Fumbling with my phone, I unlock it and get the camera ready. This isn’t the photo I thought I was getting, but this is even better. It’ll finally get Kristen out of Jackson’s life. When he sees this, he’ll finally realize she’s nothing but a conniving liar, making up stories so she can stay at his house. Get his sympathy. Tear us apart. I’ll finally have proof she’s not the innocent girl she pretends to be.
I have the perfect shot. Kristen has her face in the air, tilted toward the camera. Anyone could tell it’s definitely her and not someone else. And behind her is Principal Edwards, still in his work clothes, his pants undone, pounding into her.
I press the button to take the photo and continue to press it, so I have multiple shots. Then I tiptoe out of there, fearing that if I’m there a second longer, I might be caught.
When I’m outside the school, I check my camera to see the shots.
There’s an error message on the screen.
Unable to save photo. Storage capacity has been reached.
Chapter 22
No, no, no,no! They have to be here! At least one of the photos had to have been saved.
I frantically search through my photo library, but the last one taken was at the beach. I took a photo of the ocean as a wave was coming in. That’s the most recent photo.
“Dammit!” I turn around and look at the school, wondering if I should go back in there. But I’m sure they’re done by now. From the sounds they were making, they were definitely getting close.
A car pulls up beside me. It’s Ana.
I get in the car, slamming the door.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“Nothing. Sorry. I didn’t mean to slam the door.”
She drives off. “Have a bad day at school?”
“Yeah. Didn’t do well on a test,” I say, so she won’t suspect something else is wrong. I assume she tells Brock everything. Sometimes I think he uses her to spy on Trystan, Braden, and me when he’s not around.
“I made roasted chicken and sweet potatoes for dinner. It should be ready when we get home.”
“Sounds good.” I stare out the window, furious that I didn’t get those photos.
When we get to the house, I go to my room and check my photos again, thinking maybe my phone reordered them for some reason. I flip through each and every photo, starting from the first one in my photo library. It’s a photo of my mom from a few years ago. Seeing her makes tears well up in my eyes. By the time I get halfway through the photos, I’m crying so much I can’t even see.
“Rumor.” Trystan bangs on my door.
“What?” I manage to say through the tears.
“Dinner’s ready. Dad told me to come get you.”
“I’m not hungry.” I wipe my face, sniffling and realizing I don’t have any tissues in my room.
The door swings open and Trystan comes in.
“Dad wants us to—” He stops, noticing the tears on my face. “What’s going on?”
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
He looks down at my phone, which has a photo of my mom laughing. She was always laughing and smiling. Whenever I was in a bