“If she keeps showing everybody that you’re angry, then eventually she gets you actually angry.”
Samantha turned toward her monitor.
“Then she can say she was right.”
Nia sat with that thought.
It explained more than she wanted it to.
Avery was not simply posting random moments anymore.
She was creating a character.
And waiting for Nia to become her.
Danielle contacted the school after the compilation.
Walsh met with Avery, her mother Rebecca Sloan, and the faculty adviser for student media even though Westbridge Unfiltered was technically personal. The school could not order Avery to stop posting ordinary footage recorded in public areas unless it violated school rules, but administrators could address targeted harassment when posts disrupted the learning environment. Avery received a formal warning to stop targeting specific students.
Rebecca thought the school was overreacting.
“My daughter runs a social account.”
Walsh nodded.
“She also attends a high school.”
“That matters when her social account repeatedly targets classmates.”
Avery removed the compilation.
She did not apologize.
For several weeks, she stopped posting Nia.
School became normal again.
Nia started using the main courtyard.
She stopped checking every corner for phones.
Her grades improved slightly because she spent less time replaying stupid interactions in her head.
Then winter break ended.
Avery’s account had lost almost ten thousand followers.
Part of the decline came from a platform algorithm change.
Part came because another nearby school had launched a similar account with more aggressive videos.
Avery began posting more frequently.
The content became louder.
Public dares.
Fake arguments.
Staged falls.
Reaction challenges.
Nia stayed away.
That should have protected her.
Instead, it made her valuable.
Avery needed someone who did not want attention.
Humiliation worked better when the person receiving it was not participating.
In January, one of Avery’s friends stepped directly in front of Nia’s skateboard near the gym, forcing her to jump off before hitting him. He laughed while another student filmed. Nia grabbed her board and walked the rest of the way to class.
The video never appeared online.
That told her something.
They were testing reactions.
Nia reported the incident.
Walsh issued another warning.
Avery claimed she had not been present and could not control what her friends did.
Technically true.
Emotionally dishonest.
Nia began documenting everything.
Times.
Names.
Screenshots.
Witnesses.
She saved them in a folder called Westbridge Nonsense because calling it harassment still felt too serious.
By February, the folder contained nineteen entries.
Samantha saw it once.
“Change the name.”
Nia looked over.
“Why?”
“Because if somebody did nineteen things to me, I would stop calling it nonsense.”
Nia stared at the list.
Samantha was right.
The most important shift happened during a senior assembly.
Principal Laura Jensen announced that Westbridge would be selecting three students to create promotional content for incoming families. Applicants would submit short videos showing daily school life without using staged interviews. Nia’s digital-media teacher encouraged her to apply.
She almost refused.
Then she thought about Avery.
Not because she wanted revenge.
Because Nia actually liked video editing.
She had been doing it longer than Avery knew.
Nia submitted a quiet ninety-second piece showing ordinary Westbridge moments: students painting theater sets, a cafeteria worker laughing with seniors, track athletes finishing practice in the rain, a chemistry teacher cleaning goggles, and a freshman carrying a cello almost as large as her body. Nobody was humiliated.
Nobody performed for the camera.
Nia was selected.
So were two other students.
Avery was not.
Her application had relied heavily on Westbridge Unfiltered clips, several of which the committee considered inappropriate for an official school project.
That was the moment Avery decided Nia had taken something from her.
She confronted Nia outside the media lab.
“You knew I applied.”
“Yes.”
“So you applied too.”
Nia frowned.
“It wasn’t a one-person position.”
“You knew content was my thing.”
Nia almost laughed.
“You don’t own cameras.”
Avery stepped closer.
“You spent months complaining about my videos, and now you’re making school content?”
“I complained about you humiliating people.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
Nia shook her head.
“That is actually the whole difference.”
Avery stared at her.
“You think you’re better than me.”
“I think my videos don’t require somebody else having a bad day.”
That sentence spread.
A student nearby repeated it.
By lunch, people were quoting it beneath Avery’s posts.
For the first time, the internet joke moved in the opposite direction.
Avery hated it.
The harassment increased.
Someone covered Nia’s skateboard with pink heart stickers.
She removed them.
Someone left a toy camera inside her locker.
She threw it away.
A fake account commented ANGRY AGAIN? beneath the school’s promotional video.
Nia blocked it.
She refused to give Avery a scene.
That became almost impossible in March.
Senior spring brought warmer weather and crowded outdoor lunches. Students used the main courtyard between classes, and Nia began skating through it again because she was tired of reorganizing her life around Avery. She stayed within school rules and slowed down whenever crowds thickened.
Avery started appearing there more often.
Sometimes filming.
Sometimes pretending not to.
One Tuesday, she called Nia’s name while recording.
Nia ignored her.
“Hey, campus security.”
Still nothing.
Avery laughed toward the camera.
“See?”
Nia stopped.
Turned.
Avery’s face brightened.
Finally.
Nia pointed toward the phone.
“This is what you want.”
Avery smiled.
“What?”
“Me turning around.”
Students nearby began listening.
Nia continued.
“You’ve spent months trying to get one clip where I lose my temper.”
Avery lowered the phone slightly.
“You think I care that much?”
“Yes.”
The answer came without hesitation.
Avery’s smile disappeared.
Nia picked up her board.
“That’s the embarrassing part.”
Then she walked away.
Avery posted nothing that afternoon.
Three days later, a private group chat changed everything.
One of Avery’s friends, Lily Marsh, had been part of Westbridge Unfiltered since sophomore year. Lily edited occasionally, filmed frequently, and had laughed through enough pranks that Nia never considered her an ally. But Lily had become increasingly uncomfortable as the account shifted from random school humor toward targeting specific students.
Friday night, Avery messaged the group.
We need a real Nia clip before graduation.
Someone replied:
Leave her alone lol.
Avery answered:
She acts tough because she knows nobody actually does anything.
Lily asked:
What are you planning?
Avery responded:
Nothing crazy. I just want her to finally snap on camera.