“Hey, it’s Maggie. If you’re a recording then you can go straight to robot hell, otherwise leave me a message.”
“It’s me,” I say, starting the car and pulling onto the road beside Heath’s truck. “Sorry I didn’t realize how late it’s gotten. I was, um—” Heath and I make eye contact as he starts his engine, and that shaky, sick feeling I felt the first time we met by this tree is as faded as my dream; in its place is something surprisingly steady and safe. Or it feels that way to me. “—driving around with my phone off and well anyway, I’m guessing that’s why you were calling. We still have time to watch a movie before my shift. I can be to your house in twenty minutes. Actually, make that thirty ’cause I still have to grab snacks. Okay. Call me back if anything’s wrong.” Still frowning, I end the call and check my phone again, but she didn’t text me either. She just called a lot. My stomach clenches as possible explanations begin dropping like stones in my gut.
CHAPTER 18
Maggie’s tearstained face meets mine when I enter her room armed with way too many boxes of Red Vines and enough Dr Pepper to fell a horse. I know instantly that her crying isn’t because she got tired of waiting and started the movie without me.
“What happened? I’m so sorry I didn’t get your calls. I didn’t have my phone and—” I place the soda and candy on the nearest surface and climb onto the bed she’s sitting on cross-legged.
She doesn’t look at me, and the stones in my stomach start tumbling faster and faster.
“Do you remember what I said to you at your house yesterday?”
One of the stones leaps up into my throat. “Which part?”
“That my mom decided to drive me over so she could meet your mom? That’s not why. I just had to get out of my house so I asked her to drop me off. I left my phone at home and I haven’t looked at it in twenty-four hours because...” She sniffs, trying to smile and limply gesturing toward the phone resting on her crossed ankles. “I know I shouldn’t care, but...”
My gaze lowers to the phone. She doesn’t stop me when I take it and look at screen.
“You know the dragon-look video I made based on that book series I love? Well the author shared it on all her social media accounts. Her publisher too.”
“Maggie, that’s—” Except it’s obviously not great based on her red, swollen eyes. “I don’t understand why that’s a bad thing.”
“A lot of people saw that video.” Her voice catches. “This time it’s not just mean people from my old school commenting.”
It’s with a different kind of dread that I start scrolling through the comments on her phone. At first I still don’t understand. People are praising Maggie’s creativity and undeniable skill, but then I start seeing a few not so nice comments mixed in among the good. And a few more. My gut sinks the more I read.
Nice makeup, you need to fix your teeth before you make any more. Or don’t smile.
Why are her eyes so puffy? Damn girl, you need to put some Preparation H on those things.
You’d look prettier if you lost weight. Your neck looks like a pack of hot dogs.
Chinese girls are so ugly. #notenoughmakeupintheworld.
The air punches out of my lungs and I have to stop reading. Because that’s not even the worst one. I grip her phone so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter in my hands.
Memories come flooding back to me; memories from before I learned to avoid the internet because of what people said about my family and me.
I’m not surprised. I heard they homeschooled their kids, probably taught them all kinds of sick, twisted crap. The cops need to watch his sisters.
He needs to fry and they need to make his family watch.
The older sister wrote all about his temper in her diary. You can tell from her handwriting that she was afraid of him. Here’s the link.
The uncle is a felon! Of course he helped plan the murder.
Somebody needs to set fire to that house while they’re all asleep.
I don’t trust myself to look at Maggie, and if I keep staring at vile, hate-filled words on the screen I’ll start crying with her. I switch the phone off, wanting to hurl it through the window, but I lower it to the bed instead.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Maggie says, trying to hide a sniff. “I’m Korean, not Chinese. It’s like, get your hate right, people.”
My eyes lift to Maggie’s and I don’t smile at her attempted humor, weak as it is. “You are beautiful,” I say. “And you’re talented and funny and the fact that there are people out there who can’t see that...” My chin trembles. “You are amazing. Those people—” I fiercely jab a finger toward the phone I’ve dropped on her bed, my one concession to how enraged I feel “—are nothing. Nothing.”
She nods, but it’s the nod she’s supposed to give, not the one she actually feels. “It’s not the first time and I know it won’t be the last. People at my old school used to flood my videos with mean comments or leave notes in my locker. Every time, I tell myself I won’t care.” She lifts one hand to her face. “I want to not care but I can’t help it.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. She shouldn’t have to.
