Chapter 2: Greer's Panic

Greer’s messages popped up one after another.

“Imogen, are you crazy?”

“Where did you get that photo?”

“I’m warning you, delete it now. Or you’ll regret it.”

I didn’t reply.

The forum was a warzone.

Greer’s stans and the randoms were battling it out in the comments.

“Greer was at the OB-GYN too? Explain that.”

“Just a reminder: OB-GYN isn’t just for abortions. Could have been a normal checkup.”

“Then Imogen could’ve been there for a normal checkup too. So why did Greer post about her in the first place?”

“This is getting good.”

Greer sent a fourth message.

Her tone had shifted.

“Imogen, I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“The post was just a joke. I’ll delete it.”

“You delete your picture too, okay? Let’s not make this a bigger deal than it is.”

Imogen.

She had called me that before.

Last time, on the third day after the whole school started mocking me, she’d “happened” to sit next to me in the cafeteria.

She smiled, hooked an arm around my shoulders, and said:

“Imogen, don’t take it so personally. Everyone’s just messing with you.”

Then she’d turned away and sent a voice message to her little clique.

“She actually believed me.”

I looked down and typed.

“Greer, I’m not playing games. I have one question for you.”

“The person who went with you to the OB-GYN that day. Was it your uncle, or was it your dad?”

Sent.

The chat box showed “typing…”

A few seconds later, it disappeared.

One minute.

Three minutes.

Five minutes.

I stared at the silent chat box.

Last time, the truth about Greer came out much later.

By then, I was already dead.

But I knew why she had gone to the OB-GYN.

I knew who the “uncle” who picked her up every Saturday really was.

And I knew what she feared most.

In the sixth minute, Greer’s messages came flooding in.

“What do you mean?!”

“Are you stalking me?”

“Imogen, are you insane? Do you have any idea what you’re saying?”

“My uncle was a patient at that hospital! Is it a crime to visit him?”

“You say one more word and I’ll make sure you’re expelled.”

Five messages, all sent within a minute of each other.

She was panicking.

I replied with one word.

“Oh.”

Then I closed the chat.

Twenty minutes later, Greer edited the original post.

She added an explanation.

“Okay, let me explain.”

“I went to the hospital that day to visit my uncle, who was a patient there. I happened to pass the OB-GYN and saw a classmate. I just mentioned it. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“As for the photo she posted, I was at the registration desk because I was helping my uncle’s girlfriend sign in.”

“I hope everyone stops making random guesses.”

A few seconds later, a neat row of comments defending her appeared.

“Greer already explained. Stop stirring up shit.”

“Imogen’s photo just shows Greer at the desk. You can’t see what she was signing in for.”

“She got called out and started lashing out. Typical.”

The tide began to turn.

Some people went back to Greer’s side.

Others were still watching from the sidelines.

But it was already much better than last time.

Last time, I had done nothing.

I had only hidden under my covers, refreshing the page, watching those comments crush me little by little.

This time, at least, plenty of people were still asking:

“But why was Greer at the registration desk?”

That was enough.

The first step was complete.

She was starting to panic.

I rolled over and switched my phone to silent.

Greer, did you really think inventing a story about “visiting your uncle” would be enough?

Your uncle wasn’t in that hospital that day.

Last time, I checked.

This time, I would make sure everyone else checked, too.

Tomorrow, I would return to school.

The real show was about to begin.