“I need the bathroom before the show.”
Mom went quiet. “Well, that tells me they never really saw you.”
“Madison sent in a video. They were laughing about it.”
“Oh, Eva.”
“I want to leave.”
“Then leave.”
I swallowed. “Really?”
“You don’t owe them anything.”
“I want to leave.”
I looked at myself in the mirror. I was wearing the red dress, my eyes were wet, and my mouth was shaking.
Then Mom said, “But you don’t have to run either.”
I pulled the cardigan from my bag.
Mom saw it and said, “Put it on if you want to. Just make sure it’s a choice, not armor.”
I held it for a second.
Then I folded it and left it on the counter.
I looked at myself in the mirror.
“I’m going back in.”
“Why?”
“Because Madison said my name like I wasn’t in the room.”
Mom’s voice warmed. “Then go take your place in the room.”
The lights dimmed as I returned.
The slideshow began with weddings, babies, dogs, promotions, and smiling vacation photos. People clapped and laughed.
“Then go take your place in the room.”
Then my slide appeared.
EVA.
A photo of me in Chicago filled the screen. I was standing with my team after a campaign launch, smiling with my arm around a younger coworker.
Under it were the words: Marketing Director. Community Mentor. Chicago.
People clapped.
Brielle leaned forward. “Who’s that?”
Then my slide appeared.
Ashley stared. “The woman that was sitting with us, no?”
Madison barely looked up from her phone.
Then the music cut off.
A grainy hallway video appeared.
Blue lockers. Dirty floor. Fluorescent lights.
Then sixteen-year-old me appeared on the screen, clutching my books.
Madison barely looked up from her phone.
Teenage Madison’s voice rang through the speakers.
“Careful, everyone. The before picture is trying to walk.”
Someone laughed in the video.
My books hit the floor.
The girl on the screen dropped to her knees so fast that it looked like she was apologizing for existing.
The ballroom went silent.
Madison laughed once.
No one joined her.
Someone laughed in the video.
The organizer rushed toward the laptop. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize…”
“Leave it up,” I said.
Everyone turned.
I walked toward the screen.
“I want everyone to look at her for a second.”
No one moved.
“Leave it up.”
“She spent four years trying to disappear,” I said. “She changed how she walked, how she laughed, and how she answered questions in class. She learned which halls to avoid and which girls could ruin her day with one look.”
Madison’s face went pale.
I turned to her.
“And ten years later, you still thought humiliating her was entertainment.”
Madison stood. “Wait.”
I pointed at the screen.
“That girl was me.”
“She spent four years trying to disappear.”
A low sound moved through the room.
Ashley covered her mouth.
Brielle stared at the floor.
Madison forced a smile. “Eva, come on. We were kids.”
“I was a kid too, Madison.”
Her smile fell.
“I didn’t know you were still upset,” she said.
“Eva, come on. We were kids.”
“You didn’t know because you never asked.”
“It was just a funny memory.”
“You remembered the laugh,” I said. “I remembered going home in tears.”
Someone near the back said, “That wasn’t funny.”
Another voice added, “It never was.”
Madison looked around, but the room didn’t move toward her this time.
“That wasn’t funny.”
“Everybody got teased,” she muttered.
“No,” I said. “Everybody didn’t have a camera pointed at them while they tried not to cry.”
The organizer stepped beside me. “Eva, I’m sorry. That clip should never have been accepted.”
I nodded.
