INSTALOVE

Chapter 10: Lower Than Lowercase

Chapter 10: Lower Than Lowercase

E L L I E

I stare up at the white popcorn ceiling of my dorm room, with my blanket pulled up to my chin. My sopping clothes lay on the floor in a ball. I should wring them out before I go to sleep tonight. Otherwise I'll awake to a room that smells of swimming-pool chlorine and mildew. But I can't quite summon the energy to move.

My InSight Visor sits atop my desk. My eyes flick away from the ceiling to look at it. I should put it away inside a drawer—or at least turn the lenses to face the wall instead of my bed. I can't shake the sensation that it's watching me.

Staring at me... like everyone else here at Winthrop. They all stood around in a semi-circle, witnessing my clumsiness. My complete and utter cluelessness. The thought of their stares makes my chest contract, like my lungs are shriveling up inside of me. I pull the blanket over face as if to block their view. But it's too late for that, isn't it? They already saw. They already have me pegged. I thought it was bad when those girls renamed me "lowercase," but this is so much worse. My social status just plunged far lower.

Well, nine feet lower to be precise. The depth of Dr. Carlyle's swimming pool.

My gaze goes back to the visor. I still haven't figured out how to use that thing to make phone calls. My parents are expecting me to check in with them tonight... Maybe I should retrieve my phone. Call home and tell them this program was a mistake. A huge mistake. If they set out first thing tomorrow morning, they could be here by noon to pick me up.

But the thought of explaining what happened to my mom and dad only makes me feel worse. I flip over onto my stomach and bury my face in my pillow. I can't do it. I can't face talking to anyone. Ever, ever again. I'll just stay here in my bed for the next four weeks until they come to fetch me as scheduled. They'll park their car in Winthrop Academy's u-shaped drive, and march proudly into the Maker Fair to see what their brilliant offspring made. They'll search and search for my name among the other students' projects, until finally they find me. Here. In this bed. With my face buried in this pillow.

I'll tell them what I made for Maker Fair. I made a fool of myself. And the whole project took me less than a day to complete!

A muffled sound emanates from my throat, but I can't quite tell if it's a chuckle or a sob. Maybe this whole experience will seem hilariously funny to me at some point. Even in my misery, some portion of my brain knows that's true. But it's going to take me longer than two weeks to get there.

For now, there's only one thing I can do. Tuck those VR glasses safely inside my desk, and leave them there untouched. Never look at the world again through those traitorous lenses. Forget Reese. Forget Samantha. Forget my whole hard-won column full of InstaFriends...

But can I really forget Maddox?

I let out a loud sniff. He's probably forgotten me already. Out of all those people staring at me as I pushed my way past and ran for the garden gate, Maddox was the only one not watching. Eleanor grabbed him by the hand and dragged him away. He went with her without a backward glance. He's obviously in a relationship with her—a girl eons out of my league. What in the world made me think that he was flirting with me?

My thoughts are interrupted by a soft knock at my door. It's probably Ms. Cleary, the resident advisor. I'm pretty sure she left the party before my graceful swan dive into loser-dom, but she probably heard the whole story by now. No doubt Dr. Carlyle told her. She's here to check up on me, and I'd rather smother myself with this pillow than face her.

"I'm fine," I call out, lifting my head up an inch. "No worries. Totally fine!"

The door clicks open a sliver. A voice penetrates through the crack, whispering my name. That's not Ms. Cleary. Definitely not. Is that—