With a death grip on the strap of my bag, looking to the ground, I watch my feet move waiting for the comments and laughs. Passing several groups of students, I’m shocked when no one says anything. Maybe Ronnie was right, I think, maybe it has all blown over or my hat and glasses are keeping me hidden.
Maybe is a wish for another day, I realize when I leave Ronnie and enter my own private hell. The Quad may not have said anything but the people in this class are not willing to let it go.
Did I mention I have this class with all the basketball players?
Fuck my life.
The classroom is set up like a large cafeteria. Long rectangle tables on the left and right with an aisle down the middle. A podium stands in front of a wall of dry erase board at the end of the aisle, a doorway to an office off to the left. Huge windows line the right side of the room, letting in the morning sun.
Laughter fills my ears, glancing to the source of the ridicule, sitting atop the tables on the right, in the middle of the room is the fab five of the National Champion, Division II, JSU Fighting Berries. Yes, you read that right. The Jalapa State University Fighting Berries. Chase Masters, Jackson Raines, Brendon Holly, Austin Clem and Kohl Black. The starting lineup, the pride of JSU and three of the five are staring at me. Laughing. Except for Kohl and Jackson. Kohl is not laughing or staring in my direction, he’s looking out the window. Jackson is looking but his face is somber.
The whispers and laughs of everyone on that side of the room continue while I force myself to continue to my seat in the front, on the left.
“I can’t believe she has the nerve to show up,” a female voice sneers.
My head down, my heart beating a deafening beat in my ears I watch the floor move below me with each step. Spread across the tabletop in front of my seat is a red bra with nipple cutouts and see-through lace. Lifting it with my pencil under the shoulder strap. Crinkling my nose in disgust, thinking this is so small it wouldn’t even cover one of my nipples. A raucous roar erupts from the other side of the room. One of the girls from class jerks the offending garment from the tip of my pencil.
Silence descends, so all the assholes can hear her hateful words, “We thought you could use some help figuring out what a real woman is supposed to wear,” she glares, disgust painted all over her face while her eyes rake over my body, “It’s obvious this won’t fit your fat ass, though.” Stuffing it into her bag, leering one last time over her shoulder, she returns to the other side of the room. Laughter erupts once again, breaking the silence.
Bathing in the cruel taunts, face heated in embarrassment, I lower myself in my seat as fast as I can.
“Ahem,” Doctor Parker says standing behind the podium. Clearing his throat kills the laughter as students rush to take their seats and all eyes focus on the front.
“Before we get started in class today, we seem to have a predicament on campus right now,” Dr. P says his eyes scanning the group on the right side of the room. “I’ve just been informed a few a weeks ago a photo of one of our students started circling among the student body. An inappropriate and highly illegal photo. I would just like to remind everyone who’s sharing this particular photo that child pornography is a very serious crime.” The entire room gasps, “Just a reminder, the subject in the photo you are all passing around and laughing at is seventeen-years- old.” Arms locked tight across his chest, he pauses letting this settle into our brains. Heat covers my skin from all eyes focusing on me. JSU is a small school, the only scandal right now, is me.
“For those of you slow on the uptake here, that means all who possess or share this picture are participating in the act of possession and distribution of child pornography.” His glaring eyes zero in on the basketball players, he continues. “This is a very serious crime. I’m sure none of you would do very well in prison. I expect this picture to disappear from all digital devices and all social media accounts, today. If any remain, I have a friend with the FBI who will track its origins and speak to those who refuse to remove it,” he commands, compelling each person in the room to heed his words, reaching me last.
I’m mortified, frozen to my seat, my face feels like it’s on fire, my eyes boring holes in the table top, wishing it would open and swallow me up. I’ll never live this down. Forget coming back for a class reunion, I will always be known as that girl, the one who shared her tits with the entire campus. Dr. P’s intentions are pure, he’s trying to help but the burning glares of each student have me itching to flee and continue hiding in my room.
“Since you all find bullying so amusing, that is your final assignment for the semester. To be precise, the effects of bullying. 49% of students reported bullying of some form in the last year. For this project half of you will take the side of the bully and the other half will take the side of the victim. Students on the right side of the room will be the victims, students on the left will be the bullies,” Doctor Parker says, drawing the student’s attention away from me as pencils start moving across paper writing down the assignment details.
The way the room is set up these assigned roles are the opposite
