Saving Jazz (3 page)

‘Who is it?' I asked looking at a pair of ample breasts on the screen.

‘Scroll across, there's more,' Jack said.

There were seven images. Big round boobs, then shots of the boobs and the top of a flimsy black g-string. The next picture showed the bottom of her face. She'd been careful to keep her identity secret, but only one person at Namba High had a beauty spot like that above their lip.

‘Casey?' I asked surprised. I never thought in a million years she would take nude selfies — and why was she sending them to Jack?

‘Yeah,' he took the phone from me and handed it
to Tommy. ‘They're not mine, they're his.'

‘Why?' I asked Tommy. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a total prude, but you'd have to be a moron to send nude selfies and expect them to stay private. Back in Year 8 there was a massive scandal with a group of Namba girls and the whole sexting thing. It was standard stuff — a guy you liked would text, ‘Send me a picture and I'll send one back.' So girls did. They took pictures of themselves totally nude and sent it to their crush — sometimes they'd get one back, but most often not. Then he'd share it with his friends and before too long most people at school had seen them. It was huge. The girls would then get slut-shamed, while the boys were free of any judgement. For the boys it was like their rite of passage, but if a chick did it, she was a whore. The scandal broke when someone's phone was found at school and one of the deputies, Mr Deaks, accessed the images. The offender was called in, the net was cast and most of the male Year 8 cohort dragged in for questioning. After that, the school ran these stupid seminars on The Dangers of Sexting, thinking it was going to change anyone's behaviour. Maybe a few people thought about it, particularly when we
were educated on the whole ‘being in possession of and distributing child porn' stuff. But no one really bought that bullshit anyway. How can one thirteen-year-old sending a picture of herself to her boyfriend be distributing kiddie porn? Anyway, after that things became covert — particularly with the benefit of Snapchat. It was safe sexting.

‘A new game,' Tommy said, not lifting his eyes from the screen. ‘It's called Tits or Tops. Guess which option Casey took?'

‘That is so stupid.' I felt really pissed off with her. Not because her boobs were fantastic — and even girls with tits bigger than mine would feel something akin to jealousy — but to play this game, for the satisfaction of these boys? Did she have no self-respect?

‘She doesn't know I've got them,' Tommy leaned closer. ‘We were playing it on Snapchat.'

‘Then how do you have them?' I asked.

‘Got this app. A guy I was playing
GTA
with told me about it. It lets you capture the images without the sender knowing. So Casey might think she flashed her tits for five seconds — but in reality I can look at them as often as I like. And share them with my mates,' Tommy said.

I could feel my lip curl. What a total pig. ‘It's wrong,' I said.

‘If Casey wants to put on a show, why wouldn't we watch?' Jack said. I frowned at him. I hated the way Jack was around Tommy, stupid big-man talk about girls. This wasn't the Jack I'd grown up with, who'd always protected me. This was someone else, someone I really didn't like.

‘I think it's unfair if you shift the rules without saying,' I said, pulling my shoes on.

‘Shit Jazz, don't be so uptight,' Tommy said. ‘It's not like anyone will ask to see your little titties.'

‘Go fuck yourself, Tommy,' I said getting up and stalking off.

I was furious. With Tommy, of course, but also Jack. The whole way they viewed girls made it hard for us. Tommy's snide remark about my boobs was an example. They ridiculed us for the way we looked, and then wanted us to show them our body parts. In Art I watched Casey. I wondered if she knew, if she had been told about the photos. I knew it wouldn't take long for her to find out. I felt so bad for her.

It was all over Facebook that night. I sat in my
room and watched the hate on my mobile.

Ho alert. If you think this girl is a whore then click Like.

It had 235 Likes. And then there were comments. The gender divide was huge — most of the guys made mention of what a great rack she had, how they'd like a piece of that and other general ‘thanks' or ‘made my night' comments. But the girls! The vitriol, the hatred: whore, slut, ho — not one girl sympathised, or criticised the male comments. No one defended Casey — and she didn't even try to defend herself. Not one girl stood up for her, even though plenty of them had done the same. The big thing was, if you hadn't been caught then you were clean. So much judgement.

