Chapter 34
THIRTY-FOUR
OINK
FIVE DAYS LATER
“Did you hear that?”
Frowning, Callan looks up from his books. “Hear what? We’re in a library, Denny. There isn’t that much to hear.”
“An…” There it is again. I whip around, trying to see who’s making the dumb noise, but this section’s kinda empty. “Oinking sound.”
“Huh?”
I shake my head. “Chill out and just listen, would you?”
“I’m perfectly chilled.”
“Yeah. Okay.” I scoff. “If this isn’t you freaking out about finals—”
“I’m not!”
“Of the two of us, you’re the one who’s least likely to get anything less than 98% so calm down.” I point to his glasses. “Why aren’t you wearing them?”
I know why he keeps putting them down.
“Is it because I told you they were slutty?”
His shoulders hunch. “How can glasses be slutty?”
“I told you they are and that the effect is definitely lessened when they’re not on your damn face!”
His nose wrinkles. “You’re bossy. Why am I surrounded by bossy women?”
“You’re just figuring this out? Put them on. Lex’s over there.” I tip my chin at the back of the library. “How’s she supposed to see you in them if they’re on the table?”
‘Operation Lex Callan’ is in its early stages and the glasses are pulling a lot of the weight, IMO.
“I feel objectified.”
“You wish she were objectifying you,” I jeer.
“Is this how women feel in bikinis?”
“I think it’s worse, Callan.” I watch, pointedly, until he puts the damn things back on. “Anyway, did you hear the oink?”
“What oink?”
“An oink. You know, like a pig?!”
“Oink?” he repeats with a blank-eyed stare.
When nothing’s forthcoming, neither common sense from him nor another oink, I let him retreat to his books.
Then it sounds again.
This time, Callan hears it.
He jerks upright like he was stunned with a Taser and twists around. “What the hell was that?”
The table opposite me has two women whispering over their cells. When one of them catches my eye, her smirk makes my heart sink.
That bitter, bitchy, twisty, nasty smirk—I’ve seen it too many times in my life from jealous girls fighting over my BFFs who were pissed at me for being friends with them while having the audacity to be fat.
A sharp growl echoes around the library. “Are we in damn a farmyard? What’s with the oinking?!”
Callan’s brows lower as he seeks out the source. “Oh, it’s only Sofia.”
“Quiet, please!” a librarian insists, but it’s no use—the taunting is quiet.
“Sofia?”
“This English girl. Or maybe Russian? Her curse words are all over the place. She haunts the labs.” He pats my hand. “We’re not alone, at least. She heard the oinking too.”
I don’t dig out my cell to see what has caught their interest. Mostly because I’m not a glutton for punishment. Then, of course, the punishment joins me.
I get a text.
Seeing Zach’s name flash up on my watch, I tilt it to read the message.
Zach: Where are you?
If I wasn’t already aware that something was going on, that would key me right into it.
Where am I? When he knows the answer to that question? Yeah. Something’s up.
Me: I’m still at the library like I said I’d be lol.
Zach: I’m coming. Don’t leave without me
“Is that Zach?”
“Yeah. He says he’s heading this way.”
“Those women over there are…” Callan pauses, deliberates, then purses his lips as he shares, “Would you say that’s a smug look?”
“I’d say it’s more bitchy.”
“I agree.” He taps his bottom lip with his finger. “I’m not sure what’s going on.” His voice is just loud enough for them to overhear us. “But you shouldn’t take pleasure in another’s downfall, not when your panties were found in Professor Emery’s office, Lisa Stangler.”
My eyes widen, but mostly because one of the women gasps in mortification.
“How did you know that?!” I hiss, watching in fascination as Stangler jumps up and scuttles away like the cockroach she is, her friend joining her moments later after grabbing their bags.
He blinks too-innocent eyes at me. “I listen, Denny. Haven’t you picked up on that yet?”
I can’t stop my smile. Even though I know something bad’s coming my way, Callan’s defense perks me up.
Until Pecan messages.
Pecan: D, I don’t think you should go on your socials
Me: Why?
Pecan: If I tell you, you can’t freak out
Pecan: Because it’s fine. It doesn’t matter. You hear me?
Me: I’d feel more reassured if I knew what was going on, Peeks.
I tack on a:
Me: Lol
But the last thing I feel like doing is laughing out loud.
Pecan: It’s dumb. So dumb. Like high-school bullying dumb
Me: Okay?
When he sends the picture through, I grit my teeth.
How predictable.
God, I hate how unimaginative people can be.
“What is it? Why did you just blanch?”
I also hate that I blanched.
I don’t answer Callan, simply show him the picture.
When he sees it, his brow furrows. “Well, that’s juvenile.
Honestly, I came to college for intelligent discourse.
Instead, I get to share dining halls with two-bit sex offenders, the Illuminati, and people who have the sense of humor of fourteen-year-olds.
