Lainey’s List Chapter 4

Lainey

The episode with Sarah lingers all day. I’d tried to stand up for her and instead of being appreciative, she’d been angry; as if I’d somehow called attention to her embarrassing moment. I hadn’t intended to do that…had I?

Had I wanted a moment in the sun? Did I think if I stood up for Sarah that suddenly she would be my best friend and I’d be part of the popular crowd?

Maybe, for a split second, my motivation was purely selfish but mostly I spoke up because I wouldn’t have wanted that to be me. I wouldn’t have wanted to be the one to be made fun of by my friends and by people I wanted to like me.

But it’s a good lesson, I guess. Tito always told me the mice in the corner would be ignored as long as they didn’t get too squeaky. I remember thinking that maybe I wanted to get noticed, like Tito was, but today I’d squeaked too loud and the attention that came my way wasn’t pleasant at all.

I manage to make it through the rest of the day without any further run-ins with Sarah or anyone else for that matter.

Tomorrow I’d go back to being the slight girl with the baggy clothes and the oversized head of hair. Sarah’s toilet paper incident would be forgotten and the school would move on as if nothing happened.

When I see Thea after eighth period, the embarrassment at Sarah’s jab has faded and as I predicted, new gossip has already emerged.

“A junior was suspended today for trading nudes on Instagram,” Thea announces as we grab our backpacks and head for the bus line.

“No shit? Do we know him?” Booker T is a school of over a thousand students, about three hundred per grade. The likelihood of me knowing a junior is almost zero. I still ask.

Thea shakes her head. “I’ve never heard of him but he’s on the basketball team. I heard about it in PE class. There’re a couple of players in class and that’s all they could talk about. I think they must have nudes too because they were whispering furiously about how he better not narc them out.”

“Was he trading nudes with his girlfriend or was it a bunch of girls?” I hold the door open for Thea so she can continue to tell me her story.

“No, it sounds like he had dozens of different girls on his phone and he’d trade them for favors from other guys. Gas in his tank, food, booze.”

“Um, that’s disgusting.”

“No question.” She taps my hand that’s curled around my new/old cell phone. “I’m thinking I should get one of these. That way I won’t take any pictures.”

“Why would you want to?” The idea of sending a nude to anyone doesn’t appeal to me. Not even to Nick, whom I adore.

Thea doesn’t answer right away and when she does, her response surprises me.

With a slight, rueful smile, she says, “I just wonder why no one asked me for a pic. I mean, I wouldn’t have given one, but am I so ugly that I’m not even worth an ask.”

“Be glad they didn’t ask you,” I tell her. Before I can say more, though, the buses roar up.

“I know, but all the same, it would have been nice to have been asked.” Thea frowns. “I’m not saying I would have given one but I don’t think nude pics are a bad thing per se. Aren’t we supposed to love our bodies and celebrate our forms?”

“I guess?” There’s a big push toward body positivity in school but that’s intended to cut down on bullying, not encourage students to participate in a nudity fest.

“If I get a boyfriend, I’m going to send him nudes. One of those actresses in the Apple hack, whose naughty pictures were released, said your man is going to look at porn, so it might as well be porn you create.”

“Are you sure she said that?” I ask skeptically. “That sounds like something a guy would tell a girl to get her to send him something.”

“I read it online so it must be true,” Thea says in jest. At least, I hope it’s in jest.

“I can’t imagine sending a nude picture to anyone. I hate pictures of myself clothed, let alone without any covering.”

“Not going to send Nick a picture?”

“No,” I nearly shout out. Thea rears back in surprise. I try for a more moderate tone. “No. I like the anonymity. That I don’t know what he looks like and he doesn’t know what I look like. We’re more equal that way.”

Thea nods knowingly. “You’re afraid he looks like a dog and once you find out only his mother thinks he’s beautiful, you won’t want to be pen pals anymore.”

“That’s not true at all,” I protest. The reverse is more accurate. I’m afraid that he’ll be turned off by me.

Thea continues as if I haven’t spoken. “He’s going to want your picture. All guys want pictures.” She bites her lip and I can tell by the look on her face she’s still unhappy no one asked her for a nude. “Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I want to say something brilliant and moving that will reassure Thea being excluded from a nude picture-trading ring is actually a good thing, but I don’t come up with anything in time and so I just wave as she disappears inside her ride home.

All the way home, I contemplate whether I’d send Nick a picture. I don’t want to. What I’d said to Thea was absolutely the truth. I like our anonymity—online we can be our true selves and we respond to each other based upon what we know, rather than what we look like.

I know Nick’s patient. Whenever a new person came to interact with us on our space pod in the game, he never criticized them for mistakes.

He’s forgiving. When I made errors, and I made them a lot early on, he’d merely encourage me to try again.

He’s thoughtful. One of the members of our pod announced that his dog had died. Nick comforted him all week and then the guy thanked Nick for sending him a plaque with the dog’s name on it and a place to insert a picture.