The next day at school Casey was absent, but I saw plenty of people huddled around phones. And even though it wasn't me in the images, it was hard not to feel paranoid for her. I just knew this wasn't going to go away in a hurry.

‘She deserves it,' Sim said to me in Maths. ‘She took the pictures — no one made her.'

‘But haven't you done it too?' I asked.

‘Yeah, but I took the Top option,' Sim said, ‘I'm not a whore.'

That was the atmosphere building up to the gathering.

It was like everyone was waiting for Casey's return. Would she show her face the next day? Would she continue to hide, having been slut-shamed? I guess I was as surprised as anyone when I saw her walking down the halls at school the following day. I watched her, tall and proud, defiant in each stride as she purposefully made her way to her home room. If she noticed the guys still huddling around phones and smirking at her, she seemed to ignore it. I have to admit I was even more surprised by this response. I think I expected her to shrivel and die of shame, but she didn't, and her girlfriends — no matter what they secretly thought — stood firm beside her.

It erupted in the canteen area. Casey was seated at the metal tables with two of her friends,
eating lunch. Leanne, one of the most popular girls, approached. Leanne had rolled her skirt up (the way most of us did), way up (more so than most of us), and leant across the table.

‘Nice photo,' Leanne sneered. Casey didn't even look up. She continued to eat her salad roll and talk to Katie. ‘Although perhaps next time you might want to keep your bra on.' I think Leanne was about to leave but Casey looked up and levelled her with a defiant stare.

‘Why?' she asked, and I have to admit it sounded like a genuine query.

‘Because …' Leanne faltered and looked to her friends for support. They all gave her those same looks of disgust I'd seen on the faces of most of the other girls. ‘Because you look like a whore.'

‘Do I?' Casey said. ‘And how many whores have you ever seen, aside from your own reflection?' Leanne opened her mouth to speak but Casey pressed on. ‘Your boyfriend didn't seem to think I looked like one when he commented on my photo last night. I would think he'd be more interested in
your
actions than my appearance.'

Leanne went bright red and leant across the
bench. ‘Don't you fucking mess with me,' she hissed. ‘I'll smash your teeth in.'

Casey stood up. Leanne took a step back. ‘Don't you mess with
me
,' Casey warned, really coldly. ‘We all know about your little holiday hook-up with Sean, behind Ian's back. We all saw
those
photos. So why don't you shut your hypocritical mouth and get a life.'

If it had been a scene from a Hollywood teen film all the kids would have stood and cheered Casey. She was so brave to stand up to Leanne. So brave to defend herself.

‘You're a filthy ho,' Leanne snapped, ready to walk (no doubt scared of injury to her own $7,500 orthodontic smile). But Casey wasn't ready to let it go.

‘And the next time you think it's funny to dare the Year 7 girls to flash their tits on Snapchat, just remember you don't know how many people captured those photos of you with Sean.'

‘Fuck off,' Leanne snarled, indicating to her friends to leave.

That night on Facebook Casey went even further.
She posted a selfie showing her entire face, her arm covering her nipples, her taut abdomen and the very hint of the top of her g-string, with the words:

I'll do what I like with my body

She received 328 Likes — and nearly all the comments were complimentary, if not totally sleazy. And despite some of the girls constantly trying to remind her that she was a slut, it seemed Casey had ended the attacks against her. It was weird — the girls continued to harass her on Facebook but the guys had moved on. Her images had been replaced by whatever was happening in the footy or rugby, or what was going down on
GTA
.

It's time for you to get acquainted with Annie Townshend.

If Greenheadgate had never occurred I think Annie would always have remained that girl you remember vaguely from school — at least in the minds of the Namba kids. Annie was my best girlfriend, though not from the beginning, like Sim and Lily. Annie started by hanging on our periphery. She had always been friends with Meg and Darcy, quieter girls in Greenhead who never attended the gatherings. But in the middle of Year 9 Annie changed. She started to wear her school skirt shorter — rolling it up the way we, in the popular group, did. She often had a dark bra under her white school blouse. She began seeing James Mitchell,
a Namba boy who was in Year 11, and she started hanging out with us more.

