Get Out If You Can

One Year Ago

Caitlyn Tejada rolled her eyes at Bennett Hawk's latest post.

Honestly. They were running out of original jokes. They'd posted a video – a sort of a time-lapse thing that made her look like she was step-jumping – of her dribbling the soccer ball downfield, and paired it with some horrible electro-pop music. Probably taken at a game she'd played in before she was classified as crazy. And that was a damn good dribble, Caitlyn told herself, replaying the video on her anonymous account. She'd decided it was about time she made one.

The caption read: 'when it's your first time and he tells you you were good'.

Caitlyn rolled her eyes once more, scrolling down. They wouldn't really keep it kind like that.

And there it was. 'But you know you weren't xD.'

Ignoring the amount of likes the video had garnered, she scrolled down further. The Hawk had gone on a posting spree that week, probably even wilder than the last – and it didn't really bother her, but now she had a sort of idea who was handling the account.

Derek. Obviously. He recognized his picture as part of her proof. And she knew it wouldn't be long till she got a message telling her to destroy whatever evidence she had, or else.

As if that was a threat anymore. Like, how much worse could they get? Wasn't this a good enough level to peak at?

She scrolled further, bracing herself for whatever was going to come.

At least these ones were, for a brief while, not about her. They were about Matt Hastings' probation notice – and the warning he'd gotten from school – but this was one of The Hawk's complimentary posts, the ones you just had to put up because everyone was already talking about it. No news at all. True, it was Hastings's first Callenfield Police call, but it wasn't like nobody had seen that coming.

The likes on the post weren't nearly as much as on those where she was featured.

She scrolled further. Ah, here was last week's juice. Whole school knew about it by now.

'Caitlyn Tejada is a bloody whore.' Caption of the picture in which she was kissing Lana, a few years back, when Lana wasn't high-and-mighty and still allowed herself to be identified as bi.

Of course, nobody knew about it. Now the comments on posts featuring her were so diverse, she thought they deserved an award for vocabulary, and probably a whole lot of bleach too. Fucking druggie was unique, she didn't really understand how kissing a girl amounted to taking drugs, but she let it rest. Faggot was a bit off the mark.

That hadn't bothered her. She hadn't even raised her eyebrows once. She knew what Derek was doing, and why. And it was a tiny bit satisfying to know that she wasn't falling to the bait — he had.

The one thing that only slightly lingered in her memory was how Lana, arm linked with that of Derek, told a crowd of curious spectators how Caitlyn had forced herself on her.

Caitlyn had wanted to laugh maliciously, tear up a crack in the crowd; walk up to Lana and pin her to the ground. But she didn't want to prove the nasty commentators on Instagram right, and anyway, when you've got your arm linked with that of the Mayor's son, you usually are in safe territory. And everybody knows it's easier that way.

Caitlyn sighed, shutting her phone and placing it on the table beside her bed. That was enough for one evening. She stretched her arms, slowly getting off the bed.

She unlocked her phone again, and typed a quick text.

Meet me outside. The river. X

The reply came almost immediately.