The Takedown Page 15

  “What, ow. Why not?”

  “Because it’s all bluster and I don’t want it to be one more exhibit that her daughter’s turned into a terrible person. She’d disown me for sure.”

  “No, she’d call up Mrs. Amundsen and rip her a new one. When will you stop acting like Mom hates you?”

  “When she actually stops hating me.”

  It was different for Kyle. This past summer he’d finally cut the shag of black hair that had hung around his face since he was ten. Now that you could see his cheeks, neck, eyes, it was obvious that very soon he’d be devastatingly handsome. (I’d throw my Doc in the e-recycling bin before I told him that.) Kyle had to get extra storage on his Doc to hold all his contacts. His inner circle called themselves the LMs, for Lordly Misfits. Yet when Mom gave Kyle SHT it was lovingly. It was abundantly clear she wasn’t worried he’d turn into a giant a-hole.

  Kyle’s face had gone all red. I’d been living under the supposition that we all knew Mom didn’t like me. I decided to change the subject.

  “Okay, Kylie. Sure. Whatever you say, buddy.” I felt like Audra trying to convince me that she believed me about the video. “Up for playing Wooded Escape?”

  He was about to agree when my Doc emitted a familiar jingle. Audra was FaceAlerting me.

  Kyle groaned. “Say hello to Aryan Audra for me. See you in three hours.”

  He’d stolen the name from Mac. Audra had once bragged in front of Mac that of all us girls she was the most exotic because both her parents were white—a rarity in NYC nowadays. Mac had tacked Aryan onto the front of her name ever since. It hadn’t taken long for Kyle to follow suit. When Audra had asked if Mac was “for rent,” she’d just been trying to get at me, right? I mean, there was no way he’d ever go for her, right?

  “Don’t call her that. And I’ll only be two seconds.” After Kyle left, I swiped my screen to accept. “Gaudy Audy, I need hugs.”

  Only I was staring at a closet door. Audra’s Doc was docked. I hated when she did this. Why FaceAlert and then make me stare at her steering wheel or, like, her feet while she got a pedicure? From somewhere on the other side of the screen she called, “Saw the fight. What you need are boxing lessons. Check your mail. I gifted them to you for Christmas. Your right hook needs serious help. It was like watching a kitten fight a lamppost.”

  “I’m only good at verbal jousting,” I said, patting my eye.

  Sharma piped in. “I’ll tell Jessie if she doesn’t remove vid, I’ll sign her up for the KKK e-letter. Goes right to the top of your G-File, flags your whole page red. And B-T-W Jessie, Ellie Cyr, and Brittany Mulligan all have Brooklyn library cards plus NYPL access.”

  It was perfectly normal that Sharma and Audra were hanging out together, but a nasty little voice in my head wondered why I wasn’t there too.

  “How’d you find that out so fast?”

  “Simple. I messaged them.”

  “Thanks, Sharms, you charge my Doc like nobody else. But how did you get Jessie’s contact? Up until this fight an hour ago, I couldn’t find her anywhere. And I still can’t connect to her.”

  With the exception of the fight video, Jessie’s CB account had to be hard-core private, which I guess explained why I couldn’t find her at Ailey’s no matter how many of her friends-of-friends’ connects I quickly searched. Her G-File was still almost nonexistent. It was almost like she had her face Pulled and her G-File swept on a daily basis. Because other than her uber-elitist Quip stream, the video of the flash mob at school, and now the fight video, she still equaled almost zero online presence. Which in essence meant that two-thirds of what was online about her was actually about me.

  “We overlap on a few games. Her call is @DarkEnchantress. You can message her through that.”

  “Awesome. Gracias.”

  It was then I realized it wasn’t Audra’s closet door I was staring at. Hers was painted white and always open and bursting with clothes. This door was varnished maple. Had Fawn been lying? Were they all at her house? But why would she lie?

  “Are you guys over at Fawn’s?”

  “Nope,” Audra said, and left it at that.

  “Sharmie,” I said. “What did you think of the Ellie video?”

  “What Ellie video?”

  In the background, Audra gasped and said, “Oh SHT, I totes forgot to tell her.”

