She’d gone dark. And with what dropped online? I didn’t blame her.
Still…
“I didn’t lie to her,” I said, voice low.
“No,” Jeremy agreed. “You just stood next to the liars and smiled.”
I didn’t flinch. It was a hard thing to resist. Because the liars weren’t the guys. The liars…
Silence stretched between us.
Eventually, he set two large envelopes down on the table beside me. College admission packets. Early acceptances. “You’ve always had charm, Mr. Archie. And you’ve always had cover. But if you want to grow into the kind of man you pretendto be, you’ll have to start making better choices. Not cleaner ones.Wiserones.”
He didn’t wait for me to respond. He never did when he knew I had nothing more to offer.
He walked away without another word, shoes silent on hardwood. And I sat there, still as stone, espresso going cold as I stared into the future—just, not entirely sure if it was a future I’d ever get to have.
By the time the guys’ messages came in again—more chaos, more desperation—I was already sifting through my files.
I didn’t keep things out of paranoia. I kept them out of principle. Evidence. Receipts. Things people forgot they said when the music was too loud and the drinks were too free.
Sharon had been smart. But not smartenough.
One particular video stood out. Late July. Bubba’s afterparty. The one he swore he had no memory of.
Sharon had taken a seat beside me on the patio couch, dressed like a cocktail ad and slurring like she thought it was cute. She’d leaned in close, breath reeking of watermelon vodka, and said,“You know I could set you up with better girls, right? Like... ones who aren’t tragically in love with their own boyfriends?”
I’d blinked at her, unimpressed. She’d giggled like we were sharing a secret. Then she’d touched my thigh and said,“Unless you want me instead.”
All of it on video.
All of it timestamped.
All of itbeforeshe posted the leaks.
She’d been playing Bubba. Playingallof us. But she made a mistake. Attacking us was one thing, but this kind of scandal wasn’t about us. The sad fact was all four of us would survive. Boys would be boys and all that other misogynistic bullshit.
However, the girls she skinned with that video? They were going to suffer. The girl nowhere present in those videos? She was going to get hurt too. I could tell myself all I wanted that the summer hadn’t been about Frankie. I was eighty percent—fine, sixty-five percent certain that I hadn’t made any of those choices because Frankie wasn’t talking to us.
Didn’t mean she needed our actions rubbed in her face. No, Sharon had come after Frankie. That wasn’t a mistake she should ever have made with me.
Ever.
Me:
We need to meet.
Me:
Tonight.
Me:
I’m going to burn Sharon to the ground.
I hit send.
Then opened a new folder and labeled it:Insurance.
