Chapter Five
Social Media
A like or comment
A reaction good or bad
The whole world judges
^^^
It’s a wonder I can keep my head up in class. I didn’t feel too tired after my shower but now that I’m sitting in a stuffy classroom my eyes might as well be lead. My lids keep pulling down and I can barely stay awake. I guess sleeping on a bathroom floor can do that to you. Not to mention my pounding headache, a hammer slamming against my head reminding me why I hate alcohol so much. I only have myself to blame.
My professor is going on and on about something. I pick up bits and pieces as my brain allows. Psychology at nine in the morning is not the best cure for a hangover. This is a subject I excel in, having passed my AP class in high school with an A, but today I can’t do it. I try my best to pay attention though. The curriculum is two inches thick, and the course is already proving to be much more difficult than in high school.
My mom and dad believe in me. I think because they have to. I’m here on a lot of scholarships and partial financial aid. I can’t fail my courses, and I can’t allow the prospect of a social life stand in my way. I’m here to learn, not play. And I’m not necessarily welcome back home. My parents have already informed me they plan on turning my bedroom into a playroom for Rose. That’s when I realized I was definitely out on my own.
My teacher dims the lights to show us something on the screen. I both welcome and reject the darkness. My tired eyes will want to force me to sleep, but the light is causing more discomfort. I force myself to keep my eyes open while a male voice comes over the speaker to talk about Freud.
I yawn, careful to not do it too loud so I don’t disturb those around me. Another forty minutes of this before I can go back to my dorm and relax for an hour. I start doodling in my notebook when I catch two girls looking in my direction. I don’t know either of them, though I’m sure we’ll talk at some point in class. The one in the pink shirt is pointing at me and then to her phone. She keeps doing this until I pick up my phone.
I make sure my professor isn’t paying attention before looking back over at this woman. She mouths something, but I can’t make it out. I shrug and she writes something down on a piece of paper. A phone number. I text her with a question mark. She texts me back a link.
I click on the hyperlink, and I’m taken to a website, College Slam. There, on the top post, is a photo of me, in my dorm, only my backside visible. There are marks all over the picture, from my ass being circled with a donkey’s face next to it, to marks pinpointing every bit of cellulite on my body. The comments are anything from pleasant, pointing out the fat spilling from the sides to someone begging not to see the front.
What the hell is this? Didn’t I leave all this behind in high school? Coming to college was supposed to be a new life for me. A way to start over and not have to worry about things like this. I went through enough of it for the past twelve years of my life. I haven’t even been here a month and my naked body is already plastered on the internet. My social media game is minimal as I try to stay away from that as much as possible. How did this happen?
I scroll through the page trying to find a contact button. Whoever is responsible for this site can take it down. I don’t know how this picture was taken, but I am one hundred percent Olivia is behind it. No one else has access to our room. She must have taken it this morning while I changed. I’m mad, I’m scared, I’m ready to throw my phone across the room. I feel so violated, my body on display for the entire campus to see. Not only my campus but anyone. And once a picture is online, it’s there to stay. Something like this can affect everything in my future. Everything.
I can’t find a contact person or a form to fill out. My thumb can’t slide through my phone fast enough, my heart pounding harder with every unsuccessful swipe. It’s as though in order to post here you must have a secret email address or dashboard or something. I forward the text to Janna. I don’t want her to see my picture, but maybe she can help.
No reply. I set my phone down, picking it up every minute or so to check if she’s responded. Nothing. What is taking her so long to reply?
“Excuse me, Ms. Duncan?” My professor turns the lights back on and stares at me. “This is not the time to play on your phone. Please put it away.”
I gaze back at her, so many thoughts parading through my mind. I want to cry. I want to find a blanket and cover my entire body. How many people have seen this? What if she asks me to show the class what I’m looking at like any of my high school teachers would do? I can’t show them this. “I’m sorry, Ms. Scott.” I quickly darken my phone and turn it around, and within seconds it’s shaking. Janna is texting me back. I want to see what she has to say, but my professor is staring me down. I hold down the button to turn the phone off. I’m walking a fine line.
“I don’t like my class being interrupted. Don’t waste my time.” She scans the room of thirty students. “This goes for all of you. I don’t know what it was like in your high school, but this isn’t your senior year and you’re not partying through it until you reach the end. You chose to be here. Whether you’re on scholarship, student loans, or mommy and daddy paid your tuition, you’re here by choice. If you choose not to come, no one will call the police and report you for truancy. But when you’re in my class, I expect you to pay attention. I want your phones off.” She glares at me. “And I want your ears open and your minds on one hundred percent.”
