Keeping It Fluid -25

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It was Saturday.

I woke up to the smell of breakfast.

Bacon, definitely. Maybe pancakes too. Something buttery. Something magical.

I buried my face deeper into the pillow for a second, soaking in that warm, sleepy feeling that only came with Saturday mornings. No alarms. No rushing to catch the bus. No Trevor.

I love weekends.

Eventually, I rolled out of bed, feet hitting the floor with a soft thud. The house was quiet, except for the low hum of the ceiling fan and the distant sound of someone flipping something in a skillet.

I threw on my hoodie and padded into the hallway, yawning as I followed the smell of heaven straight to the kitchen.

Mom stood at the stove, her hair up in a messy bun, flipping pancakes like some kind of breakfast wizard. Lily was already at the table, halfway through a glass of orange juice, and Sam was sitting on the counter, scrolling through their phone.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Mom said with a smile. "I was about to come wake you."

"You didn't have to," I mumbled, sliding into my usual seat. "This smells amazing."

"Pancakes with chocolate chips," she said. "And bacon. Because I figured we all needed a good start to the weekend."

Sam glanced up from his phone. "You especially."

I gave him a tired smile. "Yeah... it's been a week."

Lily leaned her elbows on the table. "Are we still talking about Trevor's gravity protest or the meatloaf incident?"

"Honestly?" I said, grabbing a fork, "all of the above."

Mom slid a plate in front of me, still warm. "Well, no school today. No drama. Just rest. And maybe a movie later?"

I perked up. "With popcorn?"

Mom grinned. "Obviously."

For the first time in days, everything felt... okay. Peaceful. Safe.

But as I picked up my fork, Sam's phone buzzed. He frowned, glanced at the screen, and blinked.

"Uh... Emily?" he said slowly. "You might wanna see this."

I froze, pancake halfway to my mouth. "...See what?"

Sam turned the screen toward me.

It was a photo.

Of me.

From yesterday's gym class.

I was in the background, blurry but recognizable. The caption, written in big bold letters, read:

**@magawillneverdie:"Thisis what a confused freak looks like."
#FridayFreak#TheyThemOrWhatever #MakeUpYourMind**

My stomach dropped.

I felt the blood drain from my face.

Mom snatched the phone out of Sam's hands. "Where did this come from?"

"Someone posted it on Instagram," Sam said, voice tight. "It's... going around."

Lily looked horrified. "That's—no, that's not okay. Who did this?"

We all knew who.

Trevor.

My hands started to shake.

So much for a peaceful weekend.

I went over to the couch, heart still pounding, and sank into the cushions. My hands were shaking as I pulled out my phone and opened Instagram.

I typed Trevor's instagram name @magawillneverdie into the search bar.

Nothing.

No account. No posts. No trace.

He might have blocked me.

Or maybe he posted it from a different account—one meant just to stir up drama without getting caught.

The pit in my stomach twisted tighter.

I scrolled through the hashtags. #FridayFreak had a handful of posts, mostly random junk. But there it was—my photo. Reposted. Commented on. Laughed at by people who didn't even know me.

One of the comments read:

**"LMAO isthis even a boy or a girl??"**

Another:

**"Broreally thinks they can pick both."**

And another:

**"We needto bring back uniforms. This is what happens when you let people beweird."**

I swallowed hard, blinking fast.

Mom must've noticed, because she walked over and sat beside me. "Sweetheart..." Her voice was soft, careful.

I shoved my phone into the couch cushions. "Why does he care so much about me? I'm not doing anything to him."

Sam stood in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed. "Because he's insecure. Guys like that... they can't handle anything that doesn't fit in their tiny little boxes."

Lily was pacing now. "We have to report it. To the school. To Instagram. To someone."

"I don't know," I muttered. "What if it just makes it worse?"

Mom gently reached over and took my hand. "Emily. You didn't do anything wrong. This isn't your fault. And we are not going to let him get away with this."

"But he's smart about it," I said, my voice cracking. "He didn't tag me. He blocked me. He's hiding behind his phone like a coward. And everyone else is just... laughing."

Mom's eyes darkened. "Then we'll go above him. Principal Peterson. The district if we have to. I'll talk to them first thing Monday morning."

Sam came and sat on the other side of me. "I'll report the post right now. And I'll get my friends to report it too. We'll bury it."

Lily nodded fiercely. "Me too."

I stared at both of them, the tightness in my chest loosening just a little. My family... they weren't just saying they had my back. They were ready to go to war.

I took a shaky breath. "Thanks, guys."

Mom pulled me into a hug. "You don't have to fight this alone, baby. We're in this together."

And even though I was still scared, still humiliated, still angry...

A small part of me knew—

That mattered more than anything.

As I sat there, still curled up on the couch, my phone buzzed from where I'd shoved it into the cushions. I hesitated before pulling it out.

**Mia: Emily, have you seen Instagram?!**

**Jasmine: Dude, we are PISSED. Call us NOW.**

I let out a slow breath, my fingers tightening around the phone. They had seen it.

Of course, they had.

