โNothing good has ever happened in the Main Hall before.โ
Itโs 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 Iโm instantly apprehensive when weโre directed to the hall right after lunch.
โWhatโs 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 franchiseโimpossible to track down and never fully killed.
โI was hoping youโd know,โ Abigail says between loud bites of her kaya toast. The sticky note on her lunch box today readsย KEEP SHINING!ย โDonโt school captains get advance notice of this stuff?โ
โNot this,โ I say, scanning the room for clues. Thereโs a laptop set up
near the projector, and a thermos sitting on the hardwood floor, which
means weโre getting a presentation of some sort. Then, without meaning to, my gaze slides to Julius in the second rowโjust as he lifts his head and
glowers at me.
A shock goes through my body at the venomous look on his face. Iโd hoped his anger would dissipate after yesterday, but it seems to have only fermented.
Itโs 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 Iโm 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 momโs 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 doesnโt say anything, just surveys us like weโve 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 titleโโThe Digital Student: Online Etiquette and Cybersafetyโโbefore my stomach plummets, my misery returning with full intensity.
โYour school called me in light of . . . recent events,โ she begins, confirming my very worst suspicions. โTheyโve 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.
Iโve done it, I think to myself.ย Iโve discovered hell on earth, and itโs right here.
โNow, you might be under the impression that since youโre the younger generation and you grew up with your little tablets and laptops and iPads and gadgets, you donโt need any advice, right? You know exactly what
youโre doing, right?ย Wrong,โ she says, so loudly a few people jump.
โBefore we dive in, letโs have a quick show of hands: How many of you in this room have a social media account of some kind?โ
Thereโs a brief momentโs hesitation. Then every single hand in the room goes into the air.
โThatโs very disappointing,โ Samantha Howard says on a heavy sigh. โNot 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.
โThis is your first mistake,โ Samantha tells us. โEverything you post will leave a permanent mark on the internet. Every comment, every interaction, everyย selfie.โ She spits out the word like itโs the name of
someone who once poisoned her morning tea. โAfter todayโs session, I hope you all go back and private your posts. Better yet, delete all your accounts completely. Keep your content to yourselfโโ She pauses midsentence and blinks at Abigail. โYes? Do you have a question?โ
Abigail stands up, her expression almost as grave as Samanthaโs, her platinum hair swinging over her shoulder. โYes, just one.โ She clears her throat. โWhat do we do if weโre really feeling ourselves?โ
Snorts of laughter travel around the room.
Samantha frowns. โThis is not a joke. This is a matter of securityโโ โI donโt think youโre understanding,โ Abigail says innocently. โIโm
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? Donโt you think itโs 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 sheโs doing this. Abigail has never minded being disruptive in class, but sheโs always more
disruptive when she senses that Iโm in a bad mood. Itโs her way of simultaneously raising my blood pressure and my spirits.
โI assure you, young lady, thatโs not the kind of legacy you want to leave,โ Samantha says, her nostrils flaring. โThis is exactly what Iโm
talking about. I know your prefrontal cortexes havenโt 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 Letโs 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 mockโup of an email.
Dear Brady,
Your personality sucks, your face sucks, and your existence sucks. I donโt like you very much at all. You should run out in front of a train.
The roomโs attention swivels back to me.
I duck my head, my whole face red-hot with humiliation. Even though itโs notย myย email, the reference is clearโand, evidently, deliberate.
โCan somebody tell me whatโs 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. โParticipation is important. If weโre feeling shy, Iโll pick someone at random. How about . . .โ
So long as itโs not Julius, I pray in my head, my fingernails digging into my skirt.ย Just donโt let it be Juliusโ
โYou,โ Samantha says, and points right at Julius. Maybe I should run out in front of a train.
โMe?โ Julius repeats as our class dissolves into furious whispers. When he rises from his seat, his back straight, hands in his pockets, Iโm offered an unwanted view of his side profile. For once, he doesnโt look smug about being called on to answer a question.
โYes. Whatโs the problem with this example?โ Samantha prompts. โShould someoneโno matter how theyโre feelingโsend out an email like this?โ
Juliusโs eyes cut to me, quick as lightning, cold as ice. โWell, I donโt think anyone should everย writeย an email like this to begin with. Itโs remarkably immature, and a sign of the senderโs unresolved anger issuesโ not to mention low self-esteem.โ
โBut what if the recipient deserved it?โ
I donโt realize Iโve 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 Iโm only staring back at one person. Julius. The tightness of
his jaw, the darkness of his eyes.
โSo youโre saying itโs the recipientโs fault,โ Julius says with a laugh. โWow. 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. โIโm just saying that maybe if the recipient were aย littleย less infuriating and wasnโtย quiteย so adamant on tormenting the sender for years on endโโ
โMaybe if someone werenโt so sensitiveโโ
โItโs called having a normal human reaction. Emotions, you understand.
I know that may be a foreign conceptโโ
โExcuse me, you two,โ Samantha calls tersely from the podium. โThis isnโt the point of the activity.โ
We both do something we would never dare with a teacherโnot even an art teacherโwe ignore her.
โYou didnโt seem to care so much about anyone elseโs reaction when you were writing the emails,โ Julius says, his voice rising.
โAgain, I didnโt mean for them toย get out,โ I snap. Iโm very distantly
aware that the hall has gone dead quiet, that everyoneโs watching, listening, witnessing this. Someoneโs 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. โI was just ventingโโ
โHave you ever heard of a diary, Sadie? It might be a worthy investment.โ
โDonโt disgust me. I would never write diary entries about youโโ
He cocks his head. Smiles with his lips but not his eyes. โAnd yet itโs clear Iโm all you ever think about.โ
โThink aboutย killing,โ I amend, grinding my teeth together. I could kill him right now.
โSee?โ Julius gestures to me, as if delivering a speech. โThis is what I mean about the unresolved anger issues.โ
โYou mean that youโre the source of them? Because yeah, youโd be correctโโ
โSilence!โย 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
Samanthaโs 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. โNever,โ she seethes, โin all my years of visiting schools have I come across students soโsoย rudeย and undisciplined. This behavior is absolutely unacceptable.โ She stabs a finger toward our badges. โAnd youโre meant to be the school captains? This is the kind of example you choose to set for your peers?โ
I hadnโt 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.
โBefore coming here, all Iโd heard about Woodvale was how itโs one of the top academic institutions in the state. Selective.ย Prestigious.โ She yanks out the cord from her laptop as she speaks. โBut this isโwell, itโs just beyond disappointing.โ Picks up her thermos from the floor. โIโm afraid I simply cannot go on.โ Lifts a dramatic hand to her chest like an actress in a tragic play. โIโll 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, โDoes 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. โI just remembered that I wonโt be paid the speakerโs fee if I donโt 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. โNow, where were we? Ah, yes, your digital footprint . . .โ