Autumn Falls (7 page)

I let him know how anxious I am, and for the first time since that beginning entry I end with something on the wish list.

I close the book and take a deep breath.

I feel better.

The rest of the day flies by. After school it’s homework, then dinner, then a little TV before I go up to my room to slog through more of my endless reading assignments.

The text from Amalita comes in at eleven.

If you’re up, it says, DO NOT log on to the student portal.

So of course I do.

Oh. My. God.

The Aventura High student portal is like most student portals. You log on with your name and password, click on your class year, and get to a page where teachers post long-term assignments, reference guides, study materials, announcements … administrative stuff.

At least, that’s usually what you find. This time when I log on and click on the sophomore class page, I’m greeted by a full-screen image of
me
.

It’s a close-up of my face, and it must have been taken my first day of school, because the giant cleft lump swells mountainously out of my forehead. I obviously have no idea the picture is being taken. My lips are oddly puckered and my eyelids are half closed. I’m sure I was in the middle of saying something, but the shot makes it look like I’m in the throes of ecstasy. The focus is soft, like the picture was snapped from far away and blown up, but there’s no doubt at all it’s me.

I click everywhere and press every button on the keyboard, but it doesn’t go away.

I’m shaking. I want to call Amalita, but it’s far too late, so I text her back.

I have no clue what to do with myself. I’m so furious I’m still shaking. I should close the screen, but I don’t. My hideous face keeps staring at me.

What the heck do I do? I could wake up Mom.
That
wouldn’t be mortifying at all.

I have to move. I feel as if my nerves are on fire and I can’t sit still. I pace around my room in circles, climbing over the bed each lap as though it’s a giant hurdle. I actually laugh out loud when I think how badly I
wanted
Reenzie to just go ahead and do whatever she was going to do. I even wrote it to Dad in the journal. Careful what you wish for, right?

I close the link to get rid of my hideous face. I log back on to the school website, but instead of the portal I click on the disciplinary policy and scroll down to “harassment.”
The punishment ranges from detention to an alternative disciplinary school.

So if all goes well, when Mrs. Dorio finds out Reenzie posted the picture, she’ll be in a far bigger world of hurt than I could ever put her in.

I send Jenna the link with my log-in information and the word
REVENGE
all in caps. Somehow I get to sleep that night, and I wake up to my phone ringing.

“Hello?”

“Reality check.” It’s Jenna. “Yes, it’s a horrible picture, and Reenzie is a horrible human being for posting it. But seriously? You’re not naked, you’re not doing anything illegal, you just look kind of dopey. Right now, she gets caught, she’s in trouble. You go for revenge, you’re the one in trouble and your life gets completely messed up. She’s not worth it.”

“I know.” For whatever reason, I’m not as upset as I was last night. “You’re right. I’ll let it go.”

“Not let it go,” Jenna corrects me, “complain about it. Then let the people handle it who are supposed to handle it.”

“Agreed. Love you.”

“Love you more.”

I don’t say anything to Mom or Erick about the picture, though I know I’m depriving my loving brother. He’d click on the screen and think it was Christmas all over again.

When I meet J.J. at our corner on the way to school, he opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

“I’ve seen it,” I tell him, saving him the trouble.

“So … you okay?”

“Now I am,” I say, and realize that it’s not a lie, that I actually
do
feel okay. “Last night, not so much. The stupidest part is Reenzie’s doing this because of
Sean
. It’s not like he and I are even together.”

“Tell her that.”

I roll my eyes. “Pretty sure she knows.”

“Make it clear,” J.J. says. “Come right out and tell Reenzie you’re not at all into Sean. Tell her you have no desire to go out with him and wouldn’t even if he asked you. Then maybe she’ll get it and leave you alone.”

“Okay,” I say slowly, “but then what if he did ask me out and I wanted to say yes?”

“Would you?”

“Maybe. I like Sean. I mean, I
could
like Sean. I don’t really know him well enough to say.”

We get to school, and the whispers and laughs start the minute we walk in the door. Not just sophomores either; apparently everyone got the memo to check out the portal.

People have too much time on their hands.

“We need to bring her down,” Amalita says, shaking her head when she sees me. “And don’t worry, I’ve watched every episode of
Pretty Little Liars
. I have ideas.”

“No revenge,” I say. “Let the school get her in trouble.”

“What if they don’t catch her?” Amalita asks. “Her brother’s at MIT. Computer nerd. Supersmart. What if he made sure she can’t get caught?”

I’m at my locker now, and there’s an envelope sticking out between the slats. I open it, then flash it at Amalita and J.J.

“Mrs. Dorio wants to see me,” I say smugly. “First nail in Reenzie’s coffin.”

“Nailing her in a coffin’s on my list too,” Amalita says. “Think about it.”

What I think is that I never want Amalita on my bad side.

I feel good walking into Mrs. Dorio’s office. I remember my first day, the way she reeled off all the expellable offenses as though she was just dying to put the smackdown on some wayward student. She’s probably loving this. Most likely she already knows Reenzie did it and just wants me to help build the case against her.

She shuts the door behind me and leans against the front of her desk. “So tell me,” she says, “is this something you did to get attention?”

“What?” Her question’s so ridiculous I feel like that should be answer enough, but Mrs. Dorio’s clearly looking for more.

“No,” I say, trying to stay calm. “I didn’t do it for
any
reason. I’m not the one who did it.”

I’m so outraged I want to scream, but I hold it together while Mrs. Dorio stares me down like she’s waiting for me to crack. Finally she sighs. “I believe you. I just had to check.”

