I play it a couple times, then I upload the file to YouTube. After a few seconds of thought, I type into the description: This is my boyfriend, Shane. He’s incredibly talented. And right now, he’s in trouble for standing up for me. If you knew the whole story, you wouldn’t blame him. If people watch this, they’ll see his heart in his music … and they’ll understand that he’s not bad.
Then I record my own video, explaining the entire story. I make sure to mention that Shane got in no trouble at all before his mom died, so clearly these are extenuating circumstances. I don’t omit anything; I put it all out there, including how I blackmailed Dylan with a secret about his mom, how my tires were slashed, how he started picking on Shane again, and I escalated the conflict, and how he retaliated by telling the whole school about my past. I end with, “If you’re punishing people, you need to include Dylan Smith … and me. Because we started this, and Shane is paying for it.”
This is the only move I can make because I can’t let Shane suffer for something I dragged him into. He’s only locked up because he cares about me. So whatever the consequences of telling the truth, I’m ready for them. Aunt Gabby has some contact information for the people handling Shane’s case, so I dig those cards out of the file box. There’s a public defender and a social worker. It won’t hurt to send links to their e-mail. It might not help, but I can’t rest until I put this right. Shane doesn’t belong there. He won’t go on a crime spree if they release him just like I won’t burn anything down.
Like my aunt says, everyone deserves a second chance.
When I send out my e-mail, I also copy the principal and the office staff. Maybe it’s petty of me, but I want Dylan’s mom to know exactly what he’s been doing. Possibly she won’t care, or she’ll even think it’s sweet of him. From her perspective it is, but it’s also mean and destructive.
Before I can reconsider, I hit send. Then I message Ryan. Can u get a couple of videos on the school blog and Facebook page for me?
Right away, he answers, Absolutely. Send them to me?
I forward the e-mail. This way, the school officials can’t keep this quiet. People will be talking about it, at least. It’s possible that they’ll ignore everything I have to say. I’m still the crazy girl who burned a house down, once upon a time. But I refuse to let that moment define me. Aunt Gabby has been telling me for three years that I’ll be okay, that I can do more, be more. And I believe her.
I don’t have to scream to be heard. I just need to believe what I say matters.
Holy shit, Ryan sends back. Coach will have a field day with this. He’s all about ethics and honor. This is a serious violation of his moral code.
I reply, exactly.
The rest of the weekend, I watch the hit counter go up slowly, each time the site updates. The video of Shane singing has more hits than the one of me explaining, but they’re both climbing upward. I’m almost too nervous to go to school, but I opened this can of whoop-ass. Time to see how it smells.
As I walk to my locker, Alex of the awesome Chucks says to me, “It’s so shitty, what Dylan Smith did to you. I hope they expel his ass.”
“That should count as bullying or harassment or something,” a girl adds.
I nod in acknowledgment, moving past them to where Lila’s waiting. “You went for it, huh? I hear they called an emergency staff meeting this morning.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. They’re worried about enabling a ‘toxic learning environment.’ If your videos go viral, the school board will have a shit storm on their hands.”
“I hope so.”
Mid-morning, I’m called down to the principal’s office over the intercom. The room is ominously silent as I gather my things and step out. I walk down the hall slowly, torn between dread and elation. No matter what happens, they’re paying attention.
The main office is quiet, and I don’t see Dylan’s mom anywhere. Another secretary avoids my eyes as she pretends to photocopy something. I pull up short when I spot Dylan waiting just inside the doors, but I don’t let him intimidate me. Instead I take in the fading bruises. Even weeks later, he’s still green in places. I’m about to sit down next to him when Principal Warick clears his throat.