Chapter Eleven
Tossing a piece of popcorn high into the air, I catch it in my mouth and chew with a satisfied smile plastered all over my face.
It’s dark out, but my entire face is illuminated by the screen before me.
I just can’t stop watching the feed replay, finding a new angle each time to make me chuckle even harder.
It’s a piece of art honestly. The rain of color, the juxtaposition of shimmer against a muscled, sweaty athlete. Everest was my canvas this evening, which I suppose makes me the artist. I’ll thank Logan, the delightful young swimmer, in my acceptance speech.
Not only did he plant the bomb in Everest’s locker, thanks to the digital locking system proving to be all too hackable, but he also stuck a microscopic camera on the far wall so I could watch the scene play out in real time.
The moment of detonation was captured frame by frame so I could select the best image for tomorrow’s local newspaper print.
And that was before all of the live streams started popping up online giving me even better vantage points.
Throwing another piece of popcorn, it lands in my mouth just as I hit replay.
It wasn’t half as difficult as I expected to find people willing to sabotage their so-called Campus King.
Within an hour of setting up a fake insta page, coined #theDownfallofEverestCalloway, a dozen messages had appeared in my inbox with willing volunteers.
Logan was the most willing, and for the stellar performance he gave, that boy deserves far more than the donation I sent to his Venmo.
I need to keep him on my payroll, for sure.
Then there’s the young lady who purchased the glitter bomb and camera, delicately wrote the note, and handed it all to my new swimmer friend.
She wouldn’t even accept payment. Something about Everest’s crew pranking her just before summer, swapping out her shampoo for hair removal cream.
I personally think she wears the patches rather well.
Deciding on the image that will get the best response, one of Everest mid-sneeze and enveloped in his personal snow globe of sparkles, I drag it into one of many burner emails I have on hand. I toy with a few subject titles before settling on, “Campus Royalty Gets Dethroned in Sparkle Storm”.
From what I’ve read, Hollowbrook’s local news team seems desperate for a break from covering potholes and fundraisers.
They’re going to eat this up like it’s a box of donuts at a PTA meeting.
I hit send, sit back, and shovel a handful of popcorn into my mouth.
It’s a good day to be alive and looking out for my girl in ways no one else can.
Power fills my veins and protectiveness swells my heart.
I suddenly sit upright, spilling the rest of my bowl onto the floor.
“Woah,” I half-choke, “Slow down there, Amante. She’s not ready for all that yet.
” Shaking my head at myself, I crack my knuckles and check my phone’s messages.
Meg still hasn’t replied to my earlier check-in, having gone directly to the library after her meeting with the Dean.
I thought I’d leave her be for a while. Give her the space to come to me when she’s ready. You know, let her yearn to message me.
But as evening rolls into night, I start to squirm in my seat.
I try coding for a bit, tinkering with a side project that doesn’t take too much attention.
When that inevitably wears thin, I come up with the genius idea of building a custom emoji pack themed around Everest’s glitter bomb moment.
Sparkle explosions, tiaras cracking in half, and a cartoon version of his sneezing face with little glitter clouds puffing from his nostrils.
I launch the pack as an easily downloadable link and submit to my fake insta profile.
That will get people really excited when the news breaks.
Surely that wasted a whole…ugh, ten minutes. Still no little “typing…” bubble from the woman that’s occupying my every thought and morning jerk session. I get up and pace the length of my room, then resolve to work out, but it does little to help bleed some of the restlessness from my limbs.
“Why is the library the only building without cameras?” I start talking to myself, quietly at first, then louder as the debate gains traction in my mind.
“Surely books go missing all the time, being damaged and stolen without any consequence. And then there’s all the dark corners and unsociable hours.
Anything could be happening in there.” My eyes slide to my phone. Fuck it, this is stupid.
Thi: Don’t mind me. It’s just your emotional support hacker here, making sure you’ve eaten today.
I drop onto my back on the mattress, bouncing slightly.
Watching those tiny ticks remain gray is enough to test any man’s resolve, but luckily less than a minute goes by before they switch to blue.
A slow smile spreads across my face. I knew the concerned friend act would catch her. Hook, line and sinker.
Meg: That depends. Have you gone outside today?
Thi: How very dare you. I’m an extremely busy man.
Meg: Oh yeah? Not too busy to distract me from my studying though.
Thi: What do you possibly have to study? You haven’t even attended a class yet.
I catch myself before she has the chance to reply, remembering my charm.
Thi: And I’m never too busy to text my favorite gal.
Meg: I’m your only gal.
A strangled choke escapes me. I don’t know if Meg is being territorial or if she’s insulting my lack of a social life. The former, it’s definitely the former.
Thi: Well now I know you’re alive, I’ll let you get back to your studying then. Eat something.
Meg: I’ll eat when you get some fresh air.
Rolling my eyes, I rock myself upright and leave my bedroom.
Puta merda, it’s cold out here. The sudden chill sinks into my body, and I double back for a hoodie.
Given all the software running twenty-four seven in my bedroom, it’s constantly humid, and I live in tank tops and shorts.
It’s completely dark in the house, the floorboards creaking beneath my footsteps.
The staircase shifts and groans, perhaps forgetting that someone actually lives here.
Since I put the mini fridge in my room, there hasn’t been much need to venture to the kitchen.
Dust sheets cover all of the living room furniture, creating eerie shapes across the open-plan lower level.
It’s all my mom’s stuff that I couldn’t bring myself to sort and dispose of.
I just left it, preferring to hide myself away instead.
I don’t need the constant reminder of what I’ve lost, of how lonely I really am.
Sitting in front of my screen, I have a life.
I have friends. Even if they are only virtual avatars.
I push my feet into a pair of sneakers from the shoe rack and open the front door.
Crisp air fills my lungs as I inhale and briefly close my eyes.
I stay like this for a moment, smelling the remnants of a dying barbecue in the distance, listening to the static air falling over a sleeping neighborhood.
But despite the rest of the residents being asleep, there’s someone far too nosy to rest.
Old Woman Rosa is sitting on her porch directly opposite, fanning her hand in the air at me.
A few cats stir on her lap. I give a small, tentative wave back, and then turn to head further down my own porch.
A motion-censored light flickers on, which will have also tripped the surveillance to start recording and tracking heat signatures.
As if my house wouldn’t have a security system to rival the Pentagon.
Holding my phone out, I lean back over the wooden railing so only the lawn can be seen behind me.
I snap the selfie and shoot it over to Meg, rushing inside before Old Woman Rosa decides to cross the road and actually talk to me.
I’m back in my undies and back in bed before my phone vibrates with a response.
My responding grin nearly splits my face in half.