I wake up to dozens of dings, pings, and whatever other sounds my phone decided to make.
All of the sudden, people are extra talkative. So what, a titty pic got let out? Isn't it kind of normalized nowadays?
It's not even mine.
After last night's revelations, Cas and Sophie tried to reply to clarenton secrets's post, basically saying that I don't have a piercing, so it's not me. Sadly, nobody would listen. A few people stuck up for me, but most either didn't believe it, or didn't want to.
I'm contemplating shutting down all my social media and taking a break--the shit's toxic.
Who the hell runs clarenton secrets, you ask?
Well, here's the answer: we're all asking, too.
It could be one vindictive bitch or a group of bitches. Either way, they're some bitches for posting child pornography, among other things.
I remember when Katy Schmitt's therapist's notes got leaked. How they managed that, I have no clue. That scandal led to one discovery: Katy has daddy issues.
Where will this scandal lead? Currently, people aren't listening. I'm not spending my days trying to convince everyone of my innocence. Fuck that.
"Let's go get coffee," I send into Sophie, Casandra, LeAnn, and my groupchat.
"You sure?" LeAnn asks.
"Of course. We all like coffee. Let's get some."
"I just don't want you to get catcalled or for anyone to say anything out there," LeAnn continues.
She's so sweet. LeAnn is the sweetheart of our little group. She's always uplifting people, whether they're her friends or not. I love that about her. I know that even if I had fucked all those alleged guys (whose names I never got, by the way), she'd just be there to listen, not to judge.
"I say even if it wasn't true, enjoy the attention... maybe get some dick?"
Casandra, on the other hand, says whatever pops into her head at any given moment. She seems rough on the outside, especially because of her resting bitch face, but she's a softie at heart. Even though she says some crazy shit, I know I can always count on her.
"It WAS NOT true, and I will not enjoy any unsolicited attention, thank you very much. Also, I have a boyfriend."
"Blah, blah, blah... all I hear is boring, annoying, used up..."
"He is not used up! I thought you liked Aaron," I send with laughing emojis.
"Aaron is a jock stereotype. We all know you could do better," Sophie inserts.
I can tell it's her before I even check the contact name. She tells it how it is. Being on the school newspaper and obsessed with works in print, she's exceptionally outspoken and bold.
“Yeah, but you always have to be more attractive than your significant other… it keeps them humble. And he’s not like every other jock,” I send with an angel emoji.
“I say: if you want to go out, let’s go out. Fuck people’s opinions,” Sophie picks up.
“Not like the other jocks, yeah, you say that all the time,” Cas texts. I can smell the sarcasm in her tone.
I turn off the phone before they can commence any more bashing of my boyfriend and put on some sweats. I’m not letting anyone get the chance to make jokes about what I wear. Sweats are safe.
Getting in my car, I head for Casandra’s first.
She walks out the house with a black hair wrap tied around her head. Most girls are afraid to leave the house with a bonnet on, but Cas doesn’t give a fuck.
She’s frowning down at her handbag, seemingly searching for something. If someone who didn’t know her were here instead, they’d be wondering what the hell made her so angry. This is her default setting.
Finally, she locks her front door and gets in beside me.
“You look like you’ve just rolled out of bed.”
“Duh, it’s fucking 10 am. And likewise,” she finishes.
“I look like this because I’m laying low. What’s your excuse?” I counter.
She just rolls her eyes. Haha, I get the last word.
Despite her just-got-out-of-bed look, Casandra still has her normal glow. Without makeup, her cream skin shines, and I know it’s because of her skin care regimen… she just won’t tell me exactly what she does.
“It’s a secret. I can’t have competition while pulling these dudes,” she’d say, then I would flip her the bird.
She definitely has no problem pulling guys. She would walk into a party, make eye contact with someone, and instantly they’d be hers. At the end of the day, she holds the cards, no matter how much a guy thinks he’s in charge.
Soon, we arrive at Sophie’s condo. She looks the opposite of us bums. Clad in expensive makeup and a Chanel purse, she approaches the car with a walk that screams “rich.”
I’m sure she told us once that when her mom, Carol Carrolton, interviewed Naomi Campbell, she taught Soph how to walk.
Her long box braids sway in the wind, completing her elegant sashay.
“Girl. It’s so early. How did you get all dolled up so fast?” Cas asks.
“A good journalist is always ready… what if there’s a story? I need to look presentable for a possible interview.”
