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“Ugh, yeah, it is,” I admit. “So, BUST stands for Bellman Undergrad Smut Tables. It’s a project some guys in the computer science group put together a few years ago. It’s totally underground, supposed to just be a little bit of fun. It’s mostly just—”
“Like Facebook? LikesmutFacebook with undergrad pictures?” she finishes for me.
I wince and nod.
“Yeah, kind of.”
She watches the screen intently as I go through a few pages of pictures. There are no real bells and whistles on here, not really like Facebook at all. It’s really just pictures with threaded comments underneath. A star system for likes.
At one time, there were categories which I won’t repeat, because they make everybody look pretty bad, but now it’s just a free-for-all.
Her hands drift out from her sides. “Can I see?” she asks softly.
I hand it to her, knowing what she’s going to find. The screen lights her face up blue as she taps on the keyboard, scowling, her nostrils flaring more with each breath. Soon she begins muttering and clenching her jaw.
“This is… This is disgusting. You people put this together?”
“Not me!” I object, and guilt slashes through me.
I didn’t put it together; that is true. But I have used it. I knew it was there. I should have done something.
“But you… And this is… That’s my best friend!” she barks, stabbing the screen with her fingernail.
“I know, I’m sorry. I just thought you should know—”
“Are there any… Are there pictures of me?” she asks softly.
Spencer and I glance at each other. She didn’t even look at that? She didn’t even search herself yet?
Without waiting for an answer, I hear her typing the keys, then the final slap on the Enter key. A yelp of horror escapes her lips.
“That’s… I’m eating! I’m walking. This is in figure drawing!”
Spencer and I say nothing. She scans the page.
“This is… Hey, that’s my room! And what is this?”
I hear a keyboard click, indicating that she has expanded a picture from the thumbnail view to the large image. Her breath catches in her throat.
“We think that it may be someone you know,” Spencer starts in a gentle voice.
“I’m in the shower!” she replies, her voice trembling with rage.
“Dorm showers have notoriously bad security,” he continues reasonably. “Nobody’s really safe. I mean, there’s no reason to think that you are being targeted specifically.”
“I’m being targeted specifically?” she echoes, horrified.
Really smooth, Spencer,I tell him silently.Way to keep everything low-key.
“No, Lindy, that’s not what he means,” I reassure her, sliding in next to her on the bed and putting my arm around her.
Her shoulders tremble under my bicep, triggering something deep inside me that wants to simply fold her up like an envelope and carry her around for safekeeping.
“But he just said—”
“What he means is, we want to help you. That’s all. We just want to help figure out what’s going on. It’s going to be okay.”
Gradually she stiffens, getting herself under control. She shifts against me so that she can continue to look at the page of thumbnails, but doesn’t try to extract herself from my arms. That’s good, because at this point, I don’t want to let her go.
