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Chapter no 6

I Hope This Doesn't Find You

โ€ŒNothing good has ever happened in the Main Hall before.โ€Œ

Itโ€™s where we take our final exams and where we were forced to sit through unbearable lectures onย our changing bodiesย and where Ray once dropped a banana behind the podium and the rats managed to find it before the teachers could.

So Iโ€™m instantly apprehensive when weโ€™re directed to the hall right after lunch.

โ€œWhatโ€™s going on?โ€ I ask Abigail as we find seats at the very back. The entire room is basically designed to be depressing, with its drab,

windowless walls and uncomfortable plastic chairs. A whole year after the incident, the stench of the rotten banana still lurks around like the villain from a major movie franchiseโ€”impossible to track down and never fully killed.

โ€œI was hoping youโ€™d know,โ€ Abigail says between loud bites of her kaya toast. The sticky note on her lunch box today readsย KEEP SHINING!ย โ€œDonโ€™t school captains get advance notice of this stuff?โ€

โ€œNot this,โ€ I say, scanning the room for clues. Thereโ€™s a laptop set up

near the projector, and a thermos sitting on the hardwood floor, which

means weโ€™re getting a presentation of some sort. Then, without meaning to, my gaze slides to Julius in the second rowโ€”just as he lifts his head and

glowers at me.

A shock goes through my body at the venomous look on his face. Iโ€™d hoped his anger would dissipate after yesterday, but it seems to have only fermented.

Itโ€™s not just him. Word about my emails must have spread to everyone in our class by now. When I sit down, the girl next to me scowls and scoots

her chair away as if Iโ€™m the source of the banana smell.

My stomach burns.

The sound of clacking heels distracts me briefly from my misery. A serious-looking woman around my momโ€™s age strides up to the front, her

blonde hair pulled into a bun so tight I pity her scalp, a school visitor badge pinned to her tweed jacket.ย SAMANTHA HOWARD, it says, underneath a blurry photo of her. She doesnโ€™t say anything, just surveys us like weโ€™ve collectively committed a crime against her family pet, and presses a button. The projector flickers on, casting a slideshow onto the giant white screen behind her.

I take one glance at the titleโ€”โ€œThe Digital Student: Online Etiquette and Cybersafetyโ€โ€”before my stomach plummets, my misery returning with full intensity.

โ€œYour school called me in light of . . . recent events,โ€ she begins, confirming my very worst suspicions. โ€œTheyโ€™ve asked that I give you a refresher on how we should conduct ourselves through digital communication channels.โ€

Thirty pairs of eyes instantly flicker to me.

Iโ€™ve done it, I think to myself.ย Iโ€™ve discovered hell on earth, and itโ€™s right here.

โ€œNow, you might be under the impression that since youโ€™re the younger generation and you grew up with your little tablets and laptops and iPads and gadgets, you donโ€™t need any advice, right? You know exactly what

youโ€™re doing, right?ย Wrong,โ€ she says, so loudly a few people jump.

โ€œBefore we dive in, letโ€™s have a quick show of hands: How many of you in this room have a social media account of some kind?โ€

Thereโ€™s a brief momentโ€™s hesitation. Then every single hand in the room goes into the air.

โ€œThatโ€™s very disappointing,โ€ Samantha Howard says on a heavy sigh. โ€œNot surprising, but disappointing. And tell me: How many of you post frequently on these accounts? Videos and photos and the like?โ€

A few hands are lowered, but most of them stay up.

โ€œThis is your first mistake,โ€ Samantha tells us. โ€œEverything you post will leave a permanent mark on the internet. Every comment, every interaction, everyย selfie.โ€ She spits out the word like itโ€™s the name of

someone who once poisoned her morning tea. โ€œAfter todayโ€™s session, I hope you all go back and private your posts. Better yet, delete all your accounts completely. Keep your content to yourselfโ€”โ€ She pauses midsentence and blinks at Abigail. โ€œYes? Do you have a question?โ€

Abigail stands up, her expression almost as grave as Samanthaโ€™s, her platinum hair swinging over her shoulder. โ€œYes, just one.โ€ She clears her throat. โ€œWhat do we do if weโ€™re really feeling ourselves?โ€

Snorts of laughter travel around the room.