I narrow my eyes, “It’s summertime.”
She stutters, “Ri-Right. I mean for the summer recap issue.”
“There’s a--?” Cas starts.
“Yep. I’m pioneering it,” she smiles.
She’s always trying to go above and beyond, especially with her writing and reporting. Sophie basically carries the whole paper, trying to be the best. I know that most of her drive comes from the desire to please her mom, who has very little time for her. Being even half as good as the Carol Carrolton would make Soph complete.
Casandra plays some game on her phone as we turn toward LeAnn’s neighborhood. Then, abruptly she shoots her gaze to me.
She groans, “Is Aaron coming?”
“No. He’s busy with something,” I reply.
“Good. I’m not giving up my seat.”
I roll my eyes and hook my phone up to the Bluetooth.
Once I pull up to her house, LeAnn is waiting on her step. She’s always so punctual—sometimes it’s annoying how much. She probably started getting dressed as I sent the first text message.
She enters in the back, next to Sophie, who’s probably listening to a podcast in her earphones.
“So, where to?” I ask, tapping the steering wheel.
“Dude, you asked us out,” Cas laughs.
“Well, I did say coffee at first. Any other ideas?” I look into the rearview mirror.
“Maybe the mall?” LeAnn suggests.
Anything to fill this day would suffice. I just need to be in a different head space than what I’ve been in.
I nod. Coffee and the mall it is.
We make our orders at Saxby’s coffee and find a table in the back.
Sophie takes a short look up from her phone, “How exactly are you going to combat this rumor?”
I don’t even know.
“We tried correcting clarenton secrets, offering the concrete evidence in the comments and no one listened. People are still saying shitty things and making jokes,” I shrug.
“Could I get an interview with you?”
Is she serious?
“An interview, Sophie? Hell no. I’m not publicizing this any more than it has been.”
“Soph, what? An interview?” Cas says, clearly appalled.
“Insensitive, Soph,” LeAnn adds.
At this point, we’re all looking at her with an eyebrow raised. LeAnn was right. How could she want to use my misfortune to boost views and followers on her I*******m account?
I remember when she got poor Katy to talk with her, and the comments brutalized her. I’m definitely not doing that. It’s best to approach something like this quietly. If I don’t allow myself to fall prey to vicious trolls, then I won’t.
Sometimes, I swear she cares about her writing more than other people's well-being. It's just not the time or place.
As we’re looking at her, hoping for some explanation for her weird request, a waitress comes over with our drinks.
I glare at the writing on mine: “Slut of Clarenton.”
“What the hell?” I blurt.
Then I look up to see the waitress is none other than Sarah Hilman. I forgot that bitch worked here.
I roll my eyes and take a sip. It’s still the best coffee in our town. I hope she didn’t put anything in it.
I look at her suspiciously.
“Don’t worry, it’s not poisoned. Only the best for Clarenton’s most popular rest stop,” she smiles and sashays back to the brewers.
LeAnn reaches over to touch my shoulder, “Don’t even think about her. She’s been after you since, what? 8th grade?”
I nod. She’s right again. Sarah’s been a bitch to me for almost 5 years. She goes out of her way to say something snide to or about me. She can’t get over something that happened forever ago.
Cas just slurps down her iced latte. Once she realizes I’m staring at her, she says, “What? It’s yours that might be poisoned.”
She giggles with the straw in her mouth.
I’m not one to restrict my friends from obtaining other friends, but Sarah is where I draw the line… a faint line. Casandra still talks to her from time to time. She knows how hostile we get when we near each other. She’s the vinegar, and I’m the baking soda… but take that to the 100th power.
But Cas insists on being friendly with her because we were all friends once. Because of her nature, she takes a while to warm up to people. We grew up together, so she trusts us… including Sarah.
Suddenly, I hear some snickers from the corner of the coffee shop.
The dumb jocks are guffawing and pointing to our table. I see some lacrosse guys, basketball guys, and one particular football guy.
The guy, who looks like my boyfriend from a distance, but like a fool up close, is Aaron.He told me he was “busy.”His head is practically touching the table to avoid my line of vision. Sadly, that doesn’t help, as his friends move out of the way when I call his name.I’m not playing the clingy, jealous, loud girlfriend today. First of all, I’m laying low. Second of all, Sarah could just use my weakness to her advantage.My friends are looking to me. Cas especially is waiting for a crazy reaction, but I won’t give one.
