Love Me

“We’re hiding. And we’re not going to your office. We need to go somewhere else. Somewhere private. I have a big problem.”

He glances at his watch. “Let’s go to the Teachers’ Lounge. It’s late enough that no one will be in there.”

When we get locked into the room, he says, “What’s the big problem?”

“I need to delete all my old social media. Now that I think about it, I don’t even understand why Garrett didn’t do that in the first place.”

“He was looking for clues and proof anywhere he could. Why do you want to delete it now?”

“Whitney told me that she’s friends with someone from my old school.”

“Your old school?”

“The school that’s in my transcripts. The one I didn’t actually go to.”

He puts his fist up to his chin. “Oh. That could be a problem. How does she even know that? Why did you tell people?”

“I didn’t. But a while ago, someone broke into the school office and accessed my records. I thought at the time it was Vincent, but now I’m almost positive that it was her.”

“She’s a piece of work, that girl. She doesn’t understand the meaning of no.”

“Right. So what if she gets really serious about figuring out who I am? What if somehow she finds an old picture of me and pieces it together? Do you know how many pictures I have on my Facebook page? She’d love nothing more than to tell everyone that I’ve been lying to them. To embarrass me. Ruin me socially. I’m go

“I’ll do it,” Cooper says.

He calls Garrett and fills him in on the situation in a very businesslike ma

Cooper stands up and paces while I log into Twitter. I don’t bother looking at any of it. I just hit Delete and then verify that I’m sure. I do the same for Pinterest, Instagram, Polyvore, and Tumblr.

I do pause, taking a minute to scroll through the magnificence of all the hot guy photos I collected over the years on Tumblr. RiA

I smile. Happy memories of parties, shopping excursions, and days spent by the pool with Vanessa and RiA

Then I get on Facebook.

This is harder. My cover photo is of me and Brooklyn in Monaco. My profile picture our new matching tattoos.

I scroll down through my wall. No one seems to be commenting anymore or wondering where I am. The mystery of why I left is now old news.

But every week—make that every Saturday morning—there is a post from RiA

And it touches me. Really touches me.

Maybe if I go back home someday, we’ll be friends again.

I pull up her photos, clicking through pictures of her and Vanessa. At parties. On dates. At Homecoming.

But the pictures look off. Because I’m missing from them.

Since I’m a glutton for punishment, I click on Cush’s profile.

I squint my eyes at his profile picture. It’s a photo of him and a girl dressed up for Homecoming.

I click on the photo to make it bigger because my eyes must be deceiving me.

But they aren’t.

This girl, who is pretty but sort of plain looking, mostly because she isn't even wearing mascara—to Homecoming, seriously? I mean, I’m all about fresh-faced beauty. I'm fine surfing, working out, or hanging out with no makeup on. But on a special night with a special guy that you are going to have pictures of for the rest of your life?

Come on! At least put on some mascara and some lip gloss!

 You know how Vanessa wanted to make the rugby player hotter?

This girlfriend of Cush’s is like the anti-Vanessa. She's somehow made larger-than-life Cush look plain too.

His slacks and dress shirt are slightly crumpled looking. There’s no product in his hair. And his posture is off. He doesn’t look like the tall, proud, cocky Cushman that I know.

I click through some more photos.

Oh. My. God.

He’s losing his abs.

Seriously. He looks like he's already gone to college and gotten a beer belly.

What the hell has this girl done to him?

I can't stop my fingers from typing.

Me: Cush? Where the hell did your abs go?

He's not showing online, but he messages me back instantly, probably from his phone.

Brandon:  Haha. Keatyn, I haven't talked to you in forever and that's the first thing you ask?

Me: I’m sorry. That was rude of me. How’s the Cushman?

Brandon:  Well, first off. I’m not that guy anymore. Cushman was a conceited asshole. Everyone here calls me Brandon.

Me:  Um. Okay.

Brandon:  You said you were somewhere good for you. Are you learning looks and partying aren't all that important? 

Me:  I’d say I’m learning that life is all about balance. I have to go. It was nice talking to you, Brandon.

The Cushman is dead.

And I want to cry.

The computer chimes. Cooper stops pacing and looks over my shoulder. “Are you chatting? You’re supposed to be deleting.”

“I am. I just . . .”

RiA