Mom rubbed my back gently. "Jasmine and Mia?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

She gave me a reassuring smile. "Go talk to them. I'll be here when you're ready."

I stood up, walking down the hall to my room before calling them. The phone barely rang twice before they picked up.

"EMILY." Jasmine's voice was furious. "What the actual hell?!"

Mia cut in. "This is beyond messed up. That little weasel is getting away with it because he blocked you."

"I know," I said quietly.

There was a pause.

Jasmine's voice softened. "Are you okay?"

I swallowed hard. "I don't know."

Mia let out a sharp breath. "We're gonna handle this. Everyone is already talking about it, but not in the way Trevor wants. People are calling him out. Even Lexi posted, telling him to shut up."

I blinked. "Lexi?"

"Yeah," Jasmine said. "She literally commented, 'You're so obsessed with Emily it's embarrassing. Move on.'"

I exhaled, a mix of relief and nerves. If people were standing up against it... maybe I wasn't as alone as I thought.

"But don't worry," Mia added. "We're not just letting this slide. We're reporting it, and we're getting other people to report it too."

Jasmine hummed. "Also... you could make a post yourself. Not to argue with him, but just... to remind people that you're you. And you don't owe anyone an explanation."

I hesitated. "I don't know."

Mia was quiet for a moment. "Well, whatever you decide, we've got your back. And we are not letting Trevor get the last word."

I smiled a little. "Thanks, guys."

Jasmine's tone turned lighter. "Of course. Now, do you need us to send Sam to break his phone?"

Mia cackled. "Or, hear me out—we start a better hashtag and make Trevor completely irrelevant."

I actually laughed. "You two are the best."

"Duh," Jasmine said. "And don't forget it."

As I hung up, I stared at my phone for a long moment.

I could post something.

Something that wasn't defensive or angry—something that just said, I exist, and I'm not going anywhere.

The thought was scary.

But maybe... it was also kind of freeing.

I stared at the "new post" button for a long time.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard, my heart pounding a little. I didn't want to post some angry rant. I didn't want to fight fire with fire.

But I also wasn't going to sit here and let Trevor define me.

So I opened the camera.

I took a new selfie—nothing dramatic. Just me, in my hoodie, messy hair, half a smile. The kind of picture that said, yeah, I'm still here. Still me.

And then I typed the caption.

**"Update: still gender-fluid. Still awesome. Still dodging Trevor's nonsense better than dodgeballs."
#SorryNotSorry #ExistLoudly #GravityStillWins**

I stared at it one last time, my thumb hovering over the post button.

Then I hit share.

And just like that, it was out there.

Not angry. Not defensive. Just me—making it clear that I wasn't going anywhere.

Within minutes, the likes started trickling in. Then comments.

**@notjasmine: YESSSSSSSS. QUEEN ENERGY.**
**@mia.lol: Dodgeball AND dignity. We love to see it.**
**@lexi_0405: Honestly iconic.**
**@marcusdballs: (Some kid from math class I barely knew) You just made my whole weekend. Trevor WISHES he had this level of chill.**

I grinned.

It wasn't about winning. It wasn't about being louder than Trevor.

It was about being louder than his hate.

I set my phone down on the coffee table and leaned back into the couch, letting the tension drain from my shoulders.

Mom walked in a moment later, drying her hands on a dish towel. "Everything okay?"

I nodded slowly. "Yeah... I posted something."

Her eyebrows lifted. "Really?"

"Yeah. Just... me. Nothing mean. Nothing petty." I shrugged. "Just a reminder that I exist. And I'm not hiding."

Mom came over and sat beside me, her eyes scanning my face like she was trying to read the part I didn't say out loud.

"You're braver than you think, you know that?"

I gave a half-smile. "I wasn't trying to be brave. I just... didn't want his voice to be louder than mine."

Mom pulled me into a side-hug and kissed the top of my head. "That's exactly what brave looks like."

I rested my head on her shoulder and exhaled.

Somewhere else in town, meanwhile...

Trevor was in his room, scrolling through Instagram on his burner account. The one he used when he didn't want people knowing it was him creeping.

He'd expected to see more of his post spreading around. More laughs. More people piling on Emily.

But what he found instead?

Was her post.

Her face.
Her smile.
That caption.

And hundreds of likes. Comments flooding in. People laughing—but not at her.

At him.

Trevor's eye twitched. He clicked on the comments.

@lexi_0405: She's living rent-free in your head, dude. Move on.
@marcusdballs: She's literally cooler than you'll ever be.
@notjasmine: #GravityStillWins might be the best thing I've ever read.

Trevor's face turned red. He slammed his phone face down on his desk, muttering to himself.

"She thinks this is funny? Fine. Let's see how funny it is on Monday..."

He didn't know it yet, but his tantrum was only digging him deeper.

Because I wasn't backing down.

Not anymore.

Sunday went by with nothing posted on Instagram. Which was a relief.

Monday started off way too early, like always, but this time I didn't wake up dreading the school day.

Not because I was suddenly excited about math class or anything (I'm not that wild), but because for once, I had set the tone. My post was still getting likes. Still getting supportive comments. People were actually smiling at me in the hallway.

Lexi even gave me a high-five near the vending machines.

That had never happened before.

Trevor was nowhere in sight—which wasn't exactly surprising. After all, it's hard to come back from falling flat on your face in the name of an anti-gravity protest.

But what was surprising?

Was what happened during second period.

My phone buzzed.

Then buzzed again.

Then again.

I slipped it out of my pocket during a bathroom break and checked it.

Notifications.

Tons of them.

@patriot_truth_bomb commented on your post.

3 new replies to your post.

Jasmine tagged you in a comment.

I frowned and tapped on it.

There it was.

A brand-new comment on my photo. From a very suspicious-looking account with an eagle avatar, two American flags in the bio, and the handle @patriot_truth_bomb.

The comment?

"You're just confused and desperate forattention. Everyone sees it. Grow up."

I stared at the screen, deadpan.

Really, Trevor?

Because everyone knew it was him. The grammar. The tone. The burner account name that screamed "I just learned about politics yesterday."

I hadn't even had time to process it before Jasmine immediately commented back:

@notjasmine:Trevor. You'reliterally commenting from your own alt account. This is embarrassing.

Mia followed it up:

@mia.lol:Bro forgot to switchaccounts.

A few seconds later, Lexi joined in:

@lexi_0405:This is the saddest thing I've seen since Trevor fell in mashed potatoes.

And then the likes and laughing emojis started rolling in.

I didn't even hesitate.

BLOCKED
Gone.

The second I hit that button, the whole post felt lighter. Like I'd just swatted a gnat.

Back in class, I sat down, tucked my phone away, and couldn't stop the small smile on my face.

Trevor had tried to fight back.

And failed.

Publicly. Spectacularly.

Mia texted me a second later:
**"You win. Again."**
Then a follow-up:
**"He really made a whole fake account just to lose harder."**

I stifled a laugh behind my textbook. Jasmine, across the room, caught my eye and gave me a thumbs-up.

Trevor could keep trying.

But if he thought he was gonna win this war?

He was very bad at math.

By the time lunch rolled around, the whole school had seen the comment.

Like, everyone.

You couldn't walk five feet without hearing someone snort-laughing or whispering, "Did you see Trevor's alt account?" It was like watching a meme be born in real time. There were even rumors that someone was making a T-shirt that said #PatriotTruthBomb—which I really, really hoped was true.

I slid into my usual spot at the lunch table, still feeling the afterglow of victory.

Jasmine was already there, practically vibrating with joy. "Please tell me you saw the edit someone made."

I blinked. "What edit?"

Mia slid her phone across the table. "This."

It was a screenshot of Trevor's burner account comment—you're just confused and desperate for attention—but underneath it, someone had added a fake Wikipedia caption:

**"PatriotTruthBomb: A failed psychological operation executed by one middle school boy in2042.Widely regarded as the saddest attempt at a clapback in recorded history."**

I wheezed. "Oh my gosh."

Jasmine wiped tears from her eyes. "He's gonna need witness protection by eighth period."

And just then, as if summoned by the cringey spirits of bad decisions...

Trevor walked into the cafeteria.

Wearing his signature red hat. Again.

And strutting like he'd won something.

We all watched him weave through the tables, trying to act cool, despite the fact that half the room was already snickering. He finally reached the middle of the cafeteria and clapped his hands together.

"Alright!" he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Let's just get this out of the way."

Jasmine muttered, "Oh no."

Mia whispered, "This is gonna be amazing."

Trevor puffed out his chest. "Yes, that was my comment. Yes, that was my account. And YES, I posted it on purpose."

The room went silent for a beat—then a wave of confused laughter rippled through the cafeteria.

Trevor held up a hand like he was some kind of motivational speaker. "It was all part of the plan. See, I knew people would freak out. I wanted to expose how obsessed you all are with me. I'm playing 4D chess, while the rest of you are still playing checkers."

Jasmine snorted. "He doesn't even know how to play chess."

Trevor pointed dramatically toward our table. "You think you're so clever, Emily. But guess what? You fell right into my trap."

I blinked. "Your trap... was getting humiliated by your own sock puppet account?"

He faltered. "It wasn't a sock puppet, it was... it was a test."

The entire cafeteria burst out laughing.

Even the lunch monitors were chuckling.

Someone at a nearby table yelled, "Yo, Trevor, how's that 4D chess going? You losing in every dimension?"

Mia leaned over and whispered, "You think if we throw a dodgeball at him right now, it'll reset the timeline?"

Trevor, now visibly red in the face, turned on his heel and stormed off—again. Hat tilted, pride shattered.

And just like that, lunch returned to normal.

Well... as normal as it ever gets around here.

Jasmine picked up her sandwich and sighed happily. "I love this school."

I smiled, taking a bite of my pizza. "Me too. Especially on days like this."

Because Trevor could keep trying.

He could post, yell, grandstand, and scream.

But at the end of the day?

He was his own worst enemy.

And honestly?

I was just here for the show.