Chapter 8
The apartment smelled like coffee that had sat too long. Dad had made a pot after dinner and hadn't touched it. I sat on the couch with my backpack at my feet and my phone face-down on the cushion beside me. It buzzed.
I didn't pick it up right away. I watched the screen light up and then go dark again through the thin case. It buzzed a second time. Then a third, fast, like someone double-texting. My stomach dropped the way it had in the hallway when Tyler lifted his phone.
That morning I'd held the straps of my backpack so tight my knuckles had gone white. Now my hands were empty and they didn't know where to go.
I turned the phone over. It was Priya.
Priya: you seen this??
Priya: Maya I'm so sorry
Under that, a link. No preview. Just a string of letters and a little arrow. And below that, another message already marked as forwarded.
The group chat was called sophomores + a few juniors. I counted twenty-three names before I stopped scrolling. Tyler had posted at 7:42 p.m.
I clicked.
The clip was ten seconds long. I know because I watched the timer tick in the corner. It started mid-sentence, fluorescent light buzzing over the green lockers, my face already wet. Tyler's voice, clear: "Call your dad. Go on. Call him." Then Jace's laugh just off-camera. Then Tyler again, right up close, "You can't scare us, old man. You wanted her father? I'm here." My own shoulders were up to my ears. I was clutching that gray backpack with the brown leather patch like it could pull me backward through the lockers.
He'd added a caption in white block letters across the bottom. call daddy lol she really did.
The comments loaded underneath before I could close it.
omg her face
cry baby with her little backpack
someone get this girl a tissue
daddy's girl strikes again
Three dots bounced as someone else typed. I locked the phone. My breathing was shallow and I had to force it slower the way Dad had taught me when I was little and couldn't sleep before a test. Inhale through the nose. Hold. Out.
Dad came in from the kitchen with two mugs. He set mine down on the coffee table and didn't comment that I hadn't asked for it. He sat at the other end of the couch. He'd changed out of his work shirt into a faded navy t-shirt. His hands were clean but the lines in them were still dark with oil that never quite washed out.
"You keep looking at it like it's gonna disappear if you stare hard enough," he said. His voice was low.
I handed him the phone without thinking. Then I wanted to grab it back. He pressed play. He didn't flinch. He watched the whole ten seconds twice, sound on. His jaw tightened once, a muscle jumping along the side. He didn't say anything about Tyler or Jace. He didn't curse.
"You okay that I saw that?" he asked finally, eyes still on the screen but not on the comments anymore.
I nodded. My throat was dry. "It was just in our hallway. Now it's... everyone has it."
He set the phone down face-up between us, very carefully, like it was evidence. "You want me to say something? To them? To the school? I can call Tyler's parents, I can call the principal tonight."
I shook my head fast. "Don't comment. Please. If you comment it'll just make more comments."
He studied me for a second, then gave a short nod. "Okay. I won't. Not online. Not tonight." His hands rested on his knees. I could see he wanted to fix it the way he fixes engines, find the broken part and tighten it. Instead he just sat there with me and let the clip loop silent on the table. After a minute he reached over and muted my phone.
I picked it up and started clearing things. I deleted the group chat notification, then Instagram, then Snapchat where someone had screen-recorded it and added crying emojis. The little red numbers disappeared one by one. It felt productive for about thirty seconds until I opened my photos and saw Priya had sent a screenshot.
Priya: i screen grabbed before i left the group so you have proof
There were three more from her. All of the same ten seconds paused at different moments — my face blurred with tears, Tyler's phone held horizontal, Jace with his arms crossed behind me. The caption was frozen on each one. You can't delete a screenshot by deleting an app.
I showed Dad. "They're still there even if I delete everything," I said. My voice cracked on there and I hated it.
"I know," he said. "That's actually good. We keep them. Principal will need them."
I turned the phone off completely. The apartment got quiet except for the fridge humming. Through the wall I could hear the neighbor's TV. Somewhere down the parking lot a car door slammed.
Dad stood and picked up my backpack from the floor. He didn't open it. He just set it on the chair by the door where I could see it for morning. "You got a plan for tomorrow?" he asked.
Every part of me wanted to say I was sick. I had the excuse ready — stomach ache, no fever needed, Dad would have to call in anyway and I could stay on this couch and never walk past those green lockers again. The dread sat heavy behind my ribs. I imagined the hallway, the lockers on the right, everyone looking up from their phones to look at me for real.
I stared at the backpack. The letter I'd folded inside it that afternoon was still there, creased where I'd pressed it flat.
"No," I said. My hands were shaking again, but I put them flat on my thighs. "I'm going. I don't want to hide. If I don't go they'll just think that video is all I am."
May you like
Dad's eyes got a little wet but he blinked it away. He nodded once, firm. "Then I'll drop you at the front doors. Early. You walk in with your head up, you go straight to the office if anyone tries anything. I'm on call if you need me."
I didn't feel brave. I felt sick and tired and, underneath that, strangely steady. I left my phone off on the coffee table and went to my room. I could still see those comments when I closed my eyes, but I could also see Priya's screenshots saved in my folder, and my backpack waiting by the door.
