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What the hell just happened?
From the silence of shock, Caitlin lets out a piercing screech. Her gaze darts from her destroyed phone to Gray and back again before she finally regains the power of speech.
“What the fuck was that for?” Her cheeks are flushed, and she looks nearly apoplectic. “What’s your problem?”
“Just teaching a social lesson,” he says simply. “I thought that was the point.”
Gray doesn’t even spare me a look as he turns away, hoisting his bag up higher on his shoulder as he heads inside the gym building. Caitlin storms after him, and Gemma darts forward to snatch up the destroyed phone before the two of them follow after their leader.
I stare after all four of them in a daze.
I don’t get rich people. I’ll be the first one to admit that. But even by crazy rich people standards, what just happened makes no sense.
Gray saw the video Caitlin posted and then wrecked her phone over it. But he has to know that’s not gonna stop it from getting out. That’s not how social media works. That’s not how the internet works.
So why did he do it?
12
I keep playing the incident outside the gym over and over in my head for the rest of the weekend.
Gray’s actions don’t make any fucking sense—not that I should be wasting any of my time trying to understand that man.
But I don’t get it.
He looked pissed as he watched the video Caitlin took of me in the locker room, and the way he stomped on her phone definitely supports that theory. But was it actually in defense of me, or was it about something else entirely?
If he was trying to keep the video from getting out, he really needs a lesson on how social media works. Because by Monday, it becomes abundantly clear that most of the kids on campus either follow Caitlin on Instagram or know someone who does.
The catcalls and lewd propositions have gotten worse, and although Gray and his two friends seem to have gone back to steadfastly ignoring me, everyone else at Hawthorne is more fixated on me than ever.
The video finds its way onto YouTube and a bu
nch of other sites and is circulated so widely that people start showing it to me as I walk by, holding out their phones with the image of my naked body—as if it’s something I haven’t fucking seen before.
Jesus. Rich kids must be so fucking bored. Is this what happens when you have so much money that you never have to worry about anything?
That’s the only explanation I can come up with for how much attention something as stupidly mundane as my bare-naked ass getting dressed manages to garner from these people.
But as the week progresses, I start to realize it’s more than that.
As if Caitlin inspired some kind of fucking trend, more people start trying to get photos or videos of me naked.
On the one day I wear a skirt, a guy crawls under my table at lunch pretending he dropped something before trying to get an up-skirt shot with his cell phone. I practically kick his teeth in, and when I miss, catching him only with a glancing blow, he glares at me before walking off to join a table of jocks, showing them whatever shots he did manage to get as they all laugh raucously.
It’s not just the guys either. I can’t go to the gym anymore, because girls congregate in the locker room, waiting to snap pictures as I change or darting into the shower to try to get a shot of my naked tits.
Two guys bump up against me before class one day as we’re all getting settled at our desks, one “accidentally” snagging the neckline of my shirt while the other holds up his phone with the distinctive click of a camera.
They’re not even fucking subtle, and I’m pretty sure some of the professors are aware of what’s happening here; they just don’t seem to care enough to do anything about it.
Max doesn’t get the same treatment, and honestly, I’m glad. Because it fucking sucks. My shoulders are tight from being held tense all the time as my body settles into constant “defense mode.” I don’t even really care about people seeing me naked. I’ve endured a lot worse than that in my life. But I hate the feeling of being constantly watched, constantly ambushed, and the invasion of my personal space sets off every fucking traumatic memory I have.
But I’m not gonna let these rich, spoiled assholes drive me out of this school. Ms. Neilson had to talk me into coming here, but now that I’ve made the decision, I’m not about to back down.
Call me a contrary bitch, but these people wanting me gone only makes me more determined to stay.
No matter how fucking hard it is.