My phone taunts me, but the thought of my parents hearing about this horrifies me even more. I can’t be kicked out of a class. My parents would be so disappointed in me, not to mention humiliated. They would ask what happened, and I’d be forced to fess up about the picture. I cringe at the thought of my father seeing the photo.
With my phone off I’m able to avoid temptation the rest of class. I’m able to focus enough to take down a few notes, but my mind is racing thinking about who else has seen this. The second class is over I dart out the door before either of those girls or my teacher can say anything to me. I race to the nearest restroom and lock myself in a stall as I turn on my phone.
Damn. I only just woke up. I hadn’t seen this. You okay?
No, I’m not okay. This is humiliating. I text Janna back that I’ll survive, though I’m questioning that now. If my entire year will be like this, I’m not so sure I want to be here. I can’t deal with this every single day.
Let’s drink tonight.
I sigh. Is that all Janna wants to do? Drink? My schoolwork is already piling up and we’ve barely started school. I spend most of my time right now avoiding Olivia, and now I’ll have to do so even more.
I should confront her. I know I should. I don’t deserve this. No one does.
I bring up the site again and my photo is already replaced with some other girl out of Tampa, Florida. She’s gorgeous if you ask me, but the comments are rating her from a one to a ten, some listing negative numbers based on her smaller chest. This isn’t fair. I have all I can do to not throw my phone into the toilet and flush it.
What is it with social media? Why do people post such things? Yes, I’d much rather look at someone’s dinner than deal with this crap. I touch my hand to my stomach. Am I gaining weight? Am I heavier than I was a week ago? Am I putting on the, what do they call it, Freshman Fifteen? Or is it fifty? So help me, God, it’s fifty. I’m going to be even more overweight by the end of this year, and I’m going to break out like I did two years ago and be a walking zit. This can’t be happening.
No. I can’t let this get to me. I can’t allow a stranger’s perception—anyone’s perception—of me alter my own opinion of myself. I am not my body. I am not the size of my ass or the dimples in my legs. I am me, I define me, and no one can take that away.
Can they?
I can’t sit and feel sorry for myself. Who knows, maybe my whole class has seen the picture. So what if they did? That’s on them if they judge me. On them.
I click the stall door open and step out, clutching my phone in my hand. I’m still alone in the bathroom. No one can see me if I cry.
Nope. Not going to do it.
I look in the mirror, unsure of who is staring back at me. I’m not a bad person. I’m a nice girl. But no one sees that. No one takes the time to see past the big nose, the pimple on my forehead, or the way my one tooth juts out further than the rest. All they allow themselves to see are those things, and they base their entire opinion of me on it.
Maybe it’s not what’s underneath that counts. Maybe I’ve been lied to my entire life.
Maybe what’s underneath only counts if what’s above it is beautiful.
Which I’m not.
Today is a new day. My mom told me that so many times throughout the years. Whenever I came home upset over something that happened at school, she’d give me a hug and reassure me I could put that day behind me and start fresh on the next one.
Today.
A new day.
I never did, and still don’t, believe her. The people who made fun of me didn’t stop. And the sun rising the next day didn’t erase the past. She meant well, I’m sure, but she couldn’t relate. I’ve seen my mom’s yearbook, her face plastered over almost every page. She was popular, and I only pray she was one of the nice ones. She makes the claim with no evidence to back it up except for the person she is today. We have our tiffs, but she’s a good person.
I’m relieved I don’t have a class until later in the day. Since the campus is only thirty minutes from home, I’m able to keep my job. They work around my schedule, and I couldn’t ask for a better group of people to work with.
I’ve worked at Happy Acres Senior Home since I turned sixteen. I love it here. The people are so interesting with incredible stories to share. Maybe it’s depressing for someone to say her best friends are in their seventies and eighties, but I relate more to them than anyone my own age. Easily. The incident yesterday is a prime example. The people here barely touch the computer, and when they do, they’re not body shaming people.
No one at the senior home will know about the photograph online. They won’t have a clue about how Olivia exposed me and opened me to judgment by my peers. To say she humiliated me is the mild way of putting it. I didn’t go drinking with Janna like she wanted, but the thought crossed my mind more than a few times. I don’t want to start off the year in a bad spot, though Olivia isn’t helping.
I avoided her, staying with Janna last night. I can’t face her. I don’t even know how to react or what to say. People like her thrive on people like me. She’ll be proud of what she accomplished, holding her head up high. Her goal is to make me feel as though I’m worse than a piece of dirt. She wants to make me feel bad about myself.
She’s succeeding, and I hate it.
