The girls’ giggling is unnerving in the worst way, and I have a sinking feeling in my stomach, like they know something I don’t.
My toasted coconut latte does little to cheer me up as the two girls linger by the register while I grab my drink.
“You should get the cucumber sandwich. I hear they’re the shit,” one of the girls says to me.
Then the two of them take off in a peal of shared laughter, and I’m left standing there like the butt of a joke. Do they know about my eating issues and how Mother withheld my food? Have I gained noticeable weight, and now I’m the laughing stock of Crestview?
A text pings on my phone and it’s from my partner Bronson. He always manages to cheer me up so I open it with a knowing smile.
“If you want to press charges and need someone to go with you, I’m down.”
Press charges? What the hell is going on?
“What are you talking about?”
“Oh shit, you didn’t see yet? Meet me at the security desk by the commons. Wait, off-campus is better. Where you at?”
“I’m at Brew Masters on State Street.”
“I’ll be there in five minutes. Get a table.”
The longest five minutes of my life transpire while waiting for Bronson. I check my texts, my email, even my Instagram and see nothing except the strange fluke that I’ve gained six thousand followers since the last time I looked. I can’t imagine what it could be until I click on my favorite news link and see the heart-stopping headline: Sex tape leak involving prima ballerina Koslova.
My first thought is Mother, but my eyes scan a few lines, and when I see the word “cucumber,” I drop my phone. It crashes to the floor and everyone looks my way as the door opens and Bronson runs in.
“Oh shit, you saw.” He swallows me in a huge hug.
Tears sting my eyes, but my overall state is numbness. My head is fuzzy and my limbs feel like they’re going numb. There’s no way I can dance today; I’d be lucky to find my way home.
“How could he? Oh, my God. This was all about getting back at me. He faked this whole fucking thing for revenge,” I say to myself in complete disbelief.
“He’s a fucking snake. I don’t care how dirty someone did you, you don’t stoop that low. You should press charges, Taye. For real. It’s against the law and it could ruin your career. He needs to pay for what he’s done.”
I don’t know what to say. I’m as angry as I am humiliated. I stare at the table, what remains of my drink, but I can feel every single pair of eyes in the coffee shop breathing down my neck. The whole world knows. They’ve all seen me at my most vulnerable. Life can’t get worse than this. My mind flashes to ending my own life as the only way to get out of it.
Bronson picks up my phone and places it back on the table. “What do you want to do? Precinct? Admissions? We could go straight to the top.”
If what Dashiell Cunningham wanted this entire time was to destroy me, he’s done it. He’s succeeded. My life as I once knew it is entirely over. I’ll never be able to live this down. I’m ruined, and I’ll never be able to show my face publicly again.
“Taye. Taye, talk to me. What’s the game plan? You want to go the press conference route? Don’t look so forlorn. These days, there’s no such thing as bad publicity. Next thing you know, you’ll have your own reality television show, make-up, and shapewear line,” he says cavalierly.
“I think I need a hug,” I squeak.
“Oh, Taye, girl. Shit, why didn’t you say so?” Bronson says before wrapping me in the biggest bear hug.
Part of me is surprised he wants to touch me, be seen with me. I’m a scourge on society. A pariah. A sicko. Where people saw a graceful dancer, when they look at me now, all they’ll see is a deviant.
“I want to go find Cunningham.” Standing abruptly, I push my chair back and it screeches across the floor. My legs don’t buckle and I don’t collapse. I may look frail, but deep down inside, I know I’m as strong as hell. I took years of torture from my own mother. I can handle a news scandal.
“Lead the way, baby girl. Let’s go knock some sense into him,” Bronson says, marching behind me like the true friend he is, maybe one of my only.
After what seems like an hour of ransacking and interrupting every classroom at Crestview Academy, we find Cunningham in the back courtyard at a table, laptop open, iced espresso next to him, red-headed groupie fawning as Dashiell goes over part of the choreography sequence with her.