Body and Bone by LS Hawker Page B

everything so we have a record of what’s going on. It’s a good thing you use this spam plug-­in, because each commenter’s IP address appears next to their comments. I’ve started a spreadsheet.”
    â€œEven if we delete these things, stuff on the Internet is forever, right? Daltrey will see this one day, and he’ll—­”
    Isabeau put her hand on Nessa’s arm, a first. “Just hold on. He’ll know this is a lie. But in the meantime, I need you to remain calm. It doesn’t help to get all freaked out.”
    Nessa went through her email. Another sponsor asking for reassurance that the odd comments on her blog would be stopped.
    The clothes dryer buzzed, so Nessa folded the last of the laundry and lugged the full basket upstairs. Her first stop was her own room. After she’d unloaded her things into her closet, she went to Daltrey’s room, where she filled his dresser drawers. And then she lingered over Daltrey’s treasures atop his bookcase.
    She lifted the things one by one: the Tesla Model S, the little green army man with a bazooka, the amethyst geode, the Fender guitar pick. As she grabbed it, she heard Isabeau gasp downstairs and say, “Oh, my gosh.”
    Nessa ran down the stairs, the pick still in her hand, and when she got to the living room, Isabeau’s expression stopped Nessa dead. The now-­familiar feeling of alarm filled her stomach.
    â€œOh, shit,” Isabeau said. “Oh, this is so bad.”
    â€œWhat?” Nessa demanded. Isabeau rose from the floor and pulled out Nessa’s desk chair in front of her desktop computer.
    â€œGo to NessaDonati.com.”
    â€œBut—­”
    â€œJust do it!”
    Nessa sat, put the pick in her pocket, and typed the URL into the address bar, then watched the website materialize. The home page of the site was a fairly generic splash page with the following menu items: Show / Blog / Appearances / Game / Photos. Had Altair put this site up without her knowledge?
    She looked at Isabeau, whose expression was tense and worried, her eyebrows knotted.
    â€œYou better look,” Isabeau said.
    On the Show page, it listed the times she was on the air. Under Blog, it said Coming Soon. She was beginning to think it was Altair, until she clicked on Photos.
    There she found dozens of nudes: her legs spread-­eagle, having sex in every position imaginable and some she couldn’t imagine, and even grosser things. Hustler -­grade stuff. Of course her head had been Photoshopped onto the airbrushed bodies. She didn’t look anything like that. But it was more than a little unsettling to see herself in that context.
    She glanced again over her shoulder, and Isabeau met her gaze.
    â€œThat’s not the worst of it,” she said, reaching for the mouse and clicking on Game. A headshot of Nessa appeared, filling the screen. Beneath the headshot were instructions: Use your mouse buttons to punch Nessa’s face. If you knock out a tooth, you win!
    Just to see what would happen, she clicked the mouse, and fists shot out, punching the face. Each punch made her eyes swell a little more, bruising develop, blood come out of her nose, eventually knocking out a tooth. Fireworks exploded on the screen, accompanied by the words You Win! The effects were spectacularly realistic.
    She scrolled further.
    *New Rape Game Coming Soon!*
    â€œThis is beyond trolling,” Isabeau said in a hushed voice. “This is menacing. It’s threatening. It’s personal .”
    Yes, it was. Nessa turned the pick over in her hand, and the silver BIG written on the back of it suddenly grew in her brain, filled the room and her consciousness as “Dead Wrong” blared in her mind. That song. It was by Notorious B.I.G.
    BIG.
    She had to do an Internet search. Alone. Now.
    â€œI’m going to take a bath,” Nessa said, snatching up her laptop.
    Isabeau’s eyes traveled from the