I’m glad today I have a game of Bingo planned for the seniors. They love playing, and I must admit I do as well. The games make us laugh, and I need that today. Anything to keep my mind off College Slam.
When I arrive, I’m greeted at the counter by Lola. She’s been the receptionist for years before I even started. Granted I’ve only been at the center for two years, but Lola has been there for at least a decade.
“Violet! How is my favorite person in the whole wide world today?”
Lola is the sweetest person, the type of person who brings out the best in everyone. I can’t remember a time she didn’t have a smile on her face. She’s always beaming, her grin wide and inviting. She’s either telling stories of her kids or her soon to be grandchild. Her daughter is having her first and Lola is beyond the moon about it.
“Did I show you the newest ultrasound?” She shoves a black and white blob in my face. “It’s a boy! She’s having a boy! I kind of hoped for sugar and spice and everything nice, but I’ll take the snips, snails, and puppy dog tails! I’m not complaining. I’m sure with Jennie’s eyes and Jason’s hair this kid will be adorable.” She takes the ultrasound photograph from me and stares in awe at it again for a few moments.
“How is school? I haven’t seen you since you started. Is it everything you dreamed? I loved college. I was part of a sorority and dated, and married, a jock. I partied a lot but still got awesome grades. I should put my degree to use now that the kids are all grown up and out of the house. I only wanted to be a mom for the longest time so I quit working when I had Jennie. Now I’m in my fifties and I’m working as a receptionist.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that, Lola. Happy Acres needs you.” She’s the first face people see when they walk in the door, and they need a welcoming one.
“Aw, you’re such a beautiful soul, Violet.”
She makes me blush, which I don’t do too often. No one really pays me compliments enough to give me the opportunity to do so. “Thank you, Lola. I’m glad you think so.”
“Who wouldn’t? Everyone here adores you.”
This is the one place I truly feel accepted, and I believe what Lola says. Even more so than at home. I can’t wait to see some of my favorite residents. “Is Roxanne up?”
“Roxanne? She’s been up for hours, already been out here watching that show Live with Kelly. She lives for that show, I swear. I think she likes the man who co-hosts. That woman has a thing for younger men.”
I laugh and wave goodbye to Lola before heading back to the break area where I can toss my Subway sandwich I brought in for lunch. I’m only here for four and a half hours but I’ll need something to eat. I’ll grab a Mountain Dew from the vending machine.
“Good morning, Violet.”
Will Mallet is sitting at the table drinking a coffee. He’s worked at the senior center a little longer than me and is a year older than me. We’re friends, I guess, if only because we’re the two closest in age at the center. Being surrounded by people older than us, even those in their late twenties and early thirties, it’s nice for us to have each other. Sometimes I want to discuss the latest episode of Game of Thrones and not rehash Live with Kelly with Roxanne.
He’s scrolling through his phone, probably on Tumblr or something like that. I never got into many of these big apps the others have. Too much of an opportunity for bullying, and I dealt with that enough at school. I didn’t want to deal with it online, too. Yesterday’s incident proving my point. Besides, most of these apps require friends, and my list would be depressing.
Will is in college, too. I wonder if he saw it. I hug myself, imagining him seeing my bare ass and criticizing me like everyone else. He knows me, though. If he did see it, would he treat me like everyone else? Point and stare? I hope he wouldn’t. I’m not going to bring it up in case he didn’t see it. I don’t want to put it into his mind and make him curious about it.
“How was your night?” I can shoot myself in the foot for asking that. That question opens the door for him to say something if he saw it. Shoot.
“Good. I stayed up late studying. I had a test this morning. Just got here. Still drinking my first coffee of the day.” He holds his mug up to me. “I’m not even sure how I got here.”
“I hear that. I can’t even attempt to take a test unless I’ve had at least twenty-four ounces of Dew.” So I’m addicted to Mountain Dew. Who doesn’t have a vice? Some like cigarettes, others smoke weed, I drink Mountain Dew.
“You’re in your first year, right? How do you like it so far?”
I grab a glass from the cupboard and pour myself water. I’ll save the soda for later. “It’s okay, I guess.” What should I say? That in a short period of time I’ve managed to be completely embarrassed? That in less than thirty days I want to crawl into a hole and die? “I wish I could take most of my classes online.”
“Why can’t you?”
“My parents want me to experience the campus life. I don’t see what’s so great about it, honestly.” That’s why I’m here, anyway. My parents live so close to the college but insisted I stay in the dorms. I fought them tooth and nail for a while but gave in when they said they’d provide a car. Sure, it’s my uncle’s old Chevy Cavalier, and I think it’s about twelve years old, but it gets the job done. I’m only allowed to drive it to work, though.
