Chapter 38 Exposed
A low murmur rippled through the ballroom as the projector hummed to life, the screen lowering smoothly beside the stage. Marissa stood near the control table, hands clasped, posture immaculate again, hostess mode fully restored.
“Let’s take a little walk down memory lane,” she said warmly. “Tonight is about celebrating our girls. Their childhood, their achievements, and the young women they have become.”
The first photo appeared.
Apple as a toddler, chubby-cheeked and smiling brightly, held up in Marissa’s arms. Laughter rippled through the room.
The image shifted.
Me, sitting in a high chair, pale wisps of hair curling around my face, hands smeared with something that looked like mashed banana. I was laughing, open-mouthed, unguarded.
The slideshow settled into a rhythm.
Apple at three, toddling across a lawn in a frilly dress.
Me at three, barefoot, holding a dandelion like it was a treasure.
Apple at five, a violin tucked under her chin for the first time, too big for her shoulder, bow crooked.
Me at five, perched on a piano bench, feet not touching the floor, hands hovering over the keys.
A short video played. Apple at seven, standing stiffly on a small stage, sawing through Twinkle, Twinkle. Then another clip followed, me at seven in a school auditorium, playing a simple melody on the piano, concentration etched into my face.
The photos continued. Recitals. School events. Birthday cakes with uneven candles. Halloween costumes. Summer trips. Two girls growing up side by side, smiling into cameras.
With each passing year, I noticed myself slipping farther into the background. My smiles grew tighter, more careful, less real. Apple, meanwhile, seemed to glow brighter with every season.
Then came the photo from her fourteenth birthday.
Apple stood at the center, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling as she blew out her candles. Everyone leaned toward her. Hands clapped mid-motion. The room seemed to orbit her joy.
I was there too. Off to the side. Awkward. Uncomfortable in my own skin.
My face was inflamed, raw with that sudden, vicious acne rash that had appeared out of nowhere.
Angry red patches across my cheeks and jaw, painful and humiliating.
The doctors had never known what caused it.
Allergy tests came back clean. Hormones, they guessed.
Stress. Antibiotics cleared it eventually, and it never came back.
At the time, it had felt random. Unlucky.
Now, I did not believe in coincidences anymore.
The slideshow moved on.
There were photos of me laughing with Payton, arms slung around each other. A short clip of me winning a small academic award. A photo of Apple in a formal dress, violin case at her feet.
Then it glitched.
Just for a second.
A flicker of static crawled across the screen. Someone near the front laughed awkwardly, assuming it was a technical hiccup.
Then Apple’s voice came through the speakers.
“Oh my God, did you see what she wore today? She seriously thinks she looks good like that? She thinks she’s pretty now just because she lost a little weight.”
Confusion rippled through the room.
The slideshow vanished. In its place appeared screen recordings. Message threads. Apple’s name glowing at the top of each one.
Her voice continued, layered over the visuals.
“I don’t know why she even tries. Have you seen her legs? She should not wear anything above the knee. It’s embarrassing.”
Someone laughed nervously, still thinking it might be a joke.
Messages scrolled slowly upward, easy to read.
“She thinks she’s smart, but she only gets good grades because teachers pity her. Honestly, it’s sad.”
Someone near the front whispered, “Is that real?”
“She’s obsessed with me. Always copying. It’s creepy.”
“Turn it off,” Marissa hissed sharply, panic breaking through her composure. “Turn it off now.”
I looked at Apple.
Her face had drained of color. She stared at the screen like she was watching her own autopsy. Her mouth opened once, then closed. Her eyes darted from the screen to Marissa to the crowd, searching for something to hold onto.
Another recording played. This time Apple had a conversation with her friends.
“It just happened. I didn’t mean to sleep with Ian.”
“He came onto me. I was drunk.”
“She doesn’t need to know. Please don’t tell her.”
“He loves her.”
The girl who had sworn minutes earlier that she was protecting Apple sat frozen at her table, her spine rigid, her hands clenched in her lap.
Her face had gone completely white. Several others from the friend group exchanged quick, guilty glances, the kind that revealed far more than they intended.
Some of them had known all along. Some had helped her hide it. Some had simply stayed quiet.
More messages. More voice notes. More recorded calls.
Apple mocking her friends. Ranking bodies. Commenting on outfits. Sharing private screenshots. Starting rumors.
“And honestly, if she just disappeared, things would be so much easier for everyone.”
“That’s her voice,” someone whispered.
“Jesus…”
Another audio began.
“She pushed me down the stairs. I could’ve broken my neck. She’s been bullying me for years. I’m scared to even be at home with her.”
The screen changed and footage appeared. Our staircase.
The video showed Apple falling. No shove. No reach. No contact.
Then the aftermath, accusations thrown without hesitation, my father rushing forward, the crack of his hand across my face.
The room went dead silent. Someone cursed under their breath.
Apple’s recorded voice followed, soft, trembling. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this.”
Marissa made a strangled sound and yanked the cords from the projector, the computer, anything she could grab.
The screen went black.
For a moment, the only sound was Marissa’s shallow breathing as she gripped the back of a chair to steady herself.
Amy’s shoulder brushed mine. I nudged her back, no words needed.
“This is fake,” Apple said, her voice breaking. “None of this is real.”
My father stood frozen, staring at the blank screen like it had personally betrayed him. Around him, people were already shifting, edging their chairs away, looking at him with something closer to contempt than confusion.
“It’s fake,” Apple insisted, louder now. “Anyone can edit recordings. Screenshots. Videos. This is sick.”
Confusion rippled through the guests.
Apple searched the room desperately. “You can’t seriously believe this. I would never talk like that.”
“This is clearly a malicious attack,” Marissa said sharply. “Voice manipulation. Editing. Anyone with basic technical knowledge knows how easy this is.”
“Yes,” Apple seized on it instantly. “Someone hates me enough to do this. They want to ruin my future.”
Brandon glanced around the room, already clocking his business partners, the donors, the people whose opinions mattered.
“This content is manipulated,” he said firmly. “I would never hit my daughter. What’s happening here is inappropriate and invasive.”
“And I would never say those things,” Apple cried, tears streaking her makeup. “I love my friends. I love my sister.”
“I appreciate everyone coming,” Brandon said smoothly. “But this has crossed a line. We’re ending the event early.”
Marissa nodded quickly. “We’ll handle this privately and identify whoever is responsible. Then we will take legal action.”
I stayed seated, watching. I let my expression soften into something wounded and quiet, the picture of a daughter who had been wronged and was trying to hold herself together.
People were already looking at me with pity, whispering.
Apple was guided away through a side door, sobbing now, face buried in her hands. Brandon followed, jaw clenched, already calculating losses. Marissa kept her chin high, eyes darting, counting witnesses, measuring fallout.
They forgot about me.
Amy leaned closer, her voice barely a breath.
“Too bad she pulled the cords before the best part.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I murmured. “No matter how they spin this, doubt will follow her now.”
Once planted, it never left.
Amy studied my face. “Will you be okay at home? They’ll know you had a hand in this. Especially the staircase video.”
I didn’t look away from the door Apple had disappeared through.
“I’ll be fine.”