And I understand why the men of Innovations created us. It’s not just about the needs of guys like Jonah. They fill the desires of men who don’t have youth or looks or popularity, to give them the access that Jonah has. Through Innovations, they can buy it. They can buy us.
“And after you give those girls … what they begged for?” I ask.
Jonah sips from his cup before crushing it and tossing it off the roof into the yard. “Well, after that they’re sluts and I’m not interested,” he says. “But you … You seem fun. You might be able to hold my attention for more than three seconds.”
It’s a telling statement, and I debate infuriating him to make him spill details. But his irritation with the topic is making his cheeks glow red, splotches appearing on his neck.
“Why are you asking so many questions?” Jonah says. “Marsh already told us to leave you alone, so I don’t know if you’ve got something going on with him, but—”
“Mr. Marsh did what?” I ask, surprised.
Jonah pauses. “Yeah, the history teacher is suddenly Mr. Fucking Proper. Told us to leave you alone or he’d file a report. I told him I’d have his job if he ever talked to me like that again. So if you’re—”
“I don’t have any kind of relationship with Mr. Marsh,” I say, cutting him off.
Mr. Marsh had allowed the harassment by not saying anything, but it seems that he’s finally standing up to the boys at school. He’s finally doing the right thing.
“Then what is this?” Jonah asks, motioning between us. “Do you want to hook up or not?”
And I realize that if Mr. Marsh is willing to report the boys, if he’s willing to stand up to them, we don’t need undercover recordings and anonymous posts. What we need is for good people to stand up against bad people—simple really. But in this society, they never put the burden on men to be the good people in thisscenario. Maybe Marsh is willing to change that. I need to call the girls and talk to them.
“No,” I tell Jonah, getting to my feet. “We are definitely not hooking up.” I teeter slightly on the slanted roof but hold out my arms to find my balance.
“Wait,what?” Jonah asks, a sudden darkness in his voice that sends goosebumps over my skin. When I look back at him, I can see his hurt ego. His anger.
Next to him, my phone buzzes again in my purse. When I start toward it, he grabs it and holds it out of my reach on the other side of him.
“Give me my purse,” I say, annoyed, but also worried.
“Who the hell has been calling?” he demands. He begins to go through my purse, tossing items that are in the way as he tries to get to my phone. My eyes widen and I rush over, my shoes slipping on the tile and sending me hip-first onto the roof, the rough material scraping my thigh. Jonah chuckles.
He takes out my phone and then tosses my purse over the edge. He freezes, staring at my phone for a moment before turning to me in silence. His eyes are raging. On the screen, the red button shows that it’s recording.
“Jonah,” I say, as a way of explaining. He quickly turns off the recording and then cocks back his arm and throws my phone over the side of the house as hard as he can. There’s a rustle of bushes across the yard.
I’m scared. I step back from him as he gets to his feet. I quickly turn and rush for the window. I barely get one foot inside beforehe wraps his arm around my waist, yanking me back. We both lose our balance and crash onto the roof tiles.
I roll a few times, but right myself before tumbling off the side. Jonah pulls himself to his full height, blocking my path to the window.
“You were trying to get me to confess?” he demands. “To tell on my friends?”
There’s no use in pretending anymore. I lose all pretense of flirtation or nicety.
“We saw the posts online,” I tell him. “The bragging. Tomorrow, it’ll be in the papers. You’ve terrorized girls, but you’re not going to get away with it anymore.”
“We’ll do whatever we want,” he says. “Who are you? No one even knows you. A few posts online? Prove it came from us.”
He doesn’t think he has anything to worry about. He feels invincible. No one should ever feel that way—like they could commit a crime out in the open and get away with it. No one should ever feel that emboldened.
“Let me inside,” I say plainly.
“None of the girls will go against us,” he says. “You’ll see.”
He and the others may have scared the girls into silence before, but with us on their side, with proof, with administrative support, maybe that will change. There’s no way to know for certain, but I do know that I need to get off this roof through the window behind Jonah. And he doesn’t seem likely to budge.
I run for it. I catch Jonah off guard, dodging to the side atthe same time I push him. His foot slips, and I use that distraction to quickly climb through the window. Just as I’m about to run for the bedroom door, Jonah reaches inside to grab the bottom of my dress. He knots his fist in the fabric, tearing the hem. I try to turn, but I get tangled as he drags me back toward the open window.
Flashbacks to my last fight with the Guardian suddenly flood in. The guilt I once had over his death is replaced with my need for survival. The Guardian killed Annalise that night. I’m not going to let Jonah kill me.
