26

JUST WHEN I THOUGHT THE hot-tub-video ordeal was well and truly over with, another version
pops up and reminds me that this particular nightmare will never be over. Nothing on the Internet ever
dies; isn’t that what people say? This time I’m in the library, and out of the corner of my eye I see two
sophomore girls sharing a pair of earbuds, watching the video, giggling. There I am, in my nightgown,
draped all over Peter’s lap like a blanket. For a few seconds I just sit there, trapped in my indecision.
To confront or not to confront. I remember Margot’s words about rising above it and acting like I
couldn’t care less. And then I think, Screw it.
I stand up, stalk over to them, and snatch the earbuds out of the laptop. “Part of Your World”
comes blasting out the speakers.
“Hey!” the girl says, whirling in her seat.
Then she sees it’s me, and she and her friend exchange a panicky look. She slams the laptop shut.
“Go ahead, play it,” I say, crossing my arms.
“No thanks,” she says.
I reach over her and open it and push play. Whoever’s made this video has spliced it with scenes
from The Little Mermaid. “When’s it my turn? Wouldn’t I love, love to explore that shore up above.

. .” I snap the computer shut. “Just so you know, watching this video is the equivalent of child
pornography, and you guys could be charged for it. Your IP address is already in the system. Think
about that before you forward it on. That’s distribution.”
The red-haired girl gapes. “How is this child porn?”
“I’m underage and so is Peter.”
The other girl smirks and says, “I thought you guys claimed you weren’t having sex.”
I’m stumped. “Well, we’ll let the Justice Department sort that out. But first I’m notifying Principal
Lochlan.”
“It’s not like we’re the only ones looking at it!” the red-haired girl says.
“Think about how you’d feel if it were you in that video,” I say.
“I’d feel great,” the girl mutters. “You’re lucky. Kavinsky’s hot.”
Lucky. Right.

It catches me off guard how upset Peter is when I show him the Little Mermaid video. Because
nothing bad ever sticks to Peter; it just rolls off his back. That’s why people like him so much, I think.
He’s sure of himself; he’s self-possessed. It sets people at ease.
But it’s the Little Mermaid video that breaks him. We watch it in his car, on his phone, and he’s so
mad I’m afraid he’s going to throw the phone out the window. “Those fuckers! How dare they!” Peter
punches the steering wheel, and the horn beeps. I jump. I’ve never seen him upset like this. I’m not
sure what to say, how to calm him down. I grew up in a house full of women and one gentle dad. I
don’t know anything about teenage boys’ tempers.
“Shit!” he yells. “I hate that I can’t protect you from this.”