The dog porn thing was all Alyssa’s idea, I swear. She just sucked at computers and since I was taking a Photoshop class she asked me to help her. I never should have done it. What a nightmare. How was I to know they’d all end up dead?
It was a Friday, so my parents said I could spend the night at Alyssa’s house. We were in her room listening to the new Miley Cyrus album. I was trying out different shades of lipstick: applying a thick layer of candy apple red, puckering and pouting in the mirror before wiping it all off into a fistful of Kleenex and moving on to eggplant purple. Alyssa was sprawled on her back across her lacy, pink canopy bed, her laptop propped up on her belly as she scrolled through Facebook (Alyssa was always on Facebook). It was a warm spring night, and the window was open so we could smell the redwoods, and hear the sounds of cars and trucks out in the distance on Highway 101. Alyssa was chomping on a wad of bubblegum in that really annoying way she had, when she turned to me, lips smacking, and said, “I know how we can totally screw her over.”
“How?” I asked tentatively, throwing my jet-black hair back and cocking my head over my shoulder to pucker in the mirror and catch the way the light shimmered on my midnight blue lips. I was a little nervous because Alyssa can become a really crazy bitch when she wants something bad enough, and I could tell by her quiet intensity that this was one of those times.
“Dog porn.”
“Dog porn?” I asked, wiping the blue from my lips.
“Yeah. Porn with dogs. 'Cause that’s what she is: a dog. A dirty, filthy dog.”
“Jesus, that’s disgusting, Alyssa! What're you even talking about?”
“Well, we just Photoshop pictures of Credence having sex with dogs and put them all over Facebook. That will show that little whore. I’ll find all the pictures, you splice them together. You’re so good at Photoshop.” She gave me a creepy little smile, and then started googling porn and bestiality websites, humming a Lorde song as she downloaded some truly disgusting pictures that were surprisingly easy to find. I really didn’t want to help her, or even get involved in her weird, petty squabble. But Alyssa can be scary and I just wanted to stay on her good side. You do not want to be Alyssa’s enemy; that’s for sure.
Of course, it was all about a guy. Isn’t every tragedy involving a teenage girl about a guy? This one’s name was Evan. No, he didn’t screw her and tell all his friends what a lame lay she was; in fact, he didn’t break her heart in any way. He was a nice guy. He didn’t even know she existed. I guess that was his mistake.
Evan was a new kid, having just moved to Fickle Hill from Cutten, and Alyssa was crazy about him the minute she saw him. Don’t ask me why, I thought he was a total dork. He was, like, Mr. Thespian, all about Drama and acting and stuff. Well it just so happens that the Drama department was going to put on Streetcar Named Desire. How they thought they could pull that off I don’t know. Well Evan tried out and got the lead. Alyssa’s neighbor, and childhood nemesis, Credence got the role of Stella. Alyssa didn’t even try out. Seriously, she had, like, no interest in theatre at all; she just always hated Credence. Some kind of tiff they got into in elementary school and never got over.
Credence had always been this kinda sad, nerdy girl. Alyssa, being one of the so-called “popular girls,” made sure Credence knew her place on the ladder of Arcata High’s social hierarchy: the bottom rung. But, in senior year she suddenly blossomed—or whatever you call it—into this really smart, pretty girl. Of course Evan hooked up with her, get two teenagers rehearsing lines with each other, meeting after school to discuss their character’s motivations, and the hormones are flying. It’s inevitable.
So Alyssa lost it. She was pissed, just indignant and irate that the talented, good looking new kid had the nerve to go out with a nobody like Credence and not even notice Ms. Popularity: Alyssa. She just had it in for poor Credence. And how was she going to get her? Dog porn.
