And then, into those holes, a tinny sound began to trickle and spread. Skylar froze, horror seeping through her whole body. It was a sound she’d recognize anywhere—an off-key warbling that she’d heard for years in her nightmares. Her own voice. Her own young, stupid, embarrassing self, singing “Let Me Entertain You.” And if you’re real good, I’ll make you feel good . . .
She spotted a cluster of people hunched over a glowing iPhone screen. The air felt thick around her. She felt like she was moving through mud, drowning in the sticky darkness. The bonfire was no longer casting a glow—its flames had gone harsh, like a lashing strobe light cutting into the night. It made her feel dizzy.
She struggled toward the crowd around the phone, hating the way the machine’s muffled sound made her terrible performance even worse.
“Found it on YouTube . . .” she heard one of the boys say.
There, over their shoulders, she saw it: her own mortifying routine, as a chubby eighth grader, singing loudly and—she recognized this now—desperately, attempting to keep a lipstick-coated smile on her face as she performed her ridiculous choreography. Some spins, some kicks, an attempt at a seductive shimmy that made the group roar with laughter. The song was about a stripper, for god’s sake. Why had she ever let Lucy convince her that it was a good choice for the talent portion? Why hadn’t her mother (who was visible on the sidelines in the video, watching her daughter with an expression of disappointed disgust) told her it was inappropriate?
And then the song’s grand finale, with Skylar landing in an ungraceful split. You could hear the fabric tearing even over the music.
Skylar watched the train wreck as though she was seeing it for the first time. She watched her face—younger, pudgier, but unmistakably hers—crumble into confusion and fear as her pants, tight and spangled to match the bustier top that only highlighted her complete lack of a chest, split open, revealing her underwear. Purple and polka-dot. She watched her mother’s face fall in embarrassment and then assume an expression of detached concern, almost as though Skylar was someone else’s kid. The video zoomed in for a close-up as young Skylar scrambled to her feet, trying to minimize the exposure. It was impossible. The polka dots were practically all you could see, which is why her fellow contestants, mini-divas happy to see their competition go down in flames, had started shouting, “Dot-Crotch!” It followed her as she ran from the stage, and it continued until the host asked everyone (politely, barely concealing his own smirk) to stop.
Now Skylar was shaking. She remembered the event, of course, as if it was tattooed on her brain. But she hadn’t known there was a video of it. Where did it even come from? She felt like everything she’d worked for was about to get sucked away.
It was Sean Wagner who was actually holding the phone in the middle of the giggling group. She grabbed his collar and dragged him to his feet.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa—Dot-Crotch is mad!” Sean’s eyes were wide; he looked genuinely surprised at the strength of her reaction.
“Wheredidyoufindthis?” Her lips trembled as the words came pouring out. “Did you hear me? Where did you get this?”
“So it was you!” Sean started laughing harder. “Some chick showed it to me,” he said between laughing gasps. “Some chick in the library. It’s Dot-Crotch, right?” He held out his hand as though he was going to introduce himself.
Dot-Crotch. Dot-Crotch. Suddenly those words seemed to be everywhere, murmured and whispered and blurted out, spreading around the party. She heard Gabby asking what was so funny. She didn’t see Pierce, but she knew it was only a matter of time until he found out. Dot-Crotch. Dot-Crotch. Lauren’s and Fiona’s faces blurred past. Even the trees seemed to be whispering it. The humiliation and devastation crashed over her as freshly as they had that night. She kept seeing her mother’s face, harsh and humiliated. She had to get out of here.
“Skylar, wait!” Gabby called out to her as she ran away from the party. Tears were streaming down her face now, and she could barely see as she turned around.
“What do you want?” she sobbed, standing at the edge of the clearing, not caring whether all of Ascension could see her.
“Sky, I’m so sorry,” Gabby said, approaching her with a pitying look in her eyes, coming around to cut off her escape route. “Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not okay,” Skylar snarled, staggering a bit. She tugged at her dress, which now felt too short.
Gabby nodded. “Of course not. . . . But this’ll blow over.”
Only someone like Gabby would think that way: that it would blow over. Skylar knew differently. She had built a structure of lies; this was just the beginning, the first wind that would blow everything to pieces.