Page 36 of The Fall of Iris Henley
“So you think it’s all just for show and I shouldn’t be worried?” I ask.
He looks at me seriously. “Actually, no. I think now you should be a little more worried. Because Ramos doesn’t care what the truth is, he’s just got to look like he’s doing something. So he’s going to make life harder for you at every turn.”
I can feel the blood drain out of my face. “But there’s no evidence. He… he can’t just accuse me of something I didn’t do.”
Max starts counting off on his fingers. “No, but he caninterview every single person you know, he can get a warrant for your house and your computer and your phone, he can follow you, he can bust every party you go to, he can pull you over for petty bullshit to try to catch you in a lie…”
Hayden lets out a sharp laugh. “Okay, we get it. But don’t you think you’re being a little paranoid?”
Max just shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not. All I know is that the cops around here have nothing better to do. They can harass you nonstop, at all hours, and claim it’s their job.”
“So what am I supposed to do?” I ask. My voice is too shrill, too loud; I swallow, trying to get it back to a normal volume.
“We’ve got to figure out who OP is,” Max says simply. “Rockytruther. Whoever they are.”
For a moment we’re all silent. Hayden stares at Max as if transfixed. Sophie sets down her bag of baby carrots, forehead dimpled in a frown.
Max is the only one who seems able to eat with his usual aplomb. He seems impervious to the attention. But then, he’s always been like that. I remember in middle school there was a year and a half that he was the unofficial whipping boy. I don’t know exactly how it got started—probably just middle-school nonsense—but it’s hard to forget the image of him making his way down the hall, a hunched, lonely, skinny boy dressed all in black. I have one clear memory of him sitting stoically alone in the lunchroom, pelted by the cherry tomatoes Braden Nederbrock catapulted his way.
Even then I was impressed. Now, watching him sit there and eat chips while half the courtyard gives us the evil eye, it seems actively heroic.
“We’ve got to figure out who OP is,” Sophie finally repeats. “Okay. Any idea how we’re supposed to do that?
Max shakes his head. “That I don’t know. But I think it’sIris’s best shot at clearing her name. If we can figure out who the troll is, maybe Ramos will have to accept it’s an unfounded rumor.”
“If,” I say. “We’re staking a lot on the word ‘if.’”
“Do you have a better idea?” he asks.
I don’t answer. He knows perfectly well that I don’t.
“So,” he says. “I guess the first question to ask is… who hates you?”
I let out a sharp laugh. “Well, everybody, now,” I say.
“Okay, okay, fair enough. How about before the post, though?” he asks, leaning across the table. “Before last Friday, who would you have put on a list of people that hate your guts?”
Ever since sophomore year I’ve been on the varsity cheer squad, which attracts a certain amount of envy. So maybe it’s someone from JV. Or someone who didn’t even make the team. Or someone who hates cheerleaders because they think we’re all vapid sluts. Or someone who hates cheerleaders because none of us will sleep with him.
None of which narrows it down.
Everyone loves it when a cheerleader falls from grace. Poor Sydney Moss, for instance, hounded out of the school.
And of course, Lynette.
Lynette, who, by the end of it, hated my guts.
I exhale heavily, pushing the thought away. As true as that was, she was the one person who couldn’t be behind this. But who else would do this? Who else could hate me this much? Who else would want to destroy my reputation? Last Friday I thought I was on top of the world. Well, maybe not the top—the Koenigs showed up at the game.
And then I sit up straighter.
“Well. Maybe… the Koenigs?” I say.
Everybody stares at me.
“I mean… I don’t know if they do. They’ve never saidanything openly,” I say. “But maybe they feel like what Rocky did was somehow… my fault?” I say.
Sophie makes a face. “That’s such bullshit,” she says, but I hold up a hand.
