In Real Life ✓

15. I Sexually Identify As An Attack Helicopter

When I plugged my phone in back home, I immediately received more messages from Tamara and Leslie and at first, I had no absolutely no idea what they were talking about, so I had to scroll back more than two hundred messages to know what had even started the discussion. But when I finally found out, I instantly froze, blood running cold. They were talking about... drugs?

What were the chances that that was their topic of discussion, of all things, when I had smoked weed literally the day before? I'd never told them about it, had I? Did weed cause memory loss after all? I only remembered posting 'I'm high' on Twitter—

Then I finally found the first message.

"Eve don't think I didn't see your tweet."

What?

What the...

I read Tamara's message again and again, waiting for it to start making sense, but it was loud and clear. Yet all they talked about afterwards was how bad drugs were and how Leslie's cousin once overdosed and ended up in the hospital and other Tamara-and-Leslie-bullshit. Nothing about Twitter. Only that one message. And as many times as I'd read the rest, I just couldn't stop scrolling back to that one message. Your tweet.

Did she know? No, how did she know?

Ignoring all their paranoid babbling, I struggled typing the words 'come over' and then put the phone away with a shaky breath. I remembered very well that I'd decided to come out yesterday when I was with Gilbert, and I still agreed with my (high) past self that I needed to do it, but... Had I somehow already told them?

I called Gilbert and when he picked up, I didn't even wait for him to say hello. "Does weed cause memory loss?"

"Eh... Hi. Um, I don't think so. Why?"

"What if I said something yesterday, but I don't remember it?"

"Did you?"

"Well, I think Tamara and Leslie know I'm DukeCockroach, but I've never told them. Did I talk to anyone yesterday? Because I didn't send any messages or made calls. I checked."

"Wait, what? I'm pretty sure you didn't talk to anyone."

I groaned. "Then how could they know?"

"Weren't you—"

The doorbell rang—way too soon—and I started panicking. How could they be here already?! "Shit, gotta go. I'll tell you later. Bye."

I hung up and ran to the front door, yanking it open to see Tamara and Leslie glaring at me. Glaring. At me. What the fuck.

"How on earth did you—"

"Upstairs," Tamara hissed. "Now."

I almost started hyperventilating.

With my heart in my throat, I climbed the stairs, the two girls right behind me, but none of us said a word. We sat down on my bed in a row like we were going to have a fucking tea party and suffered in the awkward silence for about a century or two with dropping pins and tumbleweed and everything, until I said, "Okay, either you tell me I'm fucking crazy or that you didn't mean to say Tweet."

But I wasn't crazy. They knew exactly what I was talking about. Leslie shook her head and said, "No, Eve, we know."

"You know... How?"

"It wasn't that hard to figure out," Tamara said, rolling her eyes. "Somebody exposes DukeCockroach and the only one that's anxiously running around and sulking in her room until there's finally a new Tweet, is you. And let's not forget that the boy that'd been bothering you for ages suddenly got kicked off school for no reason." She crossed her arms. "And the gay brother."