Page 19 of The Fall of Iris Henley
But before I can do anything, Dad bursts out laughing. Literally holding his gut, laughing. Bending over at the waist, his face red with it.
“A murderer?”
“It’s true,” Noelle says loudly. “Everyone at school’s been talking about it. Everyone thinks she killed Rocky and Lynette.”
Dad stops laughing. I guess the sound of their names can get even his attention.
“That’s… that’s… that’s…” he sputters.
“Absurd.” Mom has barely moved, but she lifts up her wineglass in one slender hand. “It’s absurd. Kids are cruel.”
“Is this true, Iris?” Dad looks at me, his eyes suddenly focused. “Who’s saying this crap?”
I open my mouth, but before I can say anything, Noelle cuts in.
“Everyone,” she says again, almost gleeful. “And they’re saying her alibi is totally made up.”
“Why would you repeat something like that?” Mom’s attention turns back to Noelle. “What’s wrong with you? Why would you help spread lies about your own sister?”
“I want names,” Dad says. “I want to know who’s saying this. We’ll see what they say when they’ve got a defamation lawsuit on their hands.”
“I just don’t understand you sometimes, Noelle,” Mom says, shaking her head. “Why you can’t be more supportive—”
I stand up quickly, pushing my chair back from the table Everyone goes quiet.
“It’s just a dumb rumor,” I say. “Just… stop. No one needs to get sued. No one needs to freak out. Just let it go.”
“Iris, I will not stand for people dragging our name—” my dad starts. But I shake my head.
“Dad, it’s not a big deal.” The words are almost hard to say, twisting around in my chest. I’m desperate for someone to take this as seriously as I’ve been taking it—not dismissing it as a troll or a joke gone too far. But the help my parents would offer is worse than no help at all. They’ll be on the phone with the principal, with my teachers, with other kids’ parents. They’ll call the internet provider, thinking that they can throw their weight around and find out who the original poster was. They’ll think it’s as simple as dialing up Sekrit, and I just can’t take that right now. “Can I please go back to my room? I have to finish my homework.”
I don’t wait for an answer. I turn and head for the stairs. Behind me, there’s a pained silence. It’s not until I’m out of sight of them that I hear my mom’s muffled voice. “You show me this message right now, Noelle. I want to…”
Great. It’s too late; they’re going to be on the case in no time. I’m grateful they don’t believe the rumor, I guess. Thatthey are willing to defend me. But at the same time, I know it’s not about me at all. For Dad it’s about the family’s reputation. For Mom, it’s more evidence that Noelle’s a brat.
There’s nothing they can do to stop this, though. A wildfire has been lit and there’s no telling when it will be put out.
DAY FOUR
CHAPTER 13
MONDAY, OCTOBER 10, 7:34AM
VARDA HIGH
My stomach is a mess when I pull into the senior parking lot the next morning. Last night between watching the comments pile up (between Rockytruther’s thread, and Puma208375980’s, we’ve got more than two hundred messages now. Go Pumas!) and convincing my parents that they didn’t need to sue The Internet, I begged the universe for some kind of freak weather event that would close down the school. Flash flood. Tornado. Mid-October snowstorm. Anything.
The universe did not come through. The birds are singing, the sun is shining, and here I am. Because I can’t hide at home while everyone else shows up ready to talk their shit. I have to let them see that I am unbothered and moisturized and in my lane. I have to let them see that none of this can hurt me.
Still. I sit in the car for a few minutes, trying to psych myself up to face it all. People are milling around the parking lot, the way they do before the warning bell rings: sitting on a tailgate eating breakfast tacos and gossiping, listening to one last song on Javier Rodriguez’s souped-up stereo. A bunch of guys arechasing each other around with lacrosse sticks for some reason. We don’t even have lacrosse at Varda High.
The first bell rings, and most everyone starts to make their way toward the building. I get out of my car and stand there for a moment. All I want is to be invisible, which is pretty much the opposite of how I’ve spent the last few years. I’m not actually sure how to stand, how to walk, when I’m trying to fade into the background.
“’Sup, Henley?” I turn to see Max, backpack slung across one shoulder.
Relief seeps through my body. I won’t have to walk in alone, anyway. “Hey, Max. Where’s Katy? Don’t you usually give her a ride in the morning?”
“She comes in early on Mondays for swim practice.” He rubs the back of his head where the hair is short and bristly. “You okay?”