“Why?” I ask. “You don’t know who did it? You can’t tell? You can’t, I don’t know … trace who uploaded it?”

“We’re looking into it. You can go back to class.” She sits down at her desk and starts to shuffle through papers.

That can’t be it. This can’t be over.

“Don’t you want to know who
I
think did it?” I ask, dying to tell my side of the story.

Mrs. Dorio leans back in her chair. “Here’s the deal. I would very much like to know who you think did it, but I won’t be able to act on it unless we have proof. It’s a school-district policy, Autumn. If I go after a student without adequate proof,
I’m
the one with harassment charges from angry parents. So before you tell me who you think did it, do you have proof?”

“No,” I admit, my shoulders slumping. “But I know who did it.”

“I don’t doubt you do, and it would be lovely if that were enough. But it’s not. We’ll look for proof on our end, and if you find anything you let me know. In the meantime, the picture’s down and we’re changing our passwords so this won’t happen again. Thank you, Autumn.”

She looks back down at her desk. I haven’t even left the room yet, but clearly I’m already gone.

So there it is. Reenzie’s going to get away with it. Guaranteed that if the tables were turned and I was the one who posted the picture of her, they’d know it was me within the hour.

I’m so furious I want to scream, but that would only make it worse. It’s still homeroom; I should go, but I refuse to walk in late so everyone can stare. Not today. Instead I
take my bag outside and huddle on the grass with my back against the school. I’m right under the windows; no one could see me if they tried. I pull out the journal.

Dear Dad
, I write.

I scrawl out the whole story, finishing with the same stuff I told J.J.—that it’s especially frustrating to be targeted over a guy who, yes, is obscenely hot, but who I might not even like. I’m still angry afterward, but it’s less overwhelming once I get it down on paper. Then I pick up my pen to add one more thing.

I hear the roar of everyone leaving homeroom and quickly tuck my journal back in my bag before I join the masses and head to class.

After fourth period, I find another envelope sticking out of my locker. I’m hoping it’s from Mrs. Dorio, saying they found proof Reenzie posted the picture, but no. It’s a reminder that I’m supposed to skip my afternoon classes and spend those hours in ADAPT, which of course I’d completely forgotten.

“Isn’t that the short-bus class?” Jack asks when I mention it at lunch.

“
You’re
the short-bus class,” J.J. retorts, shoving him.

“Rude!” I snap. “ADAPT is
not
the short-bus class. It’s the Gimp Squad.”

“See!” Jack exploded. “Now
you’re
rude!”

“I can make fun of it,” I say. “You can’t.”

“What’s it about?” Amalita says. “The … whatever I’m allowed to call it.”

“ADAPT,” I say. “Aventura’s Developmental Advancement Program for Teens. I went to one like it at my old school too. It’s all about coping skills for people with different learning disabilities. You know how I always listen to the
Hamlet
audiobook while I’m reading it? That’s a Gimp Squad trick.”

“I like Gimp Squad,” Jack says. “Makes you sound like the Justice League with issues.”

“I don’t know,” I say. “A special school for teens with unique abilities … sounds more X-Men to me.”

“You know she could pull off the outfit,” Jack continues to J.J. “Old-school, from the comic. Thigh-high boots, green-and-yellow bodysuit that hugs up the boobs …”

“ ‘Hugs up the boobs’?” J.J. asks. “What are you, twelve?”

“I’m going to go,” I say, standing up. “Do me a favor and don’t say anything about ADAPT. It’s not like it’s a big deal, but—”

“No es nada.”
Amalita waves me away. “Go.”

I smile as I bus my tray. I like that I already have friends who get it without me having to explain. It’s not like I’m ashamed of my dyslexia or anything, but people here are
already talking behind my back. I don’t need to give them more ammunition.

ADAPT’s in Aventura High’s black box theater, which means nothing to me until I walk in and see it’s an actual black box of a room, including black chairs and a black stage.

Until now I didn’t think it was possible to feel any paler. My arm looks like it glows.

“Autumn! Hey.”

It’s Sean. He’s sitting in one of the seats.

“You’re ADAPT too?” he asks.

He’s smiling like he’s happy to see me, so I slip into the seat next to him. “Yeah. Dyslexia. What’s your damage?”

“Auditory Processing Disorder.”

“Fancy name.”

“I’m a fancy guy. But when there’s a lot of background noise I have trouble picking out words and understanding them. Unless I focus very hard.”

He slowly leans forward until his face is an inch from mine. Even this close he looks incredible. My heart pounds. He could kiss me. He could kiss me right now. Our lips are a breath apart.

“Teachers like it when you look at them like that?” I say it casually, like I’m not about to hyperventilate.

“They love it.”

I love it too. It’s painful when he sits back in his seat, but the room is almost full and some older guy just stepped onstage, so I guess things are about to start.

For all the crap I gave it, the Gimp Squad at home was kind of amazingly helpful, and I have my doubts that ADAPT will be as good. Turns out it’s pretty terrific. They break us up into groups sorted by Gimptitude. Mine’s run by Evan, a rail-thin Asian biker chick with a tongue stud and a pink streak in her hair who’s apparently both dyslexic and an honors grad student at FIU. She clues us in on her favorite tip: soft sandpaper. Every time she learns a new word she writes it on the sandpaper and presses hard enough to make an imprint. After she
feels
the word, says it out loud, and writes it again, she swears she never gets it mixed up again.