Annie had a really pretty face, but she was short, tiny — like a doll. At about 155 centimetres, she came up to my shoulder. And she had D-cup boobs. I know it's starting to sound like this blog is tits, tits, tits — and to a large extent it is. But, like me, Annie was hugely self-conscious about the size of her boobs.

‘They make me look fat,' Annie would say, ‘and they're so fucking heavy.' Assessing them I'd guess they weighed a good few kilos each.

‘You don't look fat,' I said as we were shopping online. It was one of the ways we got clothes in Greenhead. ‘You look like you've got big boobs and a tiny waist.'

‘What about these?' Annie clicked on low-slung shorts and a bright-coloured crop top. ‘Maybe that's the way to go, draw all the attention to my stomach.' She lifted her top up — she had a flat and toned tummy.

‘I think that'd look good,' I said. I was also purchasing similar shorts — they were in at the time and despite the anger I felt about the way boys treated us, I still subscribed to the same game: look as hot as possible.

Annie wore that outfit the night of Greenheadgate, and she did look hot.

It was Drama class that brought us together. On stage Annie transformed into a totally different person from the shy, quiet girl who hung out with the seriously smart kids. She could become any character, affect any accent, assume any identity. I was in awe of her acting abilities. And funny, my God, she used to have me in fits of laughter. The Drama teacher, Mr White, would give us improvisations to do and Annie was the only one who could take a character and a prop to hilarious levels. I found myself always wanting to team up with her — you could guarantee that with Annie you'd deliver the finest improv in class. It flowed over, into recess and lunch, and soon I just expected to walk up to our group and find Annie already there, regaling our friends with some story, or imitating one of the teachers. The girl was skilled.

I'll never forget the day we had a relief teacher for Science. He entered the room, a shortish dark-haired man with a pencil moustache. But his stand-out
feature was his wonky eye. I think it might have been glass or something, but it sat like a gigantic marble in his head, rolling around every which way. Anyway, Annie and I were at the back of class. She was telling me about some fight she'd had with James when the relief teacher, Mr Kelan, said, ‘You, girl at the back, stop talking.'

Annie and I looked up, but he wasn't looking at her, so she continued telling me about the saga with James. ‘So,' she whispered, ‘he totally freaked out when he knew I'd hooked up with Tony before that night at Casey's when I got with him …' She paused, hearing Mr Kelan raise his voice.

‘You, girl at the back, stop talking.'

We both looked up, but again, he wasn't looking at Annie.

‘So,' Annie whispered, ‘I say, you know what, James, we weren't together and what I did before I met you is really none of your business …'

She was interrupted by Mr Kelan, who had now walked halfway down the room and was pointing an irate finger at us. Spittle flew from his lips as he shouted, ‘YOU, GIRL AT THE BACK OF THE ROOM. STOP TALKING.'

We both looked at him. Annie pointed to her chest. ‘Who? Me? Do you mean me?'

‘Who the hell do you think I'm looking at?' Mr Kelan snarled.

Innocently, so, so innocently, Annie shrugged and said, ‘Frankly I've got no idea who you're looking at.'

‘GET OUT,' he roared.

When I think back on my friendship with Annie all I remember is laughter and fun. In fact, I have scoured my brain to remember one incident where she got pissy with me over something, took offence, acted like a bitch. But I can honestly say that up until that night of Greenheadgate we never had a cross moment between us. And it saddens me to think that if that night had never happened, she would have been my best friend forever.

I remember this one night her mum had taken us late-night shopping in Namba. Annie and I were walking around the shops, looking at the latest fashion, buying Boost juice, and generally just hanging, when her phone pinged.

‘Who is it?' I asked.

‘Mum,' she said, her fingers flying over the keypad, not looking up. ‘She reckons we've got ten minutes.'

‘Okay,' I hung up the pink top I was going to try on.