Chapter 27
Nina Ford: I know how you feel about the amount of attention being directed at you, but this video popped up and the love on that video was worth sharing and the comments passed the vibe check. Here’s the link.
Jazmyn Payne: I’ve been trying to stay off social media but I’m glad to know someone is being kind. Thank you for the heads up. Lamar isn’t on social media but it’s only a matter of time before he hears about all of this bullshit.
Nina Ford: Well, let the love you see on this post remind you that the bullshit on the other posts is just that—bullshit.
I clicked on the link she sent and waited.
“I’m sure you’ve all seen the viral photo of the football sensation Hollywood Anderson out with a plus-sized baddie on his arm.
It’s causing a stir because so many people want to believe that if you have extra fat on your body, you can’t get a good-looking, successful professional athlete.
Hell, they act like you can’t get a man, period!
They want you to believe that your fat body can keep you from the love you seek.
But truth be told, there are a lot of big women who are being loved out loud.
There’s a narrative that most ‘quality’ men don’t want us, and even though we know that’s not the truth, the media wants us to believe it is because it’s a profitable narrative.
This woman is beautiful! She looks happy! And the dress is fire!”
I clicked on the comments section, and it seemed like hundreds of people agreed.
I smiled slightly.
Nina was right. It was nice to hear that sentiment after receiving so much negativity. But I still hated that they were talking about me at all. I hated that my picture was floating around the internet, being dissected by people who didn’t know me or Lamar.
But maybe the tide is starting to turn.
I was hopeful that the bright spot of positive commentary meant all the nonsense would die down. Once it died down, maybe people would stop caring and there wouldn’t be any extra attention directed toward me.
And then they can just focus on how great of an athlete Lamar is.
I decided to hide out in my classroom for my lunch period.
I wasn’t hungry, and I could tell that the rumors were circulating by how often I was getting stares.
I sat in the blind spot in the corner of my classroom, and usually, I tuned everything out.
But boys talking in the hallway seemed louder than normal.
“You should go to the dance with Alexis,” a boy said, seemingly from in front of my classroom door. “You’d be dumb as hell to pass up on that, AJ.”
“I got somebody else in mind,” AJ replied.
“Who?”
“Gianna.”
“Gianna has a cute face. But, bruh, Alexis is a cheerleader!”
“Then you ask her to the dance. I’m asking Gianna.”
“I tried, but I ain’t got enough rizz to pull a senior cheerleader.” He chuckled. “Gianna, huh? So, you’re taking the Hollywood route?”
AJ snickered. “Whatever, bruh.”
“But seriously man … you might want to reconsider. You know there’s people talking about Hollywood’s mindset because he like his girls big?”
“Nah, I ain’t hear that.”
“Yeah. So the girl you choose to pop out with matters, bruh.” He paused. “You know everybody’s saying it’s Ms. Payne in that picture.”
“I know. But what football player you know has a girl that teaches high school English? Maybe Ms. Payne has a sister,” AJ speculated.
“Maybe. Because I ain’t never seen Ms. Payne wear a dress like that. Have you?”
“Nah. She dresses like a teacher.”
“You know, for an old lady, Ms. Payne is kinda bad. No cap! I mean she’s big, but that’s what happens when you hit middle age.”
Middle age? I’m thirty!
I’d heard enough.
With my phone in one hand and my water bottle in the other, I got up from the chair.
“Aye yo, Ms. Payne could be back any minute,” AJ warned with a laugh. “You’re going to feel funny if she comes around that corner while you’re talking shit.”
“I’m not talking shit! I’m just saying she look good for her age. And—hey, Ms. Payne,” the boy squeaked with wide eyes.
AJ spun around; his eyes were also wide. “I wanted to come talk to you about the test on Monday. Are you, um, were you in there the whole time?”
“Yes.”
The other boy, Derrick, was a football player in the tenth grade. He was in Alexa’s English class, so I didn’t recognize his voice. He made a face. “Did you, um … did you hear us?”
“Hear what?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.
Derrick shook his head. “Nothing. I should get going.” He turned and jogged away.
“Slow down!” I called after him. Shifting my attention to my actual student, I beckoned for him to follow me. “What did you need, AJ?”
“You know what? It can wait.” He started backing away. Before he turned to jog after his friend, he cocked his head to the side. “Do you have a sister?”
