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Jilly shoved her cell in my face. Okay, there was her Pictogram account with my sassy face caught mid-laugh.
But then I gasped.
Because the photo had 1,213,462 likes. Jill had posted the hashtags: #howIFeelAboutBrogrammers, #FuckBrogrammers, #WomenWhoCode and #GirlPower.
Holy shit.
My jaw dropped open.
1.2 million likes?
Only Kim Kardashian got stats like that.
How was it possible?
Sneering, Roger sat behind us and dropped a poster on my desk. And another gasp escaped my lips.
Because it was the same photo on Jill's Pictogram account, except the image had been commercialized. There I was, doing my half-laugh, half-taunt, but plastered beneath my image was the trademark logo for Marc Janow, a young, hip fashion designer.
#GIRLPOWER, the ad read. #LADIESROCK.
Holy shit.
They’d taken my photo and made me into their emissary.
For an expensive, downtown-cool clothing line too.
What in the world?
But it was too much. What I’d thought was private, was now out in the world for everyone to see.
My saucy expression. My creamy cleavage, visible in the lacy black bra. And worst of all, that middle finger, making like I was a bad girl.
Oh god. It felt like the entire lecture hall was staring at us. Grabbing my backpack, I stood up with shaky legs.
“Mia, you look so pretty. You really do!” Jill exclaimed, grabbing my arm. “Don’t go!”
She tried to make a bad situation better. Jilly would say anything to boost my spirits.
Roger piped up then, that asshole.
“Pretty? Not just pretty. Fuckin’ hot.” He made a hissing sizzling sound with his teeth like some disgusting frat boy.
Oh my god, I was going to be sick.
Because Roger was oozing sarcasm, for sure. Even if other students nodded and agreed, it was all fake. I’m not pretty. I’m chubby and round, the type that no one ever notices.
So face burning with humiliation, I rushed out of the lecture hall feeling dozens of my classmates’ eyes boring right through me. Bed sounded good. That, with the comforter pulled over my head, just like when I was a little girl.
Because how could this have happened?
But my nightmare only got worse because on Bancroft Avenue, at the 51 bus stop, I saw it.
Oh god.
It was a huge billboard of me in just my bra.
Holy cow! Might as well erect a billboard of me in Times Square next.
