my clothes."
"So you're not the heir to the Ng Corporation? If you're joking, now would be a good time to cut it out," Maia says.
"I've never been able to afford any of the things you guys have," I say bluntly. "I don't live in a penthouse, and I can't go to exotic places for vacation."
"That does explain why you never ate much when we were out," Ainsley realizes. "And that whole summer where you didn't have your phone ... you were never doing a digital cleanse, were you?"
"I faked my Japan vacation photos and made my own designer clothes. Are you happy? I've been lying to you both all along."
It feels good to get it off my chest. It was the kind of catharsis that comes from burning a valuable possession. But with that relief, there was so much self-disgust. I hate what I am, and I despise taking the charade this far.
I ran to the bathroom before they could see me cry. I quickly lock myself in a stall before the tears stream down my face. I pull a roll of toilet paper from the wall, dabbing at my face with the school's cheap one-ply. The paper melts into a wet mess, and I give up, opting to sit and let my face get soaked.
Someone enters the bathroom, and I do my best to weep quietly. I may have been having a bad day, but that was no excuse to ruin someone else's.
A pair of shoes appears beneath my stall door. Through my blurry, tear-filled vision, I recognize the person on the other side. I say nothing, praying that they'll go away.
"Yan. I know you're in there." The dreaded sound of Natalie's voice reaches my ears.
I stay mum. If I speak, she'll know that I'm crying. I wouldn't put it past her to rub it in after carrying out her threat.
Because who else could have known that much about me? Maybe she didn't need to deliver the killing blow by giving the information to her bully, but I didn't doubt that she had a hand in my demise.
"I told you to stay away from him," she continues. "But you had to humiliate me. You knew what I would do if you stayed by him. You even became his friend and got him to like you."
She laughs in disbelief. "But that's how love works. You never choose who you have feelings for. So I let it slide even though it made me unhappy. What I couldn't tolerate was the disrespect. I thought you were nicer than those girls you hung out with. I was wrong."
Of course, she would twist what happened during Volunteer Week to make herself look like the victim. In her head, she was never the villain and forever the damsel in distress. It's so unfair and pathetic that it makes me sick to my stomach.
She abandoned me and ruined my life. I could do worse to her. It wouldn't be difficult, considering that she was ostracized and had no friends.
"I'm sorry that you always choose the wrong boys," I say, surprised to find my voice clear and composed. "I'm sorry that you let our friendship go to waste. And I'm sorry that you cut yourself at night. But your decisions were never my mistakes."
Natalie storms out of the bathroom, unable to get a rise out of me. I allow myself a small smile.
6Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpDmYrPxRC3
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