Lovebirds

RECENT DEVELOPMENTS

"Good Morning Hillsdale Central High School! Boy oh boy do we have an exciting day ahead of us." Freddie clears his throat.

"To begin, the Hillsdale Harpy boys' soccer team won the first round of championship qualifiers this past weekend. Coach would like to inform everyone, and I quote: 'they're sharpening their cleats and strengthening their strategies...' Coach also says that anyone who attends the next game in Springfield will get five points of extra credit..." A beat. "She didn't say that— but I'm not opposed! Anyway—"

Maisie taps Spencer with her hip, shaking her focus from the end of the hall. She'd been thinking about the notecards that are due for AP Psyche tomorrow. So many terms all cramming their way through the tiny neurons in her brain; skipping like stones across the synapses into the—the— oh, what was it again? The reception something-or-other.

Maisie suddenly cuts in front of her, planting her hands on her hips. "Spencer, did you hear anything I just said?"

Spence swallows, shaking her head. Her eyes look hollow, face blank, as she stares down Maisie's pupils.

"Right," Maisie says.

"—The art club will be meeting in, well, um, the art room after school today to discuss their next trip into the city," Freddie continues. "If anyone wants to know more about museums and hot-dog stands, please talk to Mr. Petruvya."

"Check your phone." Spencer continues to stare blankly at her friend, belatedly feeling her brow lower in confusion.

"Okay..."

"Open Instagram."

"Mais, you're starting to freak me out."

"Look up the vinceandspence Instagram— no, no! Nothing bad, just—" Maisie takes the phone from her hands, searching for the account herself. "Look."

Phone comfortably back in her possession, Spencer stares at the page. Blinks, wondering whether to let her feelings of apprehension take over or let them dissipate into sweet relief.

"They're gone."

"What's up?" Felicity's gentle voice barely makes its way to Spencer's ear, cutting carefully through the hallway conversations around them.

"They're gone," Spencer repeats, letting her eyes meet Felicity's—who glances at Maisie as if asking for the state of Spencer's sanity. "Look," and the phone passes into Felicity's hands.

"What's gone?"

"The pictures—the stalker pictures—all three of them have been deleted!" A smile finally takes Spencer's face, returning some color to her cheeks as she recalls the sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous systems from her notecards.

"On a more serious note," Freddie's voice cuts in, "the office staff would like to remind everyone that the internet is not a place for bullying. It's not meant to be a mode through which to tear people down or scare them into submission."

"This feels oddly relevant," Maisie notes.

"Vincent," Spencer realizes, her focus fixed on the nearest speaker.

"Cyberbullying will not be tolerated—and folks, this is a serious offence. Like, jail-time kinda stuff. So be nice. Share your pictures. Like your friends. Be good humans."

"Gotta hand it to Freddie," Maisie says, beginning to walk again, "he has a way of speaking to the masses."

"He's part of 'the masses,'" Felicity points out— "Oh!"

"Fe?" Both Spencer and Maisie stop in their tracks. "Is everything okay?" Maisie's hand falls reassuringly on Felicity's shoulder.

"No—no, nothing like that, it's just um..." She bites her lower lip, a smile slipping its way across her face. "Oh, it's nothing."

Maisie gives her a stern look.

Felicity's cheeks grow rosier. "I asked Dion to homecoming."

They stare at her. Jaws dropped, eyes wide, they look at each other, then again to their friend. A second later and they're bombarding her with questions— "How!? When!? What did he say?!"

"By the way, folks," Freddie adds, "today is the very last day to buy your homecoming tickets. Don't be the schmuck who shows up without 'em. We don't take holding up the line too kindly here. Ticket purchases can be made by..."

As the girls reach the end of the hall, they're completely engrossed in their interrogation. Felicity's cheeks becoming strained as she smiles while trying to explain every detail, so they pass unaware of the someone who watches from the edges of the hall. Leans against the locker, head tipped down to their phone, while their eyes stay trained on Spencer alone.

"Have a fantastic day, folks! This is Freddie Carmichael, over and out."