What It's Like To Be Liked

13. You Can't Be The Troy To My Gabriella

Chapter Thirteen- You Can't Be The Troy To My Gabriella

And just like that, I was grounded. My beloved phone was confiscated and I couldn't leave the house for the whole weekend. Unless I had to do some chores for mom. That's right. My first weekend at Stratonville gone out the window. Thank God I was at Jake's house and not someone else's, or else I would have been grounded for the rest of the month. That reminds me, I didn't even thank him for letting me stay overnight. That was really nice of him. Something Jake doesn't usually appear to be. And now, since I lack a phone, I would have to do it the stalker way.

Through Facebook of course.

I had drawn the curtains, blocking out the hot, sunny rays and had switched on the air conditioner. Damn, the weather of Stratonville can be so confusing. Like, in the mornings, it's super hot; in the afternoon it rains; in the evening, it's windy and at night, perfect. I've always loved the night - when everything is quiet and peaceful. The moon being the only source of light outlines every being, giving every object a delicate, yet mysterious look. Okay, enough of the philosophical stuff.

I fished my laptop from under the pile of clothes. The bright glare of the screen hit my unprepared eyes like knives. Eyes wrinkled, I logged into my Facebook account. My eyes widened at the number of notifications and friend requests I had. Most of the notifications were pictures where I had been tagged by people I barely knew. And I sure as hell did not look sober in any of them. What happened last night?

I didn't bother glancing through the friend requests for two reasons: 1) There were too many. 2) I was sure I didn't know half of the senders.

As I glanced through my notifications, I saw something very, very -and I mean very- alarming.

Sara Bently and 38 others like a photo you are tagged in.

It wasn't the 'liked' part that scared me, it was the page where the photo was uploaded. Namely Rose Walden's Blooms And Wilts. The page I dreaded stumbling upon. But I had to. I had to know about this virtual site which could either make or break you.

I braced myself as I clicked the page, anxiety filling my lungs. I had seen school confession pages as well as Burn Books before. The stuff in there, ninety percent of the time, was negative. However, this was the first time I had come across a page whose posts had a chance of being positive. Still, I was afraid of what I might see.

The screen took its time, loading bit by bit, making me more anxious as the seconds ticked by. Chewing my nails -which I would totally regret later- I scrolled through the page.

Like any other Facebook 'Confession Page', this one too, had anonymous administrators. Very giddy-headed ones- probably cheerleaders. I mean, who else would be so excited about Dianna Posh wearing the same outfit twice in a week? Yeah, nobody.

That's when I saw it. The photo where I was tagged. Actually, make that 'photos' because there were already about fifteen posts about me.

This can not be happening.

Not again.

I skimmed through each post, my jaw dropping lower and lower as the intensity of each post increased. Beneath each post was a picture. It was like people were spying on me 24/7 -which was totally not cool. I know I'm fabulous but this was touching 'Call 911' on the Creep-O-Meter. Which is the greatest point, if you're wondering.

The posts about me went from hilarious to downright bitchy. Under each post was attached a picture of me doing the mentioned action. Although these posts violated my privacy, I couldn't be too mad due to the hilarity caused by them. Seriously, they sounded like journalists for Teen Vogue. Here were some of my favorites: