I nearly burst into tears on the spot when I finally got to my English class and realized, to my horror, there had been summer reading — and there was a pop quiz on the first day. I was too terrified to actually say something to the teacher, but Landon had leaned over from his desk, all tanned from the summer with this broad, easy smile, and said, “Hey, don’t worry about it. My older brother says she just does these quizzes to scare us — they don’t actually count.”
I managed a nod. Sometime in the split second it took for him to lean back over to his own desk and look down at his quiz, my stupid fourteen-year-old brain decided I was in love.
Granted, it only lasted a few months, and I’ve spoken to him approximately six times since. But I’ve been way too busy for crushes in the time between then and now, so it’s pretty much the only blueprint I’ve got.
“Good, good. You should get to know him. Invite him over sometime.”
My jaw drops. I know she went to high school in the nineties, but that does not excuse this fundamental misunderstanding of how teenage social interaction works.
“Um, what?”
“His father is considering a massive investment in taking BLB international,” she says. “Anything we can do to make them feel more at ease…”
I try not to squirm. For all the bad poetry and light angsting to Taylor Swift songs that Landon inspired a few years back, I don’t actually know all that much about him, especially since he’s so busy now with some app development internship off campus that I barely even see him in the hallways. Landon’s been too busy being Landon — exceedingly handsome, universally beloved, and probably out of my mortal league.
“Yeah, I mean. We’re not really friends or anything, but…”
“You’re great with people. Always have been.” She reaches forward and tweaks me on the cheek.
Maybe I was, back at my old school. I had so many friends in Nashville, they basically made up half of the original Big League Burger’s revenue, hanging out there after school. But I never had to do anything to make those friends. They were all just there, the same way Paige was. We grew up together, knew everything about each other, and friendship wasn’t some sort of conscious choice so much as it was something we were just born with.
Of course, I didn’t know that until we moved here into this whole new ecosystem of other kids. That first day of school, everyone stared at me as if I were an alien, and compared to my Manhattan-bred peers who were raised on Starbucks and YouTube makeup tutorials, I basically was. That day I came home, took one look at my mom, and started to bawl.
It spurred her into action faster than if I’d come home literally on fire — within the week, I had more makeup products than my bathroom counter could hold, lessons with a stylist about blow-drying, one-on-one private tutoring so I could catch up to the elite curriculum. My mom had put us into this strange new world, and she was determined to make us both fit.
It’s weird, that I kind of look back on that misery with a fondness. These days my mom and I are too busy for much more than this — weird post-midnight encounters in the kitchen, both of us already poised with one foot out the door.
This time I beat her to it. “I’m gonna go to bed.”
My mom nods. “Don’t forget to leave your phone on tomorrow, so Taffy can reach you.”
“Right.”
I should probably be annoyed that she thinks Twitter takes priority over my actual education — especially considering she put me in one of the most competitive schools in the country — but it’s nice, in a way. To have her need me for something.
Back in my room, I lean on the mass of pillows on my bed, pointedly avoiding my laptop and the mountain of work still waiting for me by opening the Weazel app instead and typing a reply.
Bluebird
Well look who it is. Can’t sleep?
I think for a moment Wolf won’t respond, but sure enough, the chat bubble opens again. There’s a certain kind of thrill and an even more certain kind of dread — a hazard of using the Weazel app. The whole thing is anonymous, and supposedly there are only kids from our school on it. You’re assigned a username when you log on for the first time, always some kind of animal, and stay anonymous as long as you’re in the main Hallway Chat that’s open to everyone.
But if you talk with anyone one-on-one on the app, at some point — you never know when — the app reveals your identities to each other. Boom. Secrecy out the window.
So basically, the more I talk to Wolf, the likelier the odds are that the app will out us to each other. In fact, considering some people are randomly revealed to each other within a week or even within a day, it’s kind of a miracle we’ve gone two months like this.
Wolf
Nah. Too busy worrying about you butchering Pip’s narrative.
Maybe that’s why, lately, we’ve started getting a little more personal than usual. Saying things that won’t quite give us away, but aren’t all that subtle either.
Bluebird
You’d think I’d have an advantage. Pip’s whole rags-to-riches thing isn’t so far off my mark
Wolf
Yeah. I’m starting to think we’re the only ones who weren’t born with silver spoons in multiple orifices
I hold my breath, then, as if the app will out us both right there. I want it and I don’t. It’s kind of pathetic, but everyone is so closed off and competitive that Wolf is the closest thing I’ve had to a friend since we moved here. I don’t want anything to change that.
It’s not really that I’m afraid he’d disappoint me. I’m afraid I’d disappoint him.
Wolf
Anyway, milk it for all it’s worth. Especially cuz those assholes probably paid a much smarter person to write their essays for them.
Bluebird
I hate that you’re probably right.
Wolf
Hey. Only 8 more months ’til graduation.
I lie back on my bed, closing my eyes. Sometimes it feels like those eight months can’t go by fast enough.
Jack
People should be banned from sending emails before 9 a.m. on Mondays. Particularly if said email is going to wreck my day.
To the parents and eager learning beavers of Stone Hall Academy, it begins. A clear sign it’s from Rucker, full-time vice principal and part-time thief of joy.
It has come to the faculty’s attention that members of the student body are engaging in anonymous chats on an app called “Weasel.” Not only is it not sanctioned by the school, but it is a growing cause for concern. The risk of cyberbullying, the potential spread of test answers, and the unknown origins of this app are all reason enough for us to enact a schoolwide ban, effective immediately.
Parents, we urge you to have a frank discussion with students about the dangers of this app. From this day forward, any student caught engaging in “Weasel” on campus will be subject to a disciplinary hearing. Anyone with information about this app is encouraged to come forward.
Have an enriching day,
Vice Principal Rucker
I shut my screen off, throwing myself back onto my pillow and closing my eyes.
Weasel? Of all the hills I’m willing to die on, this should probably be the last one, but I’m irked by the misnomer anyway. It’s “Weazel,” my slightly cheeky homage to early-era apps that abused z and disavowed vowels (I figured leaning into that second one and calling it “Weazl” was a little too much, even for me).