Samantha frowns. โ€œThis is not a joke. This is a matter of securityโ€”โ€ โ€œI donโ€™t think youโ€™re understanding,โ€ Abigail says innocently. โ€œIโ€™m

talking about, like,ย reallyย feeling ourselves. Have you never drawn the perfect cat wing and felt the utmost need to share it online, for it to be saved in perpetuity, to become your lasting legacy? Donโ€™t you think itโ€™s a crimeย notย to show the world the new black dress I bought and how good it makes my figure look?โ€ She finishes her little speech by falling back in her seat and grinning at me.

And though I really should disapprove, I have to bite my lip to stop from laughing as well. Partly because I know why sheโ€™s doing this. Abigail has never minded being disruptive in class, but sheโ€™s always more

disruptive when she senses that Iโ€™m in a bad mood. Itโ€™s her way of simultaneously raising my blood pressure and my spirits.

โ€œI assure you, young lady, thatโ€™s not the kind of legacy you want to leave,โ€ Samantha says, her nostrils flaring. โ€œThis is exactly what Iโ€™m

talking about. I know your prefrontal cortexes havenโ€™t fully developed yet, but you have to start thinkingย beyondย your impulses in the moment. Your digital footprint could affect your school records, your future colleges, your futureย jobs.ย Letโ€™s all take a look at examples of what you should be avoiding, shall we?โ€

She moves on to the next slide, which is a mockโ€‘up of an email.

Dear Brady,

Your personality sucks, your face sucks, and your existence sucks. I donโ€™t like you very much at all. You should run out in front of a train.

The roomโ€™s attention swivels back to me.

I duck my head, my whole face red-hot with humiliation. Even though itโ€™s notย myย email, the reference is clearโ€”and, evidently, deliberate.

โ€œCan somebody tell me whatโ€™s wrong with this?โ€ Samantha asks.

Nobody volunteers, and for a few incredibly naive, foolish seconds, I think I might be safe. We can get back to that nice lecture on how posting selfies will result in our inevitable murder. But then Samantha looks out at the room. โ€œParticipation is important. If weโ€™re feeling shy, Iโ€™ll pick someone at random. How about . . .โ€

So long as itโ€™s not Julius, I pray in my head, my fingernails digging into my skirt.ย Just donโ€™t let it be Juliusโ€”

โ€œYou,โ€ Samantha says, and points right at Julius. Maybe I should run out in front of a train.

โ€œMe?โ€ Julius repeats as our class dissolves into furious whispers. When he rises from his seat, his back straight, hands in his pockets, Iโ€™m offered an unwanted view of his side profile. For once, he doesnโ€™t look smug about being called on to answer a question.

โ€œYes. Whatโ€™s the problem with this example?โ€ Samantha prompts. โ€œShould someoneโ€”no matter how theyโ€™re feelingโ€”send out an email like this?โ€

Juliusโ€™s eyes cut to me, quick as lightning, cold as ice. โ€œWell, I donโ€™t think anyone should everย writeย an email like this to begin with. Itโ€™s remarkably immature, and a sign of the senderโ€™s unresolved anger issuesโ€” not to mention low self-esteem.โ€

โ€œBut what if the recipient deserved it?โ€

I donโ€™t realize Iโ€™ve stood up and spoken until everyone whirls around to stare at me, the concentrated weight of their attention like a hammer to the stomach. But Iโ€™m only staring back at one person. Julius. The tightness of

his jaw, the darkness of his eyes.