My god, it’s not even well done! Have they never heard of Photoshop?
They were too lazy to even pass it through the scourge of humanity that is AI! Lazy assholes—”
“Callan,” I grumble, my stomach twisting at the picture.
He might think it looks shitty, but it gets the job done real well in my eyes.
“I don’t need a discourse on why college sucks.
I’m very aware it does.” I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“And you’re right. It is juvenile. Predictable.
A dire warning to our educational overlords who don’t care they’re teaching morons to be the future of our country. ”
His nose wrinkles. “Sorry, Denny. It’s…” When his shoulders sag, I almost feel sorry for him. “I’m really sick and tired of idiots too.”
“I’m surprised you hang out with me and Pecan then,” I half-joke. It falls flat.
Speaking of predictable? I’m so close to crying I don’t know how the table isn’t flooded with my humiliation.
Oink.
Yeah.
He’s not wrong about it being a shitty Photoshop job or the fact that it’s lame and such a cliché.
Doesn’t make it sting any less.
In fact, fuck that. Sting? It burns.
This is the kind of shit that follows people through their college career, goddammit.
Callan settles his hand on top of mine. “You’re not dumb, Denny. You’re stuck in classes that don’t gel well with you. But I’m glad you are. Selfishly. Because I got to meet you and make friends with you.” He shoots me a crooked smile. “I can make him pay. Does that help?”
“You don’t know who’s behind this,” I chide with a sniffle. That simple pat of his fingers atop mine is too much for me. The floodgates are opening—
“Of course we know.” He tuts. “This has Dyers’s low IQ written all over it.”
“How would you make him pay?”
“I could doxx him.” He drums the table. “Yeah, I could do that—”
“Callan, you don’t need to do anything illegal. It’ll be fine.” My throat tightens. “It’s just a dumb prank.”
“You’re crying, Denny.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.” He squeezes my fingers again. “I’m sorry that people suck.”
I swipe at my cheeks with my free hand. “Not your fault.”
Grabbing a hold of my phone, I look over the image.
My head’s been replaced with a pig’s. They’ve even put a little tail on my denim-covered ass.
The worst part’s the fact that it’s of Zach and me. He looks as handsome as usual, smiling as he leans into me so he can kiss me.
Instead, he’s French-kissing a pig snout.
It’s from the diner, the day Zach handed Dyers his ass.
Someone in there took a picture and they used it for this.
My shoulders bow.
I knew there’d be retaliation. I just didn’t figure it’d be humiliation. Especially as what happened at Dopie’s stayed mostly under the radar—only God knows how.
Another message pops up.
Pecan: Are you okay?
Pecan: Denny?
Pecan: D, come on. Talk to me.
Pecan: It’s so fucking dumb
I swipe into his message and type:
Me: Thanks for telling me, Peeks
“They shared it on socials. That means everyone’s seen it.” My mouth quivers. “That means everyone’s going to be oinking around me until this whole thing blows over.” I ignore the tears coursing down my cheeks. “You know what’s the worst part?”
Callan rocks in his seat. “Not particularly. I mean, it all seems pretty shitty to me.”
I’d snort. But… yeah. Fuck.
“I wish I could say that this is beneath me. That it doesn’t affect me—”
“You’re human,” he chides, patting my hand again. It’s sweet. Just like Pecan and Zach, rushing to my rescue.
Maybe that’s the take from this.
The people who matter are here.
Speaking of…
The clatter of a bag being dumped on the table is the first warning that we have company. I brace myself, then I see Wynter slump into the chair opposite me.
“Do we know each other?” Callan blurts out in bewilderment.
“Yes, I was here to convince you to tutor me, but now we have other priorities.” She draws out her phone. “What are we doing about this?”
I blink at her. Callan blinks at her.
Then, we blink at each other.
“What are we doing about this?” Callan repeats. “What do you think we should do?”
“Tell the dean of student affairs, of course!”
Callan pulls a face. “What are we? Five!”
Wynter scowls at him. “This is bullying! There’s a zero-tolerance policy here—”
“That says otherwise.” Callan motions to her phone then squints at her. “Which subject?”
“Huh?”
“Which subject did you need help with?”
“Oh, that doesn’t matter.” I kick her under the table. Yelping, she reaches down to rub her shin. “French.”
Callan hums, back in deliberation mode, but so am I.
“We can do something about this, can’t we?” I muse.
Wynter nods. “We can go to the dean and—”
“Fuck that. Callan’s right. That’ll do nothing.” I tap my fingers on the table. “Hmm.”
She glances between us. “How long have you been friends?”
Callan peers at her over his glasses. “A couple months. Why?”
“No reason. Just curious.”
Still tapping my fingers, I reason, “This needs fixing.”
“Damn straight it does.”
“I need to fix it.”