“Everybody else is doing it,” Jenny said. “Don’t be such a baby.”
So I posed, too.
But the following Monday, my picture was the only one circulating at school. Faceless breasts with the caption:Whose boobs are these?
For a while it was a game, played phone to phone. Every time I passed a knot of boys hunched over a screen, I cringed inside. At least nobody knew that headless torso was me.
And then the whispers started.
“Little titties.”
“Dude. You think it’s a dude?”
“I heard...”
“Easy A.” Snickers.
Ais for Amy.
Boys—who had mostly ignored me—now made comments in the hall. They blocked my locker. Bumped into me in the classroom. Jenny Snow wouldn’t speak to me at lunch. Kitty Bryant couldn’t meet my eyes.
I burned with shame and betrayal. It was Jenny’s idea. Mary’sphone. Kitty was myfriend, my best friend since second grade. Why would they do this to me?
The next Friday was homecoming. The plan had been for me to attend the game with Jenny, after which we were going to her house to change before the dance.
Mom dropped me off at school in the battered pickup she used to haul goats and feed. “You all right?” she asked with a searching look.
I nodded, a lump in my throat. I didn’t know how to tell my mother that the plan had changed. Or why. That because of one stupid picture, I didn’t have any friends anymore.
After the game, Jenny and Mary bundled into Mrs. Snow’s car without a glance in my direction. Kitty Bryant blushed guiltily as she let herself be pulled away.
I stood alone in the shadow of the bleachers, trying to ignore Jenny’s brother Davis and his friends nudging one another in the stands.
“Hey, Little Bits. Nice tits.”
I flinched, and the boys all laughed.
I missed my sisters. Especially Meg. Nobody made fun of me when Meg was around. Beth had chosen to stay home that night. Which made her either an even bigger loser or smarter than me.
Half the town had turned out for homecoming, parents stopping to chat on the track, their arms full of discarded coats and water bottles, former students here to see the game or catch up with friends. A group of older boys—college boys—sauntered by, heading for the parking lot. I shrank against the wall. What if they pointed me out? What if they laughed at me? Amy March, the stupid freshman with the tiny tits.
“Hi, kid.”
“Trey!” I almost fell into his arms. “What are you doing here?”
Trey and Jo were sophomores at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Jo had a scholarship. Trey had a car.
“Drove down for homecoming,” he said.
I scanned the crowd behind him. “Is Jo with you?”
Even Jo would be a comfort. Nobody dared mess with Jo.
Trey’s face shadowed. “She had to study.”
I nodded. Jo was always studying.
He smiled, shaking off whatever mood had temporarily seized him. “What about you? Going to the big dance?”
