The Thrashers(79)

Lucy went next. She wore no makeup. She marched up the steps downtown like someone on a mission. The day before, she’d gotten her rejection letters from both Louisiana and Stanford, despite their offers of early admission in November.

There was little Julian Hollister could do to make himself seem more sympathetic. His lawyer pried his aviators out of his hands and forced his top buttons closed, but he was clearly the same American Eagle model he’d always been.

The three of them pled not guilty. Footage of each of them leaving the courthouse played on all news stations. News trucks clustered around the high school for over a week, catching snippets of interviews from anyone who wanted their five minutes of fame.

“This isn’t the first time they’ve done something like this, and as sad as I am that Emily is gone, I’m glad there’s a wake-up call here,” said a boy with brown hair and braces that Jodi had never seen before in her life.

Reagan Matthews seemed to be everywhere at once. “It’s called getting Thrashed. They’re the Thrashers, and what they do is they choose someone to take under their wing, hang out with, cheat off their homework—whatever, and then they Thrash them.”

“What does that mean? Specifically?” The reporter turned her mic back to Reagan.

“It means they ruin them. Dump them in the garbage, publicly humiliate them. It happened to me freshman year.”

Jodi pinched the bridge of her nose, wondering if this was what a migraine felt like.

A few weeks after the hearings, Lucy’s uncle told them about a Facebook group called Justice for Emily Mills. It was two thousand members strong and full of opinions about the Emily Mills case. According to the group, the Thrashers were guilty until proven innocent, and even then it wouldn’t be enough.

Paige started getting harassed in the parking lot after school by media crews and “concerned citizens.” The school had to hire outside security to keep them off the grounds. A campaign was organized to get Zack expelled. Jodi suspected that the only thing that kept him in school was Greg and Charity Thrasher’s yearly donations. Lucy was getting out of her car in front of her house one day when someone drove by and threw a glass bottle at her. He’d yelled, “How do you like it?” after the glass shattered at her feet. Julian’s water polo scholarships had been pulled, and almost all of his East Coast colleges had rescinded his admission.

On Jodi’s eighteenth birthday, they had a small get-together at Zack’s house. When she arrived, she thought Paige and Julian just weren’t there yet.

“These are from Paige,” Lucy said, smiling brightly and carrying a Tupperware full of homemade cupcakes.

Jodi blinked. “Oh. Is she…?”

“She wants us to FaceTime her.” Lucy’s smile faltered. “She hasn’t had a good day.”

Jodi’s stomach dropped. “What happened?”

Lucy glanced at Zack, who was in the living room searching for something to watch on Netflix. Zack met her eyes and looked away.

“What happened?” Jodi repeated.

Lucy took a fortifying breath. “We all got texts today. About your birthday.”

Jodi reached for her phone on reflex. “What did they say?”

“All different things,” Lucy said. “Mine asked where the party was at. Paige got sent links for gifts for you. Zack got sent some weird info about a play in San Francisco and then the link for front-row tickets.”

Jodi felt the blood drain from her face. Oliver had told her about a musical playing in San Francisco next month. He’d said the pro duction was using a hand-painted re-creation of Georges Seurat’s A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte on the backdrop instead of a printed screen, and that she should see it. Jodi had looked up tickets just two days ago, searching for promo codes and discounts before finally deciding she couldn’t go.

“So Paige said she didn’t want to risk it,” Lucy concluded.

“What number was it?” Jodi asked, her throat dry and crackling.

As Lucy read it off, Jodi double-checked the unknown number that had texted her “happy birthday” earlier that day. She hadn’t thought anything of it, assuming it was someone she knew in passing whose number she hadn’t saved. But it was the same number.

She stared out the window, wondering if the person sending these texts had overheard Oliver …

“Hey,” Zack said, appearing in front of her. He rubbed her arm. “It’s okay. We can forget about it for a night. It’s your birthday, Jo.”

Zack grabbed a party horn and blew the paper end into her face until she smiled weakly.

Jodi sat through the movie, trying to figure out the best way to ask Oliver if he knew who was harassing the Thrashers over text without accusing him.

Once Julian had arrived, long past fashionably late, and was sitting next to her on the couch, she said, “Did you get a text from a dead girl today, too?”

“Yup.” He tossed popcorn into his mouth. She watched his tongue dart out to catch the salt on his lips. “She wanted dick pics though. Weird.”

Jodi snorted and shoved his shoulder.

“I mean, I obliged,” Julian said playfully. “She said they were for you, but I don’t know if she’ll share them.”

Jodi bit her lip to keep from smiling. “You think I want pictures of your dick for my birthday?”