Free The Darkest Lie by Pintip Dunn Page A

flinch, and Justin laughs. It cuts me like broken glass.
    â€œOh, didn’t you know that’s what your mom did? It wasn’t just Tommy, you know. He’s the only one who came forward, but she used to go down the row of us guys, giving us whatever we wanted.”
    â€œI don’t believe you,” I whisper. “That story’s ridiculous.”
    He smirks. “Is that right?” His voice is baiting, baiting, baiting me. I’m a helpless fish, unable to avoid the lure because I can’t tell where it is. “How well did you really know your mother, CeCe? Did she tell you about her sexual fetishes?”
    â€œI knew her well enough.” I lift my chin, but the effect’s ruined by my trembling jaw.
    He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a cell phone. “See for yourself. Apparently, your mother’s been a slut her whole life.”
    He hands the phone to me, and I take it automatically. With the same sick compulsion that draws onlookers to car accidents, I look at the screen.
    The Internet browser is open, with the headline “Hotties We Love” blazoned across the top. Underneath, a stunning teenager with sunset hair looks at the camera, her beauty eclipsed only by the glorious orbs of her naked breasts.
    The caption proclaims: “Tabitha, at 17.”
    The phone slips through my fingers and falls into the muddy grass.
    â€œHey! Watch it!” Justin yells.
    But his words are muffled through the roar in my ears. It’s my mother, all right. There’s no mistaking the classic bone structure, those soulfully expressive eyes that used to be the last thing I saw before I went to sleep. She would croon a lullaby as she tucked me in, and I never felt safer than when I looked into those moon-drenched eyes.
    I will always love you, she used to say. No matter what mistakes you make, no matter how badly you behave, I will always, always love you.
    Too bad I can’t say the same about her.
    â€œWhere did you get this?” My voice breaks and crackles like the late autumn leaves.
    Justin smirks. “I stumbled across it during one of my porn sessions. Imagine my surprise when I realized it was none other than our old friend, Miz Brooks.” He turns and shouts at the crowd. “If you haven’t already seen it, people, it’s www.hottieswelove.com ! Go on. You know you want to.”
    All around us, people pull out their phones. Tap on the keys. And stare at me.
    Again. Just like those first weeks after my mom’s suicide.
    Sweat drenches my body, and I sway on my feet. I can’t see anything but a long, narrow tunnel in front of me. Too bad that’s where Justin’s standing.
    He fishes his phone out of the mud and wipes it against his jeans. “You wanna pose for me, CeCe? Follow in mummy’s footsteps? Your rack’s not quite as big as the old lady’s, but I’ll make a few allowances. I’m generous like that.”
    The whispering increases. I’m trapped in a beehive, and the drones are closing in, surrounding me, sealing off every exit. I’m drowning in their sticky, honey-like gossip, gasping, gasping for a breath. And then, a new voice breaks in.
    â€œPhotoshop.” Sam strides between Justin and me, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Haven’t you all heard of Photoshop? This picture you’re all gawking at could be fake. All you need is a head shot of someone, and you can create any image you want.”
    It’s bullshit, of course. The lines in the photo are too clean, too seamless. And I’ve seen a very similar version of those breasts before, reflected back from my own mirror. But at least Sam’s trying.
    He looks Justin up and down, from the hair that flops over his forehead to his too-cool loafers. “I could go on Facebook this very second, snag a photo of this guy, and presto, you could be looking at his naked photo. Whether you’d enjoy it is a different