Authors: SO
over a copy of the meeting agenda. “We’re going to resolve this. Make it go away once and for all.” LAVENDER OAKS CENTRAL SCHOOL DISTRICT:
YEAR-END BOARD MEETING AGENDA
1. Cyberbullying: How to protect our
Students
2. Postprom “Sexting” (“Sex” + “text” or compromising photos or texts that go
“Viral”) incident and copycat pages on The Facebook
3. Online Code of Ethics
4. Campus Cell Phone and tablet Policy
5. “Netiquette” (“Net” + “Etiquette”)
training—mandatory for teachers and
students?
6. Disciplinary action for vibrators
After school in the lab, Franklin’s silent as he reads the painfully over-capitalized agenda.
“Did you know about it?” I ask him.
“No,” he says, deep in thought. “But they likely meant
‘violators,’ don’t you think? Talk about an unfortunate typo. I wonder—”
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“Franklin! I’m not talking about vibrators!”
“No, I supposed not.” Franklin pulls a pen from behind his ear, makes a few notes on the agenda. “This is fantastic.
An official discussion of the issues.”
“It’s a discussion of me! This is, like, horrifying!”
“Relax. The meetings are rarely that dramatic.” Franklin laughs. “Don’t look so shocked. I cover them for the paper, which you don’t know because you’ve never read it, you illiterate little beast.”
I grab his pen and flick him on the knee. “Since you’re so chummy with the school board, how do I get them to mind their own business?”
Franklin shrugs. “Chin up, Veronica. Vibrators on the agenda in a room full of suburban mums? Your name will be forgotten before it’s even uttered.”
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W E INT ERRUP T THIS NONSENSE
TO SPRE AD THE ll AT EST BUZ Z ON
THE DE ADLY Ell EC TRONIC THRE AT
LURKING WITHIN THE PRIVACY OF
YOUR OWN PRIVAT ES
MISS DEMEANOR
3,877 likes
C
1,105 talking about this
Tuesday, May 6
What lurks in the dark recesses between the sheets?
What seedy devil has called forth the slippery things that go buzz in the night? Corrupting our daughters and giving our sons inferiority complexes?
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Those pocket-sized, battery-powered criminals are infiltrating, recruiting members, making promises they can’t keep. Lock your doors and your drawers, for the esteemed board members of Lavender Oaks Central School District have brought to the foreskin forefront a grim situation, one that threatens to turn your wholesome children into a well-oiled gang of desperate, sex-crazed marauders (instead of the more typically disorganized desperate, sex-crazed marauders who go about their sex-crazed maraudery on an individual basis).
Who are these shady usurpers? These peer-pressuring, sex-positive, pleasure appliances gone bad? Undisciplined vibrators, folks. And they’re no laughing, moaning, sighing, screaming, or otherwise emoting matter.
If you’re unlucky enough to tangle with one of these pink plastic hellions, do not—I repeat—do not engage.
Simply back away slowly in a nonthreatening manner and contact the authorities as soon as it is safe for you to do so.
Conversely, if you’re the type of desperate lowlife who 257
willingly harbors such electronic dangers in the privacy of your own home and/or pants, please—for the sake of the children—DISCIPLINE YOUR VIBRATORS.
This has been a pubic public service announcement.
(Honestly. At Lav-Oaks, the shit practically writes itself these days.)
Buzz along now!
xo ~
Ciao!
~ xo
Mis Demeanor
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STICKS AND STONES MAY BRE AK MY
BONES, BUT THE INT ERNE T? THAT
SHIT’S F ORE V ER, MAN
P
rince Freckles totaly misses me, but instead of lunching with Franklin at camp equestrian on Tuesday, I’m called into Zeff’s office, where this is an actual thing that happens:
“Miss Vacarro, take a cookie.”
The cookies are legit double dark chocolate, and I take two this time, walking right into her trap. I’m utterly blindsided when she turns her monitor toward me and goes, “Talk to me about this ‘Juicy Lucy’ page.” Being the inspiration for a meeting agenda was bad enough, especially since copies—annotated and illustrated for my viewing pleasure—appeared on my locker this morning. But sitting through a special screening of my 259
personal Facebook shame is, like, top-ten cringe-worthy moments in history.
