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principals. When I first started, I never intended to go any further. But Step Three rarely changes anything. Depending on which part of the city they hail from, the parents either threaten to beat me or sue my pretty little pants off. The principals never respond. They probably think that what happens off school grounds is none of their business. I’ve heard that the bullies like to share the footage with their friends.
    I upload my new video and send out my e-mails. I make it clear that should anything happen to Clea, we’ll go straight to Step Four.
    â€¢ • •
    STEP FOUR is payback. That’s when I move the footage to the public part of my website. I make sure to provide the bullies’ full names, schools, and addresses. NEMESIS gets more traffic than the New York Post . And my videos almost always go viral. Sometimes it takes a while for the full impact to be felt. Eventually my dimmest “stars” realize what’s happened. My video will follow them for the rest of their lives. Their families, their friends’ families, their teachers—even their priests, pastors, and rabbis will see it. Every potential employer, boyfriend, and in-law will watch it. It will be discovered by admission committees when they apply to colleges. It will still be around when their own children are born.
    It won’t be long before they find out just how many of us have suffered at a bully’s hands.
    We’ll ruin their careers, friendships, and love lives. We’ll have our revenge. And we’ll teach them all that payback is hell.
    â€¢ • •
    I’m waiting across the street from Clea’s school. My phone keeps vibrating in my pocket. New cases never stop coming in. But I won’t accept a new one while an old one is still pending. I need to be sure that Clea is safe. I hear bells ring, then justlike yesterday, she’s the first one out of the building. Nothing appears to have changed. She still seems harried and miserable. That doesn’t mean much. She’ll wear that look for a while. But this time she makes it to the bus. It pulls away just as the school’s doors are thrown open again.
    I spot Clea’s tormentors among the crowd that spills out. They’re looking around, only this time they’re searching for someone holding a camera. Their eyes pass right over me. If Clea says the day went well, tonight Kayla and her cronies will all get an e-mail. I’ll commend them on the wise decision they’ve made, and warn them that I’ll always be watching. The threat is essential. These girls aren’t going to change. They’ll never see the error of their ways. But they’ll realize that their actions have consequences. And I’ll make sure they know just how bad those consequences can be.
    I hit the subway. As soon as I’m home, I check my e-mail. There are five new pleas. Another two or three will probably arrive before bedtime. I scan through the first four. They’re all more of the same. But it’s the fifth that really gets my blood rushing. The letter is signed Olivia. I try to keep my hopes in check while I click on the photo that the girl has enclosed. You can’t spit in Manhattan without hitting a kid my age named Olivia. But when the picture finally flashes up on my screen, I know the heavens have answered my prayers.
    I’ve dreamed of this moment. I’ve spent two years fantasizing about it. But I never imagined my day would come.
    I laugh all the way through Olivia’s note.
    â€¢ • •
    Olivia’s school is the one my parents always hoped I’d attend. They were mortified when I informed them that I’d deposited the application (and several more like it) in a trash can instead of a mail box. A high school in Brooklyn was the only institution in town that received the paperwork my father’s secretary had kindly prepared. Some people might call me a coward for giving my