I went back and forth for a second because I knew why he was asking. “No.”
His smile grew. “Oh okay.”
I made it through the rest of the workday with composure, but the minute I got into my car, I researched the Defensive Player of the Month controversy.
There was a popular comment on a video that mentioned it, but I hadn’t heard anyone else really talking about it.
My eyes widened as I saw at least five videos claiming that Lamar wasn’t worthy of a leadership award because he was making “bad decisions.”
How does dating me have any bearing on his performance on the field?
I drove home and couldn’t stop thinking about how they were essentially trying to punish him for dating me—and they didn’t even know for sure that we were dating.
Stressed didn’t even begin to describe how I felt. When I’d seen the comment before, I’d known it was an issue. But after going down the rabbit hole, five videos led me to ten more, I felt sick. Seeing people damn near campaigning to not vote for him because of me gave me anxiety.
“This is fucked-up,” I muttered as I got home.
I knew I needed to talk to Lamar about it, but I was nervous. I thought it would come across better hearing it from me, but since the situation was so problematic, nothing could really make it better.
Jazmyn Payne: Can we get together tomorrow and talk?
Lamar Anderson: Yeah, of course. Everything cool? We’re still on for this weekend, right? I’m sending the car for you.
With everything going on, I had forgotten about that.
Jazmyn Payne: Yes. Call me when you get home from practice.
“Hello?” I answered later that night when Lamar called.
“You okay?” he asked.
“It’s … I just need to talk to you in person.”
I could hear him freeze. “What’s wrong?”
Panic swept through me.
My face heated, the hair stood up on the back of my neck, and I instantly felt clammy. I sucked in a sharp breath and my throat tightened. I was having a visceral reaction.
I did not want to tell him.
It wasn’t because I believed those things.
It wasn’t because I thought he believed those things.
It was because of Chance. All I could think about was the way public opinion swayed at the popular girls’ whim.
How even those people who had been interested in getting to know me or who thought I’d be cool hadn’t wanted to associate with me in public because of how it would impact them socially.
And if I were being honest with myself, I was scared to find out what Lamar would do under similar conditions with even more of that pressure.
“Jazz?” he called.
I wasn’t sure how long I’d been silent.
“There’s stuff being said on social media about us,” I blurted. “But in particular, they are attacking me because they’re infatuated with you.”
“What? Who’s attacking you?”
The rough edge in his tone tugged a small yet brief smile out of me.
“Have you not seen the posts and videos on social media?” I asked nervously. “Well, that’s what it is. Just a lot of attention coming my way.”
“No, I haven’t seen anything. But I’m sorry about that. I know you don’t like a lot of attention.”
“Yeah.” I paused. “I can’t do it.”
We were both quiet for a moment.
“I understand,” he uttered.
There was so much I could feel he wasn’t saying in his silence. But I didn’t want to ask, because in turn, he would inquire about what I wasn’t saying in mine.
“Is that what you wanted to talk to me about tomorrow?” he wondered.
“That’s the overall theme.”
He was quiet, waiting. “Jazz, talk to me. You know I got you, right? You know you can tell me anything.”
I nodded, clutching the phone. “Yeah,” I whispered.
A few seconds passed, and when I didn’t elaborate, he sighed. “It was a long practice, and I need to get in the house and get me something to eat. Hit me up before you go to bed.”
A heaviness blanketed me, and I couldn’t shake it. “I’m going to bed now.”
“Jazz…”
I knew he wanted to press me for answers, but I also knew he wouldn’t.
“Tomorrow,” I breathed.
“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night, Jazmyn.”
“Good night.”
I dropped my phone next to me and buried my head into my pillow.
Letting out a muffled scream, I tried not to cry.
I wanted to talk to Lamar before the internet could get to him.
I hated that I was being dragged online and thrust into the center of attention against my will.
But more than that, I hated that dating me was creating all this noise and overshadowing his accomplishments.
I tried to think of different ways to salvage the situation.
But by the end of the workday on Friday, it was apparent that the only logical way forward was for him to say we were just friends.
Technically, that’s what we are anyway.
I’d already told him I wanted to be with him—that hadn’t gone over well.
I already told him that social media was shitting on me—and that was unbearably uncomfortable.
We’d already talked about how I didn’t like all this attention—and hundreds of thousands of people sharing, commenting, and posting about us was a lot of attention.
I hate this.