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Furious, I say, “Maybe they are. How about that? Maybe they are. Kevin was. And I am too.”

Andy grunts. “You're a victim? Explain that one to me.”

“I told you, people are talking all kinds of shit about me! But I'm still here.”

Andy doesn't respond for a minute, which is good, because it takes me that long just to settle down.

“You really believe that?” Noah asks, quietly. So quiet, I'm not sure Andy hears. If he does, he doesn't say anything.

“I don't know,” I say. I take a breath, collect my thoughts. What's left of them. “Okay, no, not exactly. Maybe it's not Kevin's fault. But all I did was make one tiny joke on Facebook that wasn't even all that mean, and now it looks like my life is essentially over. So, sorry if I'm feeling a little pissy.”

“You're right,” Andy finally says, and I have to drag myself back to his part of the conversation.

“What?” I say.

“You're right,” Andy repeats. “You're still here. Kevin gave up. I guess I never really thought about it like that.”

“What do you mean, ‘never'?”

“I just mean, did he ever ask for help? With like, you know . . . depression, or that he was being pushed around, anything like that?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Huh.” After a pause, Andy says, “What do you think your chances are? Really.”

“What, you mean to get out of it? Like, not go to jail?”

“Yeah.”

Noah leans forward, eyeing me carefully. My mouth goes dry.

“I don't know,” I say. “Maybe pretty good, I guess. We didn't think it would even go to trial, though, so, we're kind of already screwed in one sense. Our lawyer said there's precedent in other states to be found not guilty. It's kind of a bogus bunch of charges anyway.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Well, come on, it's not like I tied the rope around his neck.”

“Scarf,” Andy says.

“What?”

“It was a scarf, wasn't it? Not a rope.”

“Yeah. Right. Sorry. Where did you . . . ?”

“In the news,” Andy says. “So, now how did you get onto his Facebook page in the first place? Had he friended you?”

“Well—yeah. A while back. But it wasn't his page, it was mine.”

“Yours.”

“Yeah?”

“So he trusted you.”

I don't reply because something black and spiny erupts in my stomach.

Tori Hershberger
Whoever dreamed up high heels should be made to wear them all day at someone's wedding. My feet hurt like hell!

Like · Comment · Share · January 5

 2 people like this.

Noah Murphy
whose wedding?

Tori Hershberger
I don't even know her. Some friend of my mom's.

Kevin Cooper
I'm sure you were very pretty.

 You like this.

Marly DeSoto
cooper got married? so they finally legalized that in this state, huh? BAM!

 You and 4 others like this.

Lucas Mulcahy
BAM!

 You like this.

Kevin Cooper
Srsly? wtf did I ever do to you marly?

 Noah Murphy likes this.

Lucas Mulcahy
queerbag

 5 people like this.

When the black spines in my gut shrink back a bit, I say, “He just sent messages from time to time, that's it,” and feel utterly stupid for having said it. Don't I have any better defenses than these?

“Okay,” Andy says, “but that last post was pretty pointed, wasn't it? From what I read.”

“Maybe, but . . . well, come on! I can't read his mind. God, you and my brother, I swear.”

“What about your brother?”

Noah's face acts like a physical translator to Andy's voice, making the expressions I imagine Andy is making. It would be funny if I weren't so tired.

I wonder if Andy's safe now. I wonder if I can get off the phone and finally go to sleep.

“We're not on the best of terms,” I say.

“How come?” Andy says.

“Well, partly it's because we're not exactly rich, and the biggest pools of money we had saved up were for college. Me and him, my brother, I mean. We had to dive into that to pay for the lawyer.”

“Oh. Suck.”

“Yeah. I'll be lucky to get into one of those faux colleges they advertise on TV during the day. I had my sights set on U of A, but that's looking pretty unlikely at present.”

“And your brother?”

“He's pissed. I mean, the money comes from my account first, obviously, but if it's not enough, then . . .”

The spiny black creature reappears in my gut. What the hell? I thought I was handling this all right. Maybe it's lack of sleep, making me more emotional or something.

“Then?” Andy says, of course.

Knowing it won't make sense, I say, “It's this damned stupid last name of ours. Hershberger. How many Hershbergers do you know?”

“Offhand? One.”

“Exactly. Well, he was in class and this kid—I mean, college kid, you know—turned to him after roll call and asked him if he was related to that . . . that Hershberger bitch on TV who killed Kevin Cooper.”

Hissss.

There must be an acid leak from the popcorn ceiling or something, because there's that burning sensation in my eyes
again. Noah gives me a sympathetic look; I hadn't told him this particular part yet.

“Ouch,” Andy says.

“Yeah. I thought, um . . .”

My throat constricts.

“You thought what?”

I can only speak if I keep my molars crushed tightly together. Makes for an interesting speech impediment.

“I thought he'd defend me,” I say through those teeth. “Some asshole just called his little sister a bitch and he just takes it? Backs down? What the . . .
God
!”

I suck my lips between my teeth, clamp down hard. For all the things to be upset about, somehow reliving this scene the way Jack shouted it at me that day hurts worst.
Just like Kevin,
I can't stop myself from thinking.
Jack and Kevin both, two people who don't have the guts to stand up for themselves. Or, say, their sisters.

After a moment Andy says, “What's your favorite song?”

Noah and I both look at the phone.

“What?”
I say.

“Favorite song.”

“Are you, like, trying to change the subject for me?”

“Something like that.”

“You're a
real gem
, Andrew.”

He laughs, once, abruptly. “Thanks. Favorite song.”

I sniff, unwilling to admit I appreciate the shift in topics. “That's a completely unfair question. Song favorites change all the time.”

“True. Give me your favorite right now. Today's top song. How about you, Noah?”

“Today?” Noah says. “Uh . . . ‘Kaze,' by Chatmonchy.”

“Hmm. Not sure you spoke English there, but okay, moving on. Tori?”

“Ummm . . . okay, how about ‘Respect and Fear' by Just This Once? I was listening to that this morning.”

“You're asking me.”

“Huh?”

“You said, ‘How about,' as if there was a right answer. There's no right answer. I'm just curious.”

“Oh. So what's yours?”

“Today?”

“No, yesterday.” I said it as sarcastically as I could manage.

“Yesterday it was ‘Can't Buy Me Love' by the Beatles.”

“Okay, I was totally kidding about the yesterday thing.”

“I know. Today I think it's ‘I Got You Babe' by Sonny and Cher.”

“Who?”

“Never mind. Look them up. Favorite food.”

“Today?”

“Anytime.”

“Well . . . honestly, my dad's garlic mashed potatoes.”

Noah makes an orgasmic sound, which actually brings a quick smile to my face.

“He usually only makes them on Thanksgiving, but also on my birthday,” I go on while Noah feigns being stoned by the
mere mention of the dish. “I could eat it every day of my life, but I think the waiting makes it even better.”