CODY
When I walked into the gym Monday morning, Matt was waiting for me in the ring. He’d arranged two chairs facing each other and was sitting in one of them.
I set down my bag, confused and slightly annoyed he wasn’t ready to work out. “What’s this?”
“This is what you call a mental break. Come sit down.”
I did as he asked, but I fidgeted with the drawstring on my shorts. The space felt electric, as if any minute another guy would appear to play good cop, bad cop.
Matt laced his fingers together and then set his elbows on his knees. “You’re in the best shape of your life. You’re stronger than last year. More skilled than last year. Yet, if you went to state tomorrow, you’d lose. Why is that?”
“I don’t know.” My answer probably sounded as lame to him as it did to me. I could see it in the set of his jaw, but I had nothing else to give him.
“You’re holding back. You’re fighting against yourself, and I want you to tell me why.”
Forceful and agitated, his voice cut through layers of my skin. “I’m trying. I feel like I’m giving everything.”
“Why are you holding back?”
I swallowed twice, hoping to somehow moisten the desert that had become my throat. “I don’t know.”
He didn’t move, but grew louder, more demanding. “Why are you holding back?”
Because there’s too much pressure. Because every day I have to pretend to be someone I’m not. Because in one hour I’m going to defy Blake and lose everything I’ve worked for. Because I don’t even know if Skylar will want the man who’s left behind when the smoke clears.
“I don’t know.”
Matt jumped up from his chair. “That’s a crap answer, Cody. Look inside yourself. Find that fire you used to have and tell me what you want.”
“I want to stop being afraid, okay? I want everything that’s jumbled around in my mind to stop tormenting me.”
Matt calmly sat back down. The gym was eerily quiet like he’d closed it just for this conversation.
I put my head in my hands. “Why can’t I be like you? You never hold back. You never waiver.”
Matt’s tone softened and his hand squeezed my shoulder. “You can’t be me, and I don’t want you to be. We all have a purpose that’s unique. You need to figure out who you are. What you stand for. Until you do that, nothing in your life is going to make sense.”
He left me there to think about his words.
What did I stand for? I had no idea. I knew I wanted Skylar. But I also wanted to take down Blake and the Madison elite. I wanted to destroy the Torments List and free every person who ever felt like Fatty James. But I was out of time. The minute I told Blake that Skylar and I were together, it would be me against the world.
I pulled out my phone, clicking my way to the Torments List for the hundredth time since I found out about the horrible website. How was I supposed to fight a legacy?
A new thread had appeared under Lindsay’s name, and my insides went wild. When was it ever going to be enough? They’d raided her Facebook, created a hate account on Twitter; she couldn’t even walk down the hall without hearing, “slut” every time she passed someone.
I clicked the new tab and my heart stopped.
No. No. No.
I grabbed my keys and bag and sprinted to my car. I had to get to Madison before anyone saw them.
*
I still couldn’t believe the naked picture in front of me wasn’t photoshopped. Lindsay had posed for this picture. Eyes wide, smile bright, a woman obviously in love with the man behind the camera. A man who would betray her without remorse.
Blake. His name was a fist around my raspy throat.
I’d seen the website. I’d seen the threads that planned their vicious attack, and I knew photocopies of Lindsay would line the halls this morning.
Ripping down the tenth one, I followed the trail into the boys’ locker room. Every bathroom stall, every shower, every locker displayed Lindsay’s mistake.
The stack under my arm was getting thicker as I pushed into the gym. The bleachers showcased more photos. Our Trojan mascot held two of his own.
I checked my watch, panic pushing my feet faster. In minutes, the school would be filled. Minutes were all I had before Lindsay’s world crumbled into the shreds of these eight by ten images.
The gym now clear, I snatched each picture leading to the secluded music hall, sick from knowing how carefully they picked their locations, ensuring teachers wouldn’t get a clue until it was too late. My insides quaked, my hands cut from the sharp edges of the papers as I ripped them down from the wall.
And then I saw him—MCH25—the one who said he had fifty copies ready to hang. The guy was only ten feet from me, rounding the corner to finish his handiwork.
A chill started at my core and worked through every limb. I needed to move, needed to stop him from destroying what was left of Lindsay’s fragile resolve, but seeing Blake’s new lackey made me numb.
Henry Walkins III.
I watched him tape up the last picture in his hand, and then walk away, leaving behind a mess that was mine to clean up. Only now I had his name and his login ID. And this time they weren’t going to get away with it.