Sample from The Year We Lost Ourselves

"The Locker Room Leak"

I should have known better.

That’s what keeps running through my head as I walk down the hallway, eyes burning, stomach twisting. The whispers slither behind me like poison, every hushed voice another dagger to my spine.

“Did you see the pictures?”
“She took them herself.”
“What did she expect?”

I don’t need to turn around to know they’re looking at me.

I can feel it.

The heat of their stares. The laughter just soft enough to pretend it isn’t meant for me. The way people shift in the hallway, clearing a path as if humiliation is contagious.

I tighten my grip on my backpack straps and keep walking. One foot in front of the other. That’s all I can do.

I don’t check my phone. I don’t need to. I already know what’s waiting for me there.

My face. My body. My mistake.

I just don’t know who posted it.

The first time I saw the pictures, I stopped breathing. It was supposed to be private—a stupid, stupid late-night joke between me and my best friend, Brooke. I took the picture on her phone. We laughed. She swore she’d delete it.

That was a week ago.

Now, it’s everywhere.

Snapchat. Instagram. Twitter. Some anonymous account posted it first, but it doesn’t matter. Screenshots last forever.

And Brooke—my best friend—swears she didn’t do it.

But when I confronted her, I saw it.

That flicker of a smile.

She’s enjoying this.