“Freedom. I love the freedom.”
Sure he does. He probably can drive his car wherever he wants, and he’s attractive enough that I’m sure people don’t try to take naked photos of him and post them online to make fun of him. “You live on campus?”
“No. I rent a house with two buddies, but it’s great. I hated being at home.”
I wonder if his home life isn’t that great or if maybe he has a sibling that gets all the attention, too. I don’t want to pry. It’s not my place. “My roommate is not very nice, but other than that I guess it’s been okay.” I mean, if Olivia didn’t exist then the picture wouldn’t have been posted and maybe things could be okay. “I guess she is my only complaint.”
“Well, that’s not too bad then. You’ll always come across jerks in your life. I mean, look at Robert.”
Oh, Robert. Robert is a resident of Happy Acres and he’s anything but happy. He spends his days and nights complaining about everything and everyone. He’s convinced everyone is against him and talks about him. It’s quite the opposite. Everyone here is so used to him and his attitude that we actually look forward to how he’ll react for the day. You never know what’ll come out of his mouth, and the anticipation drives us into competition sometimes.
“Robert’s not a jerk. He’s just … socially challenged.”
“He’s not awkward at all in social situations.”
“Not socially awkward. Socially challenged. He’d prefer to shout and yell than to engage in conversation. Though I think he may have a thing for Roxanne.” Every now and again I catch him opening a door for her or glancing in her direction. I don’t know the back story on Robert, if he’s ever been married. Roxanne hasn’t. She’s almost eighty and never married and no kids. But from her bragging, she’s had plenty of lovers throughout her life. It’s kind of adorable.
“I think so, too.” He takes a drink. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
If it’s that I should get to work, then yes. I really need to get Bingo moving. Some of the residents work themselves into a tizzy if I don’t start on time.
“Why don’t we set them up?”
“What?” He’s crazy. I’m not in the business of setting people up. I don’t think Robert would be too open to it, either. “I’m not so sure that would work.”
Will winks at me. “Think about it. Maybe all Robert needs is a little loving to make him soft and appreciate life a bit more.”
I’ve always thought Will was cute, but he’s not my type. I mean, someone who goes on as few dates as I do shouldn’t really be picky about guys, but he doesn’t fit into how I imagine someone I want to be with. He’s got a boyish face and I think his pants are too loose. He’s sweet as can be, and maybe a little too nice if that can be a thing.
He chugs the last of his coffee and puts his mug in the sink. “Let me know in a few days. I’ve got some ideas.”
He leaves the room, and I’m left to wonder about this.
“C5.” I call out as loud as I can so those that refuse to wear their hearing aids can still hear me. “C5.” I repeat it before anyone asks me to because I know someone will. More than likely Robert. And he won’t hesitate to yell from across the room.
“What the hell did you say?”
Like clockwork, Robert asks me roughly, demanding I repeat myself yet again.
“C5, Robert.” I step away from the front of the room and make my way to the back. I check his card and point to it. “C5.”
“I know that, Violet. You don’t need to point it out like I’m a child or something. Damn kids these days.” I catch the top of his bald head as he shakes it back and forth.
I hide a smile behind my lips. Laughing will only egg him on more, and we’ve almost made it through the entire first game without his outbursts. I’d like to keep it that way if I can.
Will passes by and waves through the glass window. I don’t wave back, not wanting to bring attention to him pointing back and forth between Robert and Roxanne. He forms a heart with his hands and pretends to pulse it. He’s such a nut ball.
“Okay, next is,” I pull the ball out of the holder. “E7.”
“Bingo!” Roxanne calls out so loud she startles me. She waves her card in the air, smiling. She never wins, and I’m happy for her.
“Let me see the card.” I walk over and take it from her, reviewing her dabs. Sure enough, she has a Bingo. “Congratulations, Roxanne. We have a winner!”
“Son of a bitch!” Robert tosses his card aside. He shakes his head in disappointment.
I glance at the window and Will is already gone. I stand still waiting to see what Robert does. His wrinkled face is redder than I’ve ever seen. He plants his palms on the table, shoves his chair back, and stands up. Crap. What is he doing?
He makes his way over to Roxanne and places his hand on her shoulder. “Well, if anyone had to win, I’m glad it was you.” He doesn’t smile, but I think he wants to.
The group of residents stare at what’s happening, and I can hardly believe my eyes when Roxanne lifts her hand and rests it on top of his. “Thank you,” she says, pulling a smile out of him.
In that moment, I think Will may actually be onto something.