I wake up in pitch blackness. The time on my phone shows 3:15am. I slept for hours and can't go back to sleep. School is starting when the sun comes up, I guess I could get ready.

I hop in the shower. The warm water hits me, the sticky residue of sweat melting away off my body and down the drain. I close my eyes and face into the running warmth hitting my forehead then dripping down my chin. I take my time, shaving the stubble from my face, scrubbing then re-scrubbing my feet. I push the knob on the faucet down and the water stops. Water drips from the shower head then slows down...drip...drip..........drip.

I push the shower curtain to the side, the curtain rings making clicking sounds as they hit each other. The mirror over the sink is fogged up. Wiping the mirror with my hand I can see my eyes staring back at me. But the glass fogs up again so I wipe it again. I repeat the process and each time I can see myself clearer and clearer.

Sammy Jankis. It's good to see you, man.

My grey pants, white polo, navy blue tie, ironic Celine Dion tee, are laid out on my bed. Only a few more hours until the sun rises—until the kids of summer make their pilgrimage back to school like zombies, moving much slower, with much less vigor.

I guess I can watch a movie to kill some time. Something from Christopher Nolan again. "Insomnia" maybe. Or "The Following".

Or I can go onto Facebook—on my real account. On Sammy Jankis's account. Facebook is safe now. It's real now.

I lie down beside my neatly laid out clothes and hold my phone over my face. I open Facebook and login as Sammy Jankis, and it feels good to use my familiar email address and password.

There's 10 new messages.

I open my inbox.

Steve Wong writes:

Is this who I think it is?

Aaron Butterworth writes:

Niiice. Any more?

Kyle O'Banion writes:

skeet skeet

They're all replying to a photo I had sent them. I open the photo and anxiety spreads through me like a drop of black ink in a glass of water.

I had sent them a screenshot of Nadia topless.

Her face is cut off from the top of the frame, but her bedroom is in view in the background. The photo was sent only two hours ago, to a couple dozen guys from our high school, some of their names I don't know.

Questions bombard my mind -- what if someone recognizes her bedroom? What if someone shows it to Nadia? Has she seen it already?

I think of Amanda Todd. I think of the poor girl killing herself, and the motherfucker who leaked her topless photo to her school. I'm that motherfucker, now. That fucking motherfucker.

I'm being set up. I look at my timeline. I was active 1 hour ago. I checked into a location – the fucking high school.

The motherfucker must still be there. I shoot up and hastily put on the first clothes I see—my uniform on the bed.

I rush downstairs, my footsteps pounding down every second step. I don't care if I wake my Mom.

In the kitchen, I pull open a drawer looking for a knife but grab the meat pounder instead--a heavy stainless steel block atop a wooden handle.

I got him now. Whoever he is. I got him.