After their dance, the basketball team rushes in, taking seats in the middle of the front row as a projection screen is lowered. The lights dim as Principal Harris announces that the cheerleaders have put together a video for the players.
It starts off with clips of each player. Some pictures, some short videos, followed by a skit the cheerleaders put on impersonating the basketball players. Even though I don’t want to admit it, it’s actually pretty creative. And while I may dislike half of the cheer squad, I still find myself laughing at their antics right alongside everyone else.
But then the feed cuts and suddenly it’s me on screen. My stomach doubles over, and even though every instinct I have is screaming for me to run, I sit frozen on the bleachers, not able to look away.
I’m standing in my room, in a white tank and black underwear, a hairbrush held up to my mouth as I belt out Taylor Swift in the mirror. I hear people snicker and laughter filters around me, but still I don’t move.
The video skips and now I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, my phone pressed to my ear.
“I know. I want to hate him. But oh my God, Savannah, if you could see this guy. Zayden is seriously the hottest person I’ve ever seen. And don’t get me started on those arms,” I practically moan into the phone. “Sleep with him? Hell yes, I would. I’m pretty certain I’m going to wear my fingers out just thinking about him.” And then, because I just couldn’t help myself, my hand slides between my legs.
The video cuts off at the worst possible moment, because even though I know I pulled my hand away following that brief touch, everyone no doubt will think I probably masturbated while talking to someone on the phone about Zayden.
Heat piles in my chest before sliding up my neck and across my face. The laughter is deafening, and yet I still haven’t moved.
I hear Pierce. I’m not sure what he says. I can’t make out his voice through the sudden ringing in my ears. I blink. Once. Twice. And when I look up again, Pierce is standing in front of me.
Seconds later, he pulls me to my feet and guides me out of the gymnasium, but not before I hear several people yell obscenities at me when we pass in front of them.
How could anyone do that to another person? To record someone in private and air it to the entire school? It’s unthinkable. It’s inconceivable. And yet, it’s exactly what Oliver did.
Tears prick my eyes as Pierce navigates me through the empty hallway, but it isn’t until we reach the parking lot and the cold wind hits me in the face that everything seems to catch up with me.
The video.
The laughter.
The taunting.
I want to be strong. I want to pretend like this isn’t that big of a deal. But the grasp on my control has slipped and there’s no hiding it. This stunt far surpasses anything Oliver’s done up to this point and anything I ever thought he was capable of. Saying I did something is one thing, because I have deniability—but airing a video to the whole school—even if it didn’t end the way I’m sure they all assume it did, can’t be undone.
ZAYDEN
“SON OF A BITCH,” I mutter, my jaw clenched so hard my teeth hurt. I get up from my spot at the top of the bleachers and stomp my way down. “Move,” I growl. “Get the fuck out of my way.”
People part like the red sea, scrambling over themselves before they get trampled by my boots. Raucous laughter fills the room. Principal Harris yells into the microphone, demanding everyone to quiet down, but it doesn’t do shit to calm them. They’re all too hyped up over what they
just saw on the projector screen to care that the principal looks like he’s going to have a coronary.
I’d like to bash every single one of their heads in. I’m going to fucking strangle Oliver and Tiffany. This shit is over. No one deserves what they just pulled.
I jump from the last bleacher to the floor and head toward the end where the door is. Oliver’s against the wall, his face a blank mask. Instead of going for the door, I stalk over to him.
He doesn’t see me coming, so he’s surprised when I shove him against the wall, my hand on his chest.
“What the fuck, Z?” He frowns, glancing from my hand to my face.
“I could ask you the same thing. You hate her so much you’d pull that shit?” I point to the blank projector screen over my shoulder.
His jaw twitches. “I didn’t do shit. That was all Tiffany.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it, Oliver. The only way she could have gotten that video is if you recorded it and gave it to her.”
“I don’t know how she got that video.” I bare my teeth at his lying face. “I mean, yeah, I took it last week, but I sure as hell didn’t give it to Tiff.” His brows drop, and after a moment he lets loose a low curse. “Fuck.” His eyes snap to mine. “Tiffany borrowed my phone a couple days ago because hers was dead. Said she needed to call her parents. She must have seen the video and sent it to herself.”
I bunch up his shirt into my fist, barely restraining myself from clocking him in the jaw for being so stupid.
“Why the fuck were you videoing her in the first place?”