your best american girl ✓

20 | coup d'etat

I don't know what the hell I was expecting to see when I got to school this lovely Monday morning, but it certainly wasn't whatever the fuck this is.

There, on my locker door, the words you smell like fire are spray painted in thick yellow block letters.

"Oh fuck," I mutter, setting my backpack down in front of me so I can swipe a finger over the metal surface. Some of the paint comes off. Still wet. Someone must've done this recently. "This can't be good."

"Oh my God did he actually fucking do this, or am I imagining things?" Tara murmurs from behind me.

"Does that mean...does that mean people will know it was us that literally set a house on fire?" Faye whispers, taking tissues out of her blazer pocket and letting the water from her bottle soak through the thin paper layers so she can try to dry it off.

Glancing around us, I realize that we've garnered quite the audience. Students have huddled in clusters a few feet away from us, sneaking in looks of disapproval while they chat in hushed voices. My stomach churns at the sight. There's no doubt in my mind that some of them have started to put two and two together. They probably know we are the ones behind the Reddit post. Knowing how fast rumors travel in Cape Bedford, I doubt this new information is gonna stay between campus walls.

This is a completely calculated move. He has made the war public.

But why?

Trying to get me arrested? As far as I know, there's no physical evidence tying me to the arson except for the fact that I have a motive, and in order to prove, I have one he'd have to expose himself. If he's trying to turn people against me, then it worked. Either way, my gut is telling me something much more sinister is in the works. Up until now, I thought we had an unspoken agreement to not publicly acknowledge each other, but I suppose that was never a thing now considering he aired out my dirty laundry.

One thing is for sure: a storm is brewing, and I don't know when it's going to hit.

"Ignore them," Tara scoffs, stealing a tissue from Faye to help her clean off the graffiti. Together, they've managed to scrape off the first 2 letters. "Don't give them something to talk about. That's what they want."

It's so easy for her to say that because Tara doesn't understand.

She doesn't know the feeling of being invisible and hypervisible at the same time. The oxymoron of being seen, yet overlooked. Not transparent or opaque, but translucent. Du Bois' theory of Double Consciousness. These kids didn't see me as a human being. They saw what they wanted to see from me—an extension of my identity. I see it in the way their stares are laced with curiosity and pity—scrutinizing me like a specimen under a microscope or an exhibit in a museum.

If they want a show, they sure as fuck aren't going to get it from me.

After all, any publicity is good publicity, right? At the very least I am not being ignored.

"Why did we have to burn his house down? Why couldn't we, I don't know, just TP it like normal teenagers?"

"To be honest, I regret nothing," Faye mumbles, picking at the letters with her nails. "Men are so lucky sexuality isn't a choice or else no one would be attracted to them."

"Guys, you really don't need to clean it. I'm sure a staff member will have it removed."

"Ugh, I can't believe him," Faye groans, nervously looking over her shoulder as she chucks the wet paint-stained tissue into the black garbage bin. "They're literally the worst. If these kids knew the whole story, I bet they wouldn't be so quick to judge. He's so fucking lucky we'd never stoop that low."