Shame -2011 Review

She deleted the whole album. Then she wrote a status: "So over drama. Going private. #hatersgonnahate."

She opened her laptop. The loading wheel spun. Then, the notifications: 17 new comments on a photo of you. shame -2011

She was nineteen. On a Tuesday night in November, she wore a sequined top from Forever 21 and drank UV Blue vodka mixed with cheap lemonade. The photos appeared on Facebook by 11:00 PM. By 1:00 AM, the tags were up. By 8:00 AM, the damage was done. She deleted the whole album

It was a tagged photo. She was mid-laugh, eyes half-closed, a red Solo cup merging with her hand like a tumor. In the background, a boy she liked was talking to another girl. Her own face looked hungry. Desperate. It was a fraction of a second—a shutter speed of 1/60th—but it felt like a mugshot of her soul. #hatersgonnahate

She closed the laptop. She opened her flip phone. No texts. She closed the flip phone.

She posted it with a black-and-white photo of her staring out a rainy window—a photo she had taken specifically for this purpose, rehearsed in the mirror three times.