โ€œSo youโ€™re saying itโ€™s the recipientโ€™s fault,โ€ Julius says with a laugh. โ€œWow. Sure.โ€

Okay, stop talking, the logical part of my brain tells me.ย Shut up and sit down right now.

But my mouth seems to have cut ties with my brain. โ€œIโ€™m just saying that maybe if the recipient were aย littleย less infuriating and wasnโ€™tย quiteย so adamant on tormenting the sender for years on endโ€”โ€

โ€œMaybe if someone werenโ€™t so sensitiveโ€”โ€

โ€œItโ€™s called having a normal human reaction. Emotions, you understand.

I know that may be a foreign conceptโ€”โ€

โ€œExcuse me, you two,โ€ Samantha calls tersely from the podium. โ€œThis isnโ€™t the point of the activity.โ€

We both do something we would never dare with a teacherโ€”not even an art teacherโ€”we ignore her.

โ€œYou didnโ€™t seem to care so much about anyone elseโ€™s reaction when you were writing the emails,โ€ Julius says, his voice rising.

โ€œAgain, I didnโ€™t mean for them toย get out,โ€ I snap. Iโ€™m very distantly

aware that the hall has gone dead quiet, that everyoneโ€™s watching, listening, witnessing this. Someoneโ€™s holding up their phone. But nothing registers except the anger pumping thick through my blood, the desire to destroy the boy standing across from me. โ€œI was just ventingโ€”โ€

โ€œHave you ever heard of a diary, Sadie? It might be a worthy investment.โ€

โ€œDonโ€™t disgust me. I would never write diary entries about youโ€”โ€

He cocks his head. Smiles with his lips but not his eyes. โ€œAnd yet itโ€™s clear Iโ€™m all you ever think about.โ€

โ€œThink aboutย killing,โ€ I amend, grinding my teeth together. I could kill him right now.

โ€œSee?โ€ Julius gestures to me, as if delivering a speech. โ€œThis is what I mean about the unresolved anger issues.โ€

โ€œYou mean that youโ€™re the source of them? Because yeah, youโ€™d be correctโ€”โ€

โ€œSilence!โ€ย Samantha yells.

I snap my mouth shut and pull my attention away from Julius. It could just be the unflattering artificial lights in the hall, but

Samanthaโ€™s face has turned an awful shade of gray. The veins in her forehead are on open display, so visible they could be used as a diagram for first-year premed students. โ€œNever,โ€ she seethes, โ€œin all my years of visiting schools have I come across students soโ€”soย rudeย and undisciplined. This behavior is absolutely unacceptable.โ€ She stabs a finger toward our badges. โ€œAnd youโ€™re meant to be the school captains? This is the kind of example you choose to set for your peers?โ€

I hadnโ€™t thought it possible to taste any new flavors of humiliation, but apparently I can. The skin on my cheeks and the back of my neck is so hot it itches.

โ€œBefore coming here, all Iโ€™d heard about Woodvale was how itโ€™s one of the top academic institutions in the state. Selective.ย Prestigious.โ€ She yanks out the cord from her laptop as she speaks. โ€œBut this isโ€”well, itโ€™s just beyond disappointing.โ€ Picks up her thermos from the floor. โ€œIโ€™m afraid I simply cannot go on.โ€ Lifts a dramatic hand to her chest like an actress in a tragic play. โ€œIโ€™ll have to end this early.โ€

With that, she marches out the door, a few seconds of silence following close behind her.

Then Georgina says, hopefully, โ€œDoes this mean we get a free period?โ€ Before anyone can celebrate, the door swings open once more, and

Samantha comes marching in again. Her complexion has changed from gray to crimson. โ€œI just remembered that I wonโ€™t be paid the speakerโ€™s fee if I donโ€™t stay for the full session.โ€ She sniffs and plugs her laptop back into

the projector, continuing to the next slide as though that brief episode never happened. โ€œNow, where were we? Ah, yes, your digital footprint . . .โ€

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