  Now I was glad for the docked Doc. Was Audra trying to stop me from figuring this out? As calmly as possible, I explained about the source video coming from Ellie’s account. No sooner had I finished than Sharma said, “Kyle, tell me you downloaded it.”

  “Not yet, why?”

  Please, no. My stomach was already in revolt. No matter how angry Ellie was, no matter that we just got into a knock-down fight, Ellie had to know that that video was my one way—so far my only way—of proving my innocence. She wouldn’t be so cruel as to delete the video. Ellie Cyr was nice.

  “Yep,” Sharma said tightly. “It’s gone.”

  “I F’d up, didn’t I?” Audra said after a moment of dead silence.

  It wasn’t Audra’s fault. It was mine for not immediately downloading the Woofer video. I’d been so caught up in getting to Ellie that I hadn’t wanted to waste the three seconds it would have taken me. It isn’t Audra’s fault, I repeated to myself. It’s mine.

  But come on. If Audra had told me she’d found a way to prove she wasn’t in the sex video that was stalking her, I’d have relayed that info to Sharma the moment she walked through my door.

  When no one responded, Audra cleared her throat, then trilled, “In happier news, the B&P goddess did another piece about you.”

  “Audra,” I exploded, “I don’t want to hear it. Not right now. Hello, college admissions boards. My name’s Kyla Cheng. This is my sex video, and here are all the related links on this teenager’s porn page.”

  “It’s not like that.” The Doc violently swung around as Audra grabbed it. “She’s trying to get two million views on the post so it knocks the Mr. E. video from the first spot on your G-File. The post is about how if this happened to a boy, no one would care. How he’d benefit socially from it. How Parkside Prep would be working harder to take it down. It ties it together with how our culture only slut-shames girls. It’s saying all the things you should be saying and is all-caps FE-MI-NIST. There’s fifty thousand likes already.”

  “And let me guess, this deep piece of writing is accompanied by the Bra&Panties slut in her barely theres? Auds, if it’s on B&P, it’s not fe-mi-anything. What I’d like is for the BTCH to leave me alone and stop using my misfortune to get herself more views.”

  When Audra txted me a link to the B&P slut’s new and improved site over the summer, it was all-caps DISLIKE at first click. Since I made a point of not hating on other girls—the world did that enough for us—I kept my comments about the content of the pics to myself, but under all the posts I pasted links to volunteering organizations, articles about self-esteem, and links to the sites of famous women authors, scientists, and politicians.

  Audra had instantly FaceAlerted me, her face bright pink with anger.

  “Why would you do that? You’re trolling her!”

  “Oh no,” I said, mortified. “I thought you sent the link because it was ridiculous. I mean, Die-For-Worthy? They’re rain boots.”

  “Made out of recycled rubber. I sent the link because I thought you’d think this was cool. I think it’s cool.”

  “We don’t have to like the same thing all the time, Auds.”

  Now Audra held the Doc a little farther away from her face. Her hair was pressed against her head as if she’d taken off a tight cap.

  “What do you mean if it’s on B&P it isn’t fe-mi-anything? Don’t you listen to me at all? My whole point in trying to get you to follow her is to prove that just because a girl is sexual it doesn’t mean she’s antiwoman or a slut. Fifty percent of her followers are women.”

  “Agree to disagree, ladies,” Sharma called out.

  The c
aptain of the debate team? Not likely.

  “Half the slut’s viewers are girls, not women. Girls, Audra. What example is that setting?”

  “What example are you setting? Maybe stop calling her a slut so much. That ‘slut’ was approached to do a running post for Vogue.com. I think the lesson there is that enough gumption gets you what you want. Maybe she’s not your perfect President Malin with her immigrant parents and public-school education, but I find her hugely inspiring and you’re making an argument that you know nothing about. You’d never let yourself be this uninformed in debate. Never mind that you’re unfairly persecuting her for the exact reasons you’re being unfairly persecuted. But fine, agree to totally all-caps DISAGREE. Kissy face.”

  The FaceAlert screen went end over end.

  “Hey,” I said as my screen showed a close-up of carpet. “Don’t toss me.”

  “Sorry, pookie,” Audra called out. “It slipped.”

  “Wait. What did you call me?”

