Winona ✔

Six

I glanced back and caught a few of their eyes. Dark amusement was clear on their faces and they looked down quickly. I turned back to the table but then stopped. What group pages?

I suddenly felt like the entire room was looking at my back. That everyone knew something I didn't and the feeling creeped over my shoulder until it tightened around my throat. Holding my binders harder against my chest, I turned and headed over to an empty computer in the corner and away from prying eyes.

I sat down, quietly placing my binders on the table and glanced around. No one seemed to be paying attention to my screen so I logged in quickly. As the computer began to prepare the desktop, I took out my phone.

Group pages. All of them were whispering about pages. Pages all about me. Their words echoed in my head and I tried to ignore them but I couldn't. It felt like a constant knocking on my skull.

I unlocked my phone and against my better judgement, I started to download the messaging app I had just deleted. I thought the app being gone would give me peace of mind. But the only peace I'd get would be if everyone stopped whispering.

The more they whispered, the more I worried.

The app finished downloading and I logged on. My eyes tracked the loading circle as my page came up. Slowly, oh so slowly, with a heavy heart and my lip caught between my teeth, I clicked the notifications.

But it wasn't just messages this time.

There were groups, and pages, and conversations all happening before my eyes. The same phantom account that sent me messages was the shining face of the hate pages.

A tear slid down my cheek.

Someone had made hate pages about me.

I wiped my sleeve across my face quickly and put my phone down. But the words remained, seared into my mind like the brand on cattle ready for slaughter. Over and over again I saw them, playing a continuous beat against my ear, each word digging into my skin.

My desktop loaded and I stared at it blankly.

I should tell someone, I decided. At that point, I almost burst out crying. Who could I tell? My teachers were already angry because I started to skip class. My friends were all over the place. Becca couldn't do anything. The principal probably wouldn't give me a second glance. If the police were involved then everything would just blow out of control. If my dad knew, then he would have to know about the video.

I wasn't ready to do that. Not like this. Not this way. Not because of this.

I leaned forward and opened the search engine on the computer. My hand reached up absentmindedly and wiped away a stray tear. No more crying. Not today.

I think I'm being bullied.

I sighed and deleted the words from the search bar. That sounded stupid and a million and one answers would come flying at me. I needed to be specific.

I think I'm being cyberbullied.

I was about to hit 'enter' then stopped. Think. I let out a shaky breath and glanced down at my phone which – if I hadn't put it on silent – would be vibrating madly with message after message. One by one. No breaks in between. This wasn't something that I had to think over anymore. There was no longer an 'if' in this equation. I deleted the words and started again.

Articles on how to prevent cyberbullying.

I hit enter and watched as the results loaded. I scrolled down the screen for a while, my eyes taking in the words and for a second, it was too much and I wanted to shut the computer down. I just wanted to hide.

But hiding wasn't going to solve anything.

I clicked on the TELUS WISE page which said it was a resource for online safety, and looked through until I came to an article on cyberbullying. I glanced behind me but luckily no one was interested in me. Turning back, I clicked on the article and quickly read over it.

Keep evidence, the article said, because everything is digital with cyberbullying, you are able to save all of the harassing messages as evidence. Even if it seems like nothing, it could escalate and having proof will help you in the future.

I frowned and picked up my phone, opening the app where notifications were flying through but I paid them no mind.

"Taking screenshots is the easiest way to document evidence," I whispered aloud from the article.

I went onto the pages and the messages and the groups and one by one, I took a screenshot. I watched as every picture saved itself onto my phone, going nowhere. I thought it would hurt to have those hateful words stored away on my phone, but instead I looked back at the stash of screenshots, and felt like I finally had some control.

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Hope you enjoyed this latest chapter and thank you so much for reading Winona's journey!

- Tahlie x