Page 23 of The Way I Used to Be
Armed with two wide-tipped permanent markers, they approach the bathroom wall. Amanda goes first. She presses the spongy tip of the marker against the grimy, pale pink tiles and it squeaks as I watch her carefully write the words:
EDEN MCCROREY IS A WHORE
I can barely believe it. I can barely breathe.
Then Snarky steps up and draws a little arrow between the words “A” and “WHORE,” and writes in this sickeningly self-assured scrawl:
Totally Slutty Disgusting
“How’s that?” she asks Amanda with a smile.
“Perfect!”
“And why is she a totally slutty disgusting whore, again?” She laughs.
“Trust me, she just is,” Amanda says as they stand back and admire their work. “Besides, she practically screwed some guy out by the tennis courts after school yesterday!” she lies.
I cover my mouth with my hand. I would have killed her, would have pushed her out the window. I would have screamed at the top of my lungs at her. Except I’m paralyzed.
“Oh, gross!” Snarky shouts.
“Yeah, completely,” Amanda agrees. “Okay, come on, we don’t have much time.”
Then they leave. I let them leave. But I still can’t move. I’m frozen, crouched on top of the toilet, my mouth hanging open, my hand still covering it.
I don’t know how much time goes by before I snap out of it. I push open the stall door and walk up to the wall in absolute disbelief. I touch the black, inky, hateful words with my fingers. I hear a voice in the hall. And a locker slams shut. People are getting here. I quickly pull a whole armful of paper towels out of the dispenser and soak them in soap and water. Then I go to the wall and scrub, scrub, scrub against those words, using the strength of my whole body, until I can’t even catch my breath, until I’m crying. I look at the wall. The words still stare back at me. Unchanged. I let the sopping wad of paper towels fall to the floor. I clench my fists, digging my fingernails into my palms, wanting to punch the wall, wanting to punch anything.
Just then these three pretty, popular senior girls push through the door, midconversation. They assemble in front of the mirror. I turn my back to them as I wipe my eyes dry. Then I walk to the sink to wash the wet paper towel crumbs off my hands.
“Oh, ouch!” one of them shouts. My head snaps up to look at her. She points to the wall with her mascara wand, and says, “Someone’s been a bad girl.”
They all laugh. My heart feels like a bird trapped in a cage in my chest. Its wings flapping violently against the bars of bone. I want to smash this girl’s pretty face into the mirror so hard. Then another one of them asks, “Who the hell is Eden McCrorey, anyway?”
“A whore, apparently,” the third girl answers, laughing.
“No,” the first girl corrects, “a totally slutty disgusting whore, you mean.”
And they cackle like little witches, following one after the other back out into the hallway. I just stand there and let them get away with talking about me like that.
I race out into the hall, my head in a fog, determined to find those girls and tell them they can’t treat me like that. To tell them it’s all lies. To go find Amanda and pound her into the ground. But I stop after only a few steps. The halls are beginning to fill with people and noise. And those girls have dispersed already.
I go to my locker instead. I try to act like nothing’s different. Try to just get through the day as if I don’t know, as if there’s nothingtoknow. I manage to avoid every single person who knows me. But Mara finds me in the library during lunch.
“Hey,” she whispers, coming up behind me as I’m shelving books. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”
It was inevitable. I let her pull me by the arm deeper into the aisle.
“So, Edy,” she begins, “I have to tell you something. It’s bad. But before I do, remember, it will be okay. I just—I think you should know.”
“I know,” I tell her.
“You do?” she asks, her face in a grimace.
I nod—try to smile, shrug like I don’t even care.
“It’s insane! I don’t know who would start rumors like that. About you of all people!”
“I don’t know,” I lie.