  From the other side of my Doc, a door slammed. Sharma came on-screen.

  “She stormed out, didn’t she?” I let out a shaky breath. “Sharmie, have you noticed that Audra’s a little more Audra lately? Do you ever think she’d take anything out on us?”

  “Stop. Are you equal-signing Audra to AnyLies?”

  Hearing it out loud sounded as bad as thinking it. This was Audra, my snarky best friend, not some webisode’s cliché mean-girl villain. And so, fine, maybe I’d double-checked—correction, tried to double-check—that it wasn’t her at her parents’ house, but I knew deep down that AnyLies was not Audra.

  Sharma and I stared at each other. Or, rather, I stared at Sharma, her eyes flickering over Audra’s Doc. Sharma was holding Audra’s Doc. And it was unlocked.

  “Kyle,” Sharma said. “No doubt Audra equals unhappy person. But she’s one of us. Would you think I did this to you? Audra wants to be loved more than anything. By you, especially.”

  “Me? Why me?”

  “Simple. Kyle equals perfection.”

  “Even so, you won’t check Audra’s Doc for the source video? Just to be sure?”

  Sharma frowned, like Weren’t you listening? But then a sly grin tugged at her lips; she pushed her glasses up on her nose.

  “Already did. It’s not there.”

  As it officially became the Eve of Christmas, I slaughtered Kyle in Wooded Escape.

  “Thanks for shooting me through the heart and lighting me on fire,” he cried, as I proceeded to trap him in a hedge maze. “We’re supposed to be on the same team. Argghhh, vines everywhere.”

  I couldn’t help it. I was all full up with anger. Twenty minutes earlier, right before Dad got home from work and my mom came back from a meeting in Tribeca, Mac backed out of coming to dinner.

  mac Gonna stay home tonight, hermosa. Stuff feels kinda weird with us, and you don’t seem too keen on my company right now.

  moi Is this because I was teasing you about Ailey? Are you mad at me?!

  mac No, just maybe need to lick some wounds for a day and don’t want to ruin your time with your parents.

  I didn’t write back.

  So it was only the four Chengs who walked to our favorite ramen spot on Vanderbilt. There, at our usual window table, between big bowls of eggy noodles and plates of pork buns and dumplings, I actually managed to find my pre-video self. We laughed and teased each other and, for a little while, life was about family: Mom getting tipsy; Kyle, Dad, and me re-upping our noodles and slurping enormous mouthfuls without biting because in Chinese culture that’s considered bad luck. And I didn’t need more of that, thank you very much.

  Later that night, after a pre-Christmas present—faux-leather gloves!—and cocoa by the hologram fire that Kyle downloaded and then projected into our fireplace, and Dad’s traditional readings of ’Twas the Night Before Christmas and The Polar Express, I txted good night to the girls and, after much consideration (too much), also Mac.

  moi Merry almost Gift-Giving Day, Señor Rodriguez.

  mac And a Happy Standing In Return Lines to you, Ms. Cheng.

  I miss you, I typed but quickly deleted, vaguely wondering if AnyLies was keyed into my Doc and if it made her hate me less to see how terrible I was at having a simple relationship with a boy. Then I hunkered into bed and pulled up the Bra&Panties site on my Doc. Audra knew my weaknesses. How could I make a good argument if I didn’t know what I was taking about?

  On the left of the page was the countdown clock. Until Legalization and Exposure was written in a curling script above the clock. The end date was December 31. Beneath the decreasing numbers was a huge close-up shot of the B&P’s cleavage, pushed practically to her chin in a lacy nude bra. Beneath the pic it read: See me bare all (my face and other assets) on the thirty-first.

  The clock had 242,000 likes.

  My hand hovered over the teeny x that would close out the page. Instead, with a sigh I couldn’t suppress, I swiped over to the latest post and started reading. After placing Audra on the suspects list, I kind of owed it to her.

  BRA&PANTIES

  Hey, party people,

  Let’s talk objectification. I get this question a lot: Is it objectification if it’s to my own benefit and I’m choosing to put myself out there? To which I ask: Do you like what you’re doing? Is it fun? Or is it beneficial to you—say, is it providing a much-needed income? If the answer is yes to any of these questions, then no, it’s NOT objectification.