We find LeAnn and Sophie at a pretzel shop, and I relax. Food is something we can all agree on… mostly. It only gets weird when LeAnn tries to say that mustard is good on fish. No, just no. “Yes, food,” Cas sighs. “Oh, we’re just getting drinks,” Sophie points at their cups. I can see the disappointment on Cas’s face. “Well, I want food,” she points to herself, “and Gen wants food, so you guys can go on and just text us where you’ll be.” Casandra can switch from my role model to my child in seconds. Food waits on no one. We agree to share a pizza, sa
“Last night was amazing,” Aaron texts. Ehh, it sufficed. I reply with a red heart… I don’t know if I have the right words right now. I have my first day of orientation for my volunteer work at Marie’s Soups in Manhattan. It’s a nonprofit organization that feeds New York’s homeless population. They have locations all over the state. It looks good on college applications, but in general, I like helping people get the bare minimum that they require. Everyone should be able to live comfortably. It’s always baffled me how we have enough resources in the world to feed everyone, yet millions of people are left starving. I blame bil
“Jason, go away,” Claire yells ahead of us. “No, you go away,” he barks back. “My brother,” she whispers back at me. “Oh,” I nod. He stops in his tracks, turning around once he heard a second set of footsteps. “No,” Claire asserts. “No, no, no.” My expression morphs into bewilderment because of her outburst. She shares a knowing expression with Jason. Stabbing her index finger at him, she continues, “No. Go to your room. Please.” “Wait,” he smirks, “I want to know the name of this lovely lady you’ve brought home.” I grimace at his boldness. Some things don’t need to be said. Claire rolls her eyes in annoyance. “Gen, Jason,” she points between us, “Jason, Gen.” Sighing, she says, “Okay, you’ve met. Now, go away.” He smiles coyly, then throws his hands up in defeat. I can tell he’s annoying, but that’s how big brothers are. What’s the real reason she doesn’t want me to meet him? We
“Genny,” she hums in a singsong tone. “Hmm?” I ask impatiently. She should remember from all the other times: I hate taking care of drunk people. Of course, I’d do it every time for a friend. I don’t want her to get hurt because then it’ll be on me. When she’s in this state, I’m responsible for her. I only hate it because it hurts to see her like this. She doesn’t look like she’s having fun. Sophie can’t have fun when it comes to alcohol. She binges, and she gets sad. I take each crucial step towards Sophie's white marble-lined pool in silence. She's propped up on the back of some guy, clearly out of her god damn mind. Once I reach the edge of the marble, I slump down and put my feet in. "Sophie." "Hmm?" she hums, looking up at me with glossy eyes. The guy under her rolls his eyes and places her down. "Who wants to play chicken?" he asks, averting his attention to the other bikini-clad girls in the pool. After momentari
Friday My palms are sweaty, and there’s only one reason. He’s the only reason. Less than a foot away, I can smell his cologne. I knew it when I entered the party. This is far too elegant to be just a “party,” which I knew full well. But, to calm my nerves, I referred to it as “just a frat party.” It’s not like I haven’t been to one before. The first I went to was with Sophie, actually. Maybe I should have realized then that she had a problem. We were 16. It looked very different than this, though. It smelled like old socks and body odor. Sweaty guys ran around the house, and a thick mist surrounded us. Everyone here is classy, put together, and intimidating.
That asshole left me feeling awkward because of the situation that he created. And who was that guy calling him. He looked pretty rough for a posh gathering on the Upper East Side. His spiked hair was cut short, and it glistened stiffly under the mood lights. The black sleeves of his clean cut button-up were pulled to his forearms, revealing an array of colorful tattoos. This man looks gang-affiliated, not to put it lightly. What the hell is he in a fraternity for? Whatever, he’s not my concern. I prod over to where Nick and Cas were sucking face, and lightly tap her shoulder. “Can we go?” I pout like a 5 year old.
“Wow,” Aaron looks at me with hungry eyes. Usually I would enjoy his attention, but right now I feel awkward, like I’m under a microscope. He rubs his chin, ruffling the ginger stubble. Dad lightly taps the table. That’s his tell—when he’s slowly growing impatient or aggravated. I can sense the wheels of thought turning in his brain. “Where exactly were you?” “I forgot to tell you. I went to a party with Casandra.” Aaron shifts uncomfortably. “Oh, okay. Just remember to tell us,” he finishes. Phew.