Page 36 of I'll Be the One

My face heats up as I scroll through the comments. I always hear about celebrities getting bullied off social media, but I never really understood what that was like until now. I know I’m going to have to get used to this if I want to be a K-pop star. And if I were more established, or if I even had a heads-up before this happened, I’d have been more okay with it. But now, I just feel like the wind’s been knocked out of my lungs. And I hate how weak and crappy everything makes me feel.

I’m thinking about deleting my Instagram when the one-minute-warning bell rings. I grab my books and run to my psychology class, where Rebecca’s waiting in her seat.

Worry flashes across her face when she catches sight of me.

“Hey,” she whispers as I sit down in front of her. “Are you okay?”

Only then do I realize that I’m shaking from head to toe. Aside from the brief, stabbing feelings of hurt and panic, I’ve felt mostly numb this entire morning. But suddenly, under Rebecca’s concerned gaze, I have to fight really hard to not burst into tears. Since I can’t trust myself to say anything without dissolving into a human puddle, I just shake my head.

“Oh, Skye...”

The tardy bell rings.

“All right, class,” says Mr. Peterson. “Clear your desks except for a pencil. I hope everyone’s ready for a pop quiz.”

As if this morning could get any worse...

The quiz is so big a disaster that it makes theTitaniclook good. At least some people survivedthatsinking ship. I’ll be surprised if I don’t get a big, fat zero.

Rebecca tries to talk to me both during and after class, but I just shake my head. I’ve never been good at talking about bad things when they happen, and today’s no exception. I don’t want to think about the quiz. And I don’t want to think about what happened on Instagram. The only reason I haven’t already run out of the school doors screaming is because I have a precalculus exam during my last period.

I already failed in one class today. I can’t afford to do the same in another. Mom made it clear multiple times this weekend that she won’t let me go to rehearsals if my grades drop.

I’m not in the mood to talk to anyone right now—least of all my Henry Cho–worshipping friends—so I go to the library during lunch. My precalc grade is already hanging by a thread. And no way am I retaking the class.

My phone’s still going off relentlessly, so I slide it to Do Not Disturb mode. I listen to music as I study, going through my usual playlist of K-pop girl-group power anthems. The songs are usually upbeat and loud enough to clear my head even onmy worst days, and thankfully, today is no exception. I power through my entire lunch period without even a single thought about Henry or his Instagram post.

Even with all my studying, the exam is still pretty horrible. But I expected as much, since precalc is my worst subject. I’m glad that I at least finished all the questions this time. And I feel way better about it than I did about the psychology quiz.

With everything going on today, I’ve been in such a state of anxiety that I didn’t even go to the bathroom. So as soon as the last bell rings, I run to the nearest restroom. Only when I’m sitting on the toilet do I open up my phone again.

The number of notifications has greatly increased since I last checked them. More follower and message requests on Instagram. More texts. Thankfully, my phone is freezing up a lot less now with Do Not Disturb on. But I still can’t look at the screen for more than a minute before feeling like I can’t breathe.

And this is all fromonesingle post.How does Henry handle this?

Before I turn off my phone, I look at my text messages again. My friends kept texting me throughout the school day, and I can tell they’re really worried about me. Even Clarissa stopped her stream of OMGs to ask if I’m okay. I feel bad about leaving them hanging, but I’m too drained to answer everyone individually. So I go to my group chat with Clarissa and Rebecca and say:Hey, I’m okay. Sorry, busy day. I’ll explain everything tomorrow.

I’m washing my hands in the sink when I realize that I haven’t heard from Henry during the entire day. None of my hundreds of Instagram notifications were from him. He either doesn’t care about what happened to me today or has no idea that anything even happened. I really hope it’s the latter, but heat still rises up inside me as I wonder if this was his plan all along. Was I part of some gimmick so he could get more attention on social media?

I dry my hands, and I’m about to shoot him a DM on Instagram when two girls I vaguely recognize enter the bathroom. They freeze when they see me.

“Is that...” whispers one of them. I think she’s a freshman, and her name is either Brenda or Brenna Kim. We went to the same Korean school, but I haven’t seen her much since then.

“Itis,” says the other girl.

In almost perfect unison, they take out their phones and send pictures of me to all their friends on Snapchat.

Chapter Sixteen

“HEY!” I YELL. “CAN YOU GUYS STOP? YOU’RE BEINGincredibly rude.”

The two girls gape at me before scurrying out the door. I try to run after them, but by the time I’m out of the bathroom, they’re nowhere in sight.

“That’s it,” I say. “I’ve had enough.”

I pull up Instagram and slide into Henry’s DMs. I don’t know Henry’s number, and I don’t know if celebrities like him even check their direct messages, but this is the only thing I can think of doing right now.

Hey, can you please untag me from the taco truck pictures? Your fans are targeting me on Instagram. And people in school are being ridiculous.

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