  Yeah, sure it’s not. I was about to skim ahead when something caught my eye—my name.

  BRA&PANTIES

  Take this Kyla Cheng chick for instance. How great would it be if she had the courage to stand up and say, “So what?” Why can’t this chick be Li’l Miss Straight-A, intelligent, a real go-getter, and still—gasp—have sex? Our sexual icons faded out nearly a century ago. Can we all agree that we are desperately in need of an update?

  In theory, I agreed with what she said. But come on. It wasn’t like her followers—Mr. @BigJack2005 or @DirtyDaddy—were admiring her for her brains or lucid women’s-rights arguments. I mean, no one watched Unicorn Wars for the wars. They watched it for the unicorns. Maybe the post would have meant more to me if she didn’t end it by plugging her big nudie reveal. Or if it weren’t me she was calling out for not being feminist enough.

  No better than the average teenage boy, I swiped ahead to the pictures.

  It was a series of six photos. The sluts wore different lingerie in each pic (keeping the advertisers happy). There was a girl in bed, sheets tucked in just so around her naked body. Then a girl in a skimpy bra-and-panty set, stretching. Then that same girl straddling a pillow. Even alone in my room, I blushed.

  I scrolled down to the comments. Some of them were go get ’em girl!–type posts, a few were near memoirs about the reader’s own struggle with objectification, and a few followers were having an intense exchange about feminism. The rest were completely asinine. Slut was written so many times, I stopped seeing it. And it wasn’t men writing these comments. All the men’s posts were like girl u hot. The nasty comments were all written by other girls.

  Now I scrolled back up to the third photo. The girl was posed on her bed, face blurred, hair tousled like she just woke up (but who woke up on all fours?). It wasn’t the ridiculous pose that kept drawing my attention; it was her bra. I recognized it. It was the same one that Ailey was wearing the day the video came out of me and Mr. E. The one I’d thought seemed exceptionally fancy for no-glitter Ailey.

  I swiped off my Doc. The whole point of B&P was to get people to buy things. The fact that Ailey had that bra didn’t make her one of the B&P’s sluts, it only made her impressionable, like the hundreds of other Brooklyn teens who lived and died by B&P. Besides, though she and the model did have similar skin tones, there was no way Ailey’s boobs were that big.

  I sent one more message.

  moi Hey Jessie, Kyle Cheng here. Can we talk?

  I wasn’t expecting much. Maybe just a flat-out no.
But my Doc sat unresponsive in my hand, like I hadn’t even txted a real address. The thing of it was, if Jessie was AnyLies, why wasn’t she using that moniker all the time? I mean, it equaled far creepier and untraceable. Why was she posting anything under her own name? Unless it was precisely to throw me off her trail. As I tried to fall asleep, I wished hard that it was Jessie who made the video. Because if it wasn’t her, then I had to admit I still had no idea who had.

  Two a.m. My Doc screamed.

  You up?

  moi Yes. Barely. Insomniac much?

  Insomniac always. How’s the cheek?

  moi Bruised, like my ego. How’d you know?

  How could I not? You can’t stop making popular vids.

  moi Unfortunately, this WAS of me. Never been in a fight before.

  Doubt that.

  moi Not a PHYSICAL one. Is it weird to say that it felt kind of nice?

  Yes, it’s weird.

  moi I mean, all these other verbal arguments I get into, there just doesn’t seem to be an end. One good pop in the eye, and the issue’s pretty much over and done with.

  Who do you fight with so much?

  moi My mom. My friends, or at least one of them. I don’t know. I guess it’s just our thing.

  My thing with my friends is having fun.

  You have friends? I wanted to write. But I guess, of course she did. Only why would someone who was happy and had friends be doing this to me?

  You know, for what it’s worth, some friendships are worth fostering and holding on to. Some aren’t. Good indicator is, are they there for you, is it easy to laugh with them, and do they love you no matter what.

  moi Wow. Good advice.

  Hater, I thought but didn’t write.

  moi Going back to sleep now.

  Quitter. BTW Merry Christmas.

  moi You too.

  Then before I knew what I was doing I added

  moi xoxoxo

  and hit send.