Zeff’s all over the Juicy Lucy page, pointing out pictures and commentary from yesterday’s lunchtime tell-all with Cole and Ellie, a shot of me and 420 that suggests more than just an innocent exchange of Doritos, and an entire video of Marceau handing over the contraband flowers, which some enterprising Lav-Oaks student has remixed into a voice-over marriage proposal complete with orches-tral soundtrack.
Somewhere out there is a therapist who’s going to put her kids through college as a direct result of my senior year.
“I don’t know who made it,” I say. “Basically, I’m trying to ignore it.”
Zeff nods, her face both stern and worried. “The board reviewed this page at the meeting and—”
“What? How?”
“We have a projector. Lucy, the parents are upset. Specifically, John Brandt’s father and Griffin Colanzi’s mother.
Both are concerned about their children’s futures.” I can only imagine Griff’s mother at the meeting. I’m sure she had their full attention as she detailed all the ways in which I’m a horrible influence—she’s room-commanding like that. Also, she has this total bitchface that makes babies cry and causes heart failure in small dogs.
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“Mrs. Colanzi was upset that parents hadn’t been notified about the viral nature of the photos earlier.” Ms. Zeff leans forward, head in her hands. “I’d hoped to keep this thing better contained, but Facebook being what it is . . .”
“Griff’s mother is a little crazy,” I say, breaking off a piece of cookie. “You should see her at family dinners.”
“I got that impression,” she says. “Sane people do not wear lipstick that severe. Anyway, she wasn’t the only one.
It turned into a ‘My Little Angel is the Best at Everything’
free-for-all, and they all wanted someone to blame.”
“Me.”
“I kept your actual name out of it, but yes. ‘The female student in the green sheets,’ they called you. I’m sure some of the parents recognized you, though.”
My cheeks go tar-in-the-summer hot. “Griff’s mom.”
“Griff’s mom.” Ms. Zeff flicks off her monitor and folds her hands on the desk between us. “Miss Vacarro, you should know . . . the other day in my office, when I showed you my Facebook? I was trying for a teachable moment. I was wrong to blame you. I didn’t realize things had gotten so bad, that you’d been targeted like this.” Franklin’s words echo.
Get your side out there. Take a
stand on this issue. You won’t tell Zeff about the posters. You won’t
state your case. . . .
“Any idea who may be targeting you?” she asks.
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I shove in a bite of cookie and shrug. It’s not like I can show her Franklin’s files, tell her about all the cross-referencing and our investigation. Not until we have proof. And with Ellie back in the arctic freeze-out zone again, I’m not sure it even matters.
She leans in close, lowers her voice. “Miss Vacarro, I’m in a jam here. The board’s pushing me to do something about this, and I don’t know where to start. You say you didn’t post the original pictures—”
“I didn’t.”
“—and I believe you. But that leaves a lot of plot holes.” She holds my gaze a moment longer, then sighs. “I thought maybe the adults could set an example, log out of Facebook for a while. But that won’t fly. Don’t tell anyone I told you this, but it seems that some of my esteemed colleagues are just as plugged in as you kids. They revolted when I suggested it last night.”
“It’s the baby pictures,” I say. “Classic parental oversharing.”
Ms. Zeff’s eyes light up. “I know, right? I’m so tired of baby pictures I could vomit.”
I let out a halfhearted laugh, but it seems Zeff realizes she’s crossing into the adults-trying-to-be-friends zone, and she stiffens. “Miss Vacarro—Lucy. I want you to know that I’ll be announcing some new student policies 262
tomorrow. We’re also investigating the Juicy Lucy page to see if we can track down the owner.” She looks to her darkened monitor, then back to me. “Olivia Barnes was in here yesterday, trying to convince me that you launched the page yourself to cover your tracks.” I stare, mouth open, cookie crumbs leaping onto my shirt.
“No, I didn’t think so,” Zeff says. “She’s just rattled.
She’s as anxious to resolve this as we are. The pictures of her are quite embarrassing.”
“I’m sure.” I had no idea that Olivia’s Cole crush was so
Fatal Attraction
. I wonder if I should put Night of the Living Dog on guard duty for poor Spike, just in case.
“I know I was wrong before, but now that all of this is out in the open, I have a job to do.” Across her big oak desk, Ms. Zeff pats my hand. “Principals have to protect all students, regardless of fault. Sometimes that means doing things that make other students unpopular.” She means me.
“Couldn’t you just wait on the unpopular-making stuff until after I graduate?” I ask.
