Page 6 of Shadowface

Feeling silly for being freaked out, I blow out a breath. This is just psychology class, and this weirdo must have a sick sense of humor. But the thing is, it doesn’t freak me out like it should, given the symbolism of it all and this town’s obsession with Shadowface.

Bikiniqueen: I don’t fraternize with serial killers, sorry.

A pause and my lips curl into a small smile. But my heart…the rhythm of the beat tells a different story.

SF: You don’t like my name?

Bikiniqueen: No. I do not.

I scan the class list. There is zero indication who this could be. And even though this seems innocent enough, someone at this school sent that photo. Joke or no joke, it’s really messed up. And who’s to say this SF wasn’t the one who sent it?

SF: It’s a joke. And it could mean something entirely different, you know.

Bikiniqueen: Like what?

Another pause on his end. Or her end, because I have no idea who I’m talking to.

SF: It could mean several things. Super flirty, perhaps?

Someone is flirty, so I guess I’ll play. I’m a good flirt. It comes with the territory of being me, even if I’m a prude at heart. And all I ever do is flirt, even though what I just did is the opposite of prudish.

Bikiniqueen: Why are you assuming I’m a girl, or are you into guys, too? I could be hideous, and you might not want to be my boyfriend when you see what I look like.

SF: I bet a girl with a name like Summer must be gorgeous.

“What the hell?” I mutter. I’m tempted to slam my laptop closed, instantly regretting logging on here. I don’t need some creep bugging me during my first week.

Bikiniqueen: How do you know my name?

SF: Your attempts at anonymity are cute. I figured it out from your nickname. It wasn’t that hard.

Okay, he has me on that one.

Bikiniqueen: Smart ass.

SF: I try. I bet you like people seeing you in your bikini, don’t you, Summer? You enjoy people looking at that tight body, don’t you, pretty girl?

Pretty girl…

The little hairs stand on my neck and my head lifts to the window, only to be met by moonlight and darkness. No creepy masked man standing outside looking at me, but the blinds are wide open, and I’m splayed out on my bed for anyone outside to see.

I pull my sweater dress over my knees. I’m too curious now to end this conversation, even though I should. So far, my interactions with people at this school have been strange, to say the least. That’s what I get for choosing such a stupid username, I guess.

Bikiniqueen: Come again?

SF: Maybe you’ll show me what’s underneath that little sweater dress.

Nope! No. No. No.

I get up and slam the window closed. Settling my heartbeat, I sit back down. He’s just fucking with me. I wore this outfit to school today.

Bikiniqueen: Who am I speaking to? It’s only right that, given you have my name, I should have yours.

He doesn’t respond right away. A few minutes go by, and I stare up at my pitched ceiling.

Finally, a response.

SF: Fairness is a social construct, identified and articulated by your worldview and limited by experiences you had as a child. You will learn this when we study personality. Life isn’t fair, Summer, and it’s not in my best interest right now to tell you who I am. You didn’t tell me your name, I figured it out. I never asked you for it, so how is it fair you’re asking for mine?