“Dude, I get it—a porn. Whatever,” I say, handing the phone back, but Casey pushes it to me again.
“Just. Watch,” he says, the bend in his lips painting a sinister smirk that hits me the wrong way. I look back at the screen a second later, and then holy fucking hell!
“Wait a minute! Is that…” I say, pulling the screen closer to my face, pausing it and taking the full frame in. It’s only from her side—so far—but there’s no disputing that’s Paige on the screen. Those are her eyes. Her lips. Her hair. Her breasts. There isn’t much left to discover.
“Where did you get this?” I ask, dragging the video forward and rewinding a few times, wanting to get an idea of the full extent of what this is—what she’s done.
“Right? I knew that would get you! Pretty fuckin’ hot, right?” Casey says, leaning over to look with me. I shut the phone off and clutch it in my hands, feeling my chest constrict and my throat burn with anger.
“Where. Did. You. Get this?” I ask through gritted teeth. Casey’s brow pinches and he pauses before parting his lips to speak. He waits another breath, examining me.
“I told you, Eli got it from some dude at a party,” he says.
I shut my eyes, more pieces of Paige’s puzzle pulling together—the guys harassing her, the sounds they were making, her running away. What the hell did she do? I shove Casey’s phone in my pocket, and go back to my work, this time working a little faster, with a little more force to every movement. I can’t tell if I’m mad for Paige or at her.
“Dickhead, give me my phone,” he says, and I point my finger at him, my lips a hard line, trying to hold back saying things I’d regret.
“I’ll give it back to you later,” I say.
“What, wanna go home and watch it? I can just text it to you, ya know,” he says, and I point at him again, this time pushing my finger into his chest hard enough to make his breath falter.
“What I want is to find out exactly what the hell this is, if Paige knows about it, and if there are…I don’t know…more?” I stop working again, pulling my gloves from my hands and tossing them on the counter, flipping the lids of the various food cases closed and finally leaning back against the opposite counter as I push my fingers deep into my temples. “Fuck, man? What if Leah sees this shit? What the hell is this?”
The evil grin that was on Casey’s face a minute ago is now replaced with wide eyes and understanding. Yeah, Leah, asshole!
“Dude, how is she ever going to see this?” he says, laughing nervously and pointing to my pocket where his phone is still buried.
“I don’t know, man. I…I don’t know,” I say, running my hand through my hair once. “But…if she does…shit! Case, she barely knows her and already she thinks Paige is her best friend. She dressed like her today—put on heels and everything.”
“I’m sorry man,” Casey says quietly. I think he regrets letting me know. I regret knowing. But a surprise would have been worse. This…this was a surprise. But at least finding out this way, I feel like maybe I can do some damage control? All I know is—I need to talk to Paige before I jump to any conclusions.
“Let me just have your phone for the afternoon. I don’t want to be sending this thing around places. Not until I know exactly what it is, okay?” I say. I feel the burn of the bruise on my hand as I ask, and I’m reminded of my brawl in her honor. I feel a little foolish about it now. And I also feel really fucking sad.
Paige
It doesn’t matter how many people have seen it. Now that I know it’s out there—it’s really out there—I’m expecting everyone to know. In my head, this low-grade video of me is a blockbuster. I walk back from my morning classes quickly, still hearing those guys from last night in my head.
Nobody is around. But I imagine them there anyway. The sounds in my head carry me all the way through the front door of Houston’s house—my house. It feels so temporary, not at all like home. Not that the Delta House ever felt like home, I suppose. The only place that ever really felt like home—other than my real home—was the tiny dorm space I shared with my sister and Rowe for a month.
I never should have left.
All I want is to run upstairs and hide, to search for myself more on the Internet, just like I did all night instead of sleeping. Maybe I’ll sleep. Maybe, if I shut my eyes here, in this house, I won’t hear them taunting me.
“We need to talk,” Houston says, stepping out of his room across the hall from me. He startles me, and my bag slips from my shoulder, dropping at my feet and spilling my books on the floor. I kneel down to pick them up, but Houston beats me, collecting my biology and algebra books in his hands then reaching for my bag. His hand covers mine, and I know I’m trembling and he can feel it.