She offers a sympathetic smile. “I wish I could. Unfortunately, you seem to be the source of this scandal, and those megaphone kids—what are they called?”
“(e)VIL.”
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Ms. Zeff laughs. “You think?”
“No, that’s their call sign. Like, their acronym. Electronic Vanities Intervention League.”
“Wow,” she says. “That’s . . . clever.”
“Ash Hollowell? He’s the leader. He’s pretty smart.
They all are. Crazy, but smart.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that,” Zeff says. “It makes what I’m about to tell you much easier.” She nods toward the plate of cookies. I shake my head, sink lower into my chair.
“Between you and Asher and his conspiracy buddies,” she says, “the school’s riled up. Teachers are complaining about the disruptions. And parents—as we learned last night—are getting pushy.”
“But after exams and graduation, it’ll blow—”
“It won’t, especially if you’re not willing to hand over names.” She waits, giving me another opening, but I don’t take it. Pointing fingers without evidence? That plan has
backfire
written all over it.
“I don’t think you realize the seriousness here, Miss Vacarro. Your prom night escapades and the mess that came after—which you didn’t deserve, but it’s happening regardless—forced us to reconsider whether our current cyberbullying policies are effective. Most of those kids are minors. Parents could decide to get the police involved.
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I’m not trying to scare you. It’s just the way it is in the age of social media.” She pauses a moment to let that sink in.
“Unfortunately, to show that we’re being proactive, I need to make an example out of someone. You guys are the most visible.”
“What kind of example?” I ask.
“Nothing too painful, I hope.” She smiles without show-ing her teeth. “I’d like for you to do a group project. I’m allocating a ten-minute slot in the graduation ceremony, and I expect you to put your brilliant brains together and come up with a presentation about the dangers of sexting and cyberbullying.”
“Um . . .”
Does not compute does not compute . . .
“It’s a cause they’re obviously passionate about,” she says, “and one that’s come directly to your doorstep.
Couldn’t be a more perfect match.”
“Oh, it could be.” I picture Asher and his dossiers, white pants on the soccer field. Megaphones. “Ms. Zeff, couldn’t I just, like, clean whiteboards? File people’s . . .
files? You have files. I’ve seen them. I can file them. I’m an excellent filer.”
“I appreciate your enthusiasm, Miss Vacarro. I look forward to seeing you channel it into your presentation. I’ll notify the others, and you can get started tomorrow after school.”
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“But how are we supposed to coordinate? They don’t even have cell phones.”
“And neither did I when I was your age, yet I survived.” She gets that nostalgic look in her eyes that reminds me of Mom when she’s talking about Texas barbecue. “Do you know we had to carry quarters so we’d always be able to use a pay phone in an emergency?
And pay phones didn’t have text. Can you imagine? The flip side is that there’s no viral evidence of my personal indiscretions—not that I was indiscreet, but . . . anyway. I’ve already spoken with your sister about this.
She’s got no hard feelings toward Mr. Hollowell about the pep rally interruption, and she offered to host the group meeting at your house. Things are in motion, Lucy. Embrace the wave.”
“But . . . wave? We’re landlocked.” I’m still stuck on the whole group project thing, but Zeff’s face is all,
Are you
really going to argue this, Miss Vacarro?
“Ms. Zeff, I do think cyberbullying is a worthwhile cause. I mean, anti-cyberbullying. But wouldn’t you rather give that time at graduation to Jayla? You know how she moves a crowd. And there’s supposed to be cameras and media and—”
“Let me be absolutely clear.” Zeff leans forward in her chair, suddenly firm. “If you don’t find a way to make this happen, you won’t be graduating. Mr. Hollowell and his 266
associates won’t be graduating. And you’ll all get to be very close friends in summer school together.” She grabs the plate from her desk, the icy glare replaced with a fresh smile. “Cookie?”
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GE T GROUP THINK Y WITH IT
I
n conclusion, everyone is encouraged-slash-ordered to hate on Lucy for the rest of forever, and also, you should steal her lunch money and kick her dog while he’s sleeping, and if she shows up at the twenty-year reunion, you should totally freeze her adult diapers.”
Homeroom announcements the following morning, only slightly paraphrased.
“Hang in there, mate. We’ll bloody solve this.” Griffin offers a sympathetic smile, but I focus on my Converse, add a new skeleton to the pen-and-ink masterpiece I started at the beginning of the school year. Back then, drawing on my sneakers in homeroom was just a way to pass the time.