It doesn’t matter what Nick looks like. He could look terrible and he’d still be beautiful to me.

As soon as I’m home, I plug in the phone. The stupid thing takes forever to charge so I leave it and start making dinner.

I opt for a simple dish of spaghetti, meatballs, and canned sauce. By the time the sauce and meat are simmering together, the phone is charged a quarter of the way and that’s good enough for me.

I plant myself on the edge of the bed and power up the phone. The first message downloads almost immediately.

Hey Gamer Girl. Got a name? CalledinSick is too long/hard for me to type.

I type in my name and press send.

It’s Lane.

Lane?

No. Lane, I type again. I stare at the letters in frustration. The phone doesn’t want me typing in Lainey. When I press a space bar, it keeps entering the suggested word Lane. I try three more times before giving up. I guess I’ll be Lane.

Okay. Lane! That’s cool. There’s a guy in my school named Rock. Apparently, that was the name of some famous actor in the fifties. But I looked it up and the actor’s real name was Roy.

Rock is better than Roy.

No question.

How’s your friend? The one who was sick?  

Better we hope. We both shaved our heads when her hair began to fall out. Hope I don’t go bald. No hair is not a good look on me. The guys on my football team tell me I’m too damn pale to pull off the naked dome. I’m going to have to do the comb over when I start losing my hair.  

He’s on the football team? My heart sinks a little.

Wanna see?

My heart lowers into my shoes as Thea’s declaration that all guys want pictures is already proving to be true.

I type into my little phone, one letter at a time, the first rule of this texting relationship.

Rule 1: No pics.

Rule 1? ROFL. Why no pics?

I hate having my picture taken.  

Is this where it ends? Before we even begin? My hands are sweaty around the slim plastic case.

Okay. No pics. Any other rules? You did say Rule 1.

Relief makes me giddy. Of course, Nick isn’t going to pressure me into doing something that makes me uncomfortable.

No other rules that I can think of today.

Good. Not much for rules. Did you have a good day?

It was fine, for the most part. Other than my run-in with Sarah, the rest of the day was normal. You?

It was good. Charlotte, my friend who has been sick, is feeling better and she looks better. I’m worried that she isn’t eating enough and she looks weak as a kitten but she’s alive and I’m effing grateful for that. What was the bad part of your day?

 A little happy sound squeaks out of me.

Popular girl got made fun of. It wasn’t pretty but she didn’t like when I stood up for her.

She was embarrassed and didn’t like that you knew that. Diminished her popularity, he types back.

Do you think that who we are is set when we are born? That we remain the same no matter what?

Funny you should ask. A couple of months ago, I would’ve have said no but now I’m wondering if people stay the same and only the way we view things change. My neighbor, the sick one, she and I were raised like siblings. We live next door to each other. Our parents are best friends. I view her like a sister. I have an older brother, Nate. He’s always been kind of rude to her, but protective too.

Nick’s texts come in broken and truncated as if the phone can only handle a few sentences with each send but even if it dribbled out one at a time, I couldn’t be more captivated.

Yes? I type to let him know I’m still here, still listening.

She gets sick and all I can think about is whether she’s going to live. But Charlotte and my brother are trying to figure out the best way to bang. And I find out that they have feelings for each other that aren’t brother/sister. And it’s weird. I look at them and they aren’t the same people to me anymore. Charlotte tells me she’s always crushed on Nate. I don’t talk to Nate about that stuff, but it’s obvious he’s gone on Charlotte. So here I am, between the two of them, thinking what happens if it all goes to shit. But I’m the only one who has changed in this scenario. Not them…apparently.

 I read the last tacked on word and struggle on how to reply.

I wait too long because he sends another message, self-deprecating and humorous.

More than you wanted to know, right? But there’s no retrieve button. Feel free to block.

Never. You’re the only one I want to text.

And I press send before I can delete it. I slowly type in another response, trying to be as thoughtful as he was.

I think you’re all changing. Charlotte’s illness changed you, changed your brother, and changed her. Maybe they had a crush that would have died if they would’ve graduated and life would have been allowed to proceed normally. My uncle stopped dating his girlfriend when he went to college.

My fingers are exhausted after that.

Then I guess that answers your question. Is this about the popular girl?

  Yes. Others seem to want to use this to step over her. On her even. It surprised me. Even if it shouldn’t.

In my high school, we have cliques. All schools do. But inside those cliques are these weird juvenile struggles for power. It’s all very Shakespearean. For every Caesar there is a Brutus or two or three who wants to take Caesar down. From the Brutus’s perspective, Caesar’s sucking all the air out of the room and they think once she’s gone, everyone will notice Brutus.

I want to be one of the forgotten village people. Is that possible?

Maybe? But you seem pretty memorable to me. Gotta run. Chat later.

I sleep on a cloud of sweetness that night.

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