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Charlotte, he pops a video onto the screen. At first it’s just a still frame:
Irene, dark hair and hazy eyes, smirking at the camera.
He presses PLAY.
Charlotte’s voice blares from behind the camera. “You are sooo drunk!
Admit it. You’re drunk.”
“Am not,” Irene says on screen, but she’s slurring. She’s not looking at
the camera; I can’t tell whether she knew she was being filmed. Charlotte
laughs hysterically off-screen. The video must be at least a year old, before
their friendship blew up.
“You were totally hitting on me earlier,” Charlotte says. “You get so gay
when you’re wasted.”
“Whaaat? Don’t be weird, Char. I’m not gay.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being gay,” Charlotte’s voice replies. But
the way she says it makes my skin crawl; it’s almost like she’s baiting Irene.
“I know that,” video-Irene slurs. “I just happen to be straight.”
“Are you sure?”
“Half the people at school are only ‘gay’ because they think it makes
them more interesting. They’re so desperate. It’s embarrassing.”
“So you’d never hook up with a girl?”
Video-Irene snorts. She rubs a hand down her face. “I’m not saying I
wouldn’t. But you know it wouldn’t mean anything to me.”
The video ends. Candlehawk Boyfriend unplugs his computer and
smirks at Charlotte. There’s a ringing silence as everyone turns in our
direction. I’ve never felt so exposed, and the video wasn’t even about me.
The real Irene is stock-still next to me. Her cheeks are flushed with dark
patches. I wait for her to recover and deliver her usual acidic retort, but for
the first time since I’ve known her, she’s mute. On impulse, I grab her hand
and tug her away, through the hallway and outside to the sharp, cold air.