Reel Life Starring Us (22 page)

Some kid who graduated last year started this unofficial, students-only page, and it has stupid posts about dances and fund-raisers, though it got more popular since people have been writing gossipy stuff on it. People like to read about other people's misfortunes. It's like the whole chipped thing—people like to see other people suffer.

At least the news about my dad wasn't posted on it. Not yet. Kendall texts me again.

So I get out of bed, which isn't really a big deal since I wasn't even sleeping anyway, and when I sign into Facebook and look at the page, I know right away what she's done.

She posted the video of Dina, the one of her falling in the doorway of Mr. Valakis's classroom, with the train of toilet paper around her ankle.

And people have seen it. There are forty-two comments, and it's only been posted for ten minutes.

I text back:

Five minutes later, she writes back:

I don't know why I do it—I'm not even sure I believe it—but I text her right back:

I'm a terrible, awful person, and I would never admit this to anyone, but after what Ross said to me on the phone, I need Kendall to be my friend.

Video tip: when conducting an interview,
avoid yes-or-no questions.

I walk into school the next morning
and I swear people are staring at me. But they're not just staring—they're laughing, too.

Then I turn my back for one second at my locker and I'm chipped. Again. Totally caught off guard.

And then I'm walking to class and people are looking at me, and I'm not just being self-conscious.

“Sorry that happened to you,” Lee says in homeroom as I'm shaking the potato chip crumbs out of my backpack into the trash. I used to sneak into the bathroom stall to get rid of the crumbs, but now I don't even bother.

“Oh, I'm used to it.”

“You're used to people posting embarrassing videos of
you on Facebook and then the whole school watching and commenting?” She snickers. “Whoa, rough life! Rougher than I thought.”

I step back a little and look around the room to see if there are any clues. I have no idea what she's talking about.

I go back to my seat and Lee has her laptop open and turned to me so I can see it. “You've seen this, right?” she asks me.

I look over at the screen. And I see myself. Falling. The toilet paper. All over again.

And the comments.

Weirdo

HAHAHAHA

What's wrong with her?

OMG. LOSER.

FUNNIEST THING EVER

That was the funniest thing that person has ever seen? Wow. There are so many things funnier than falling in a classroom doorway—like the time this girl, Phoebe Bonden, accidentally called me when her cell phone was in her pocket and I heard five minutes of this conversation she was having with her dad about toothpaste brands, or the time when my cousin was looking at the Pizzeria Uno menu upside down for like five minutes without realizing it, or the time Ali
said, “How's guidance-counseloring?” to Mr. Rosenberg, our guidance counselor.

For some reason, even though I feel like crying, I laugh. I just completely crack up. And everyone in homeroom turns to look at me. Then they notice what I'm looking at, and they start laughing. Laughing at me? With me? Both, I guess.

“You have to laugh at yourself,” I say. “Right, guys? Right?”

Then they stop laughing and give me that pointy-eyed, you're-very-strange look.

“What's gotten into you all?” Mrs. Welsh calls from her desk. “This is way, way too loud.”

Lee shakes her head. “They'll forget about it soon. Just scroll down, you can see the other terrible things that have been posted on the page.”

The thing is, I appreciate a good joke. And it was just a video of me falling, not throwing up on someone or losing bladder control or something. But what bothers me is who posted it.

Three names: Kendall, Molly, and Chelsea.

Obviously, only one of them actually posted it, most definitely Kendall, the first one listed. But the two others totally went along with it. And that's the worst part. One person could have said, “Oh, don't do that.”

But she didn't. That's the problem.

As I'm walking to science, clutching my backpack and
trying to avoid being chipped again, I see Ross and his whole group of boys outside the gym.

Ross sees me and then shushes all the boys, and then they all look up and stare at me.

Is this video really so scandalous? I don't get it. Is it so interesting that everyone has to talk about it and then stare at me as I walk by?

I put my head down and keep walking, around the corner, past the locker rooms.

And then I hear my name.

“Dina Gross?” one of the boys asks.

“Dude,” another one says. “That video …”

“Oh, come on, that was so stupid. Kendall trying to keep her reign over everyone.” Silence. “Dina's chill.”

A voice mumbles, “Grunny …”

“Whatever. You guys are just jealous you didn't notice her first,” I hear that same someone say. It's Ross. He has the deepest voice out of all of them. “She's cute, and totally, like, normal.”

Ross is talking about me. And saying good things.

Anywhere but here “normal” would be a synonym for boring. But in Rockwood Hills, normal's actually kind of unusual. Unique, even. We're living in some alternate universe.

I keep walking.

Ross Grunner likes me.

Ross Grunner: a popular, cute boy who wears real shoes to school instead of sneakers, and whose jeans always look ironed.

That Ross Grunner. Likes me.

They were talking about the video, but they were talking about more than that, too. Ross was saying that he likes me.

I say that over and over in my head a billion times, and then I remember that I have to find Chelsea so we can work on the project. Because who knows what will happen with the Ross Grunner thing. His friends will probably convince him I'm lame and not cool … But I still can't help being excited.

And besides, none of that matters, because Chelsea and I still have to finish this project.

I have just enough time to find Chelsea before the bell rings. We'll talk about the project, and then I'll just come out and ask her why she did what she did.

I'll put her on the spot, get it out in the open.

My mind snaps back and forth between Ross and finding Chelsea, and it feels like I'm in a cartoon where the character falls and hits his head and all those spirals are circling around.

Except I haven't fallen. Not since the time when it was videoed.

I can't find Chelsea, and the bell rings. I have to go to science.

When I get to class and I'm waiting for it to start, I start to wonder: Did I just imagine that Ross Grunner thing? Is this a dream? Am I still asleep in my bed?

It's all so crazy—good crazy and bad crazy at the same time.

Sasha Preston piece of advice: if you're feeling
nervous, make eye contact. it makes things easier.

“So?”

I'm at Dina's lunch table. I said I'd come here to discuss the project, but she's looking at me like she doesn't know why I'm even here. Even though the cute kid who helps in the library sits a table away, I don't really want to be here, either, taking my precious lunchtime to work on the project. I should be back at my own lunch table, making my friends realize that I'm still cool, still the old Chelsea.

No one at this table is really talking; they're all just sitting there studying with books on their laps. They don't even take a break to eat lunch.

“So what are your ideas?” I ask Dina. “We really have to get this done, you know.”

I don't mean to sound rude, but I feel awkward standing here. And we've been going around and around in circles about this for weeks.

Dina takes her last bite of peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Katherine, Maura, Trisha, and the other girls at the table barely look at her; that's how hard they're studying. Then her chair makes an awful squeaking sound against the hideous linoleum floor, and everyone looks up, staring at me. I smile but don't say anything. I wonder if Trisha's thinking what I'm thinking, remembering the time I went into the city with her family when we were in third grade. Her dad even paid for us to go on a horse and buggy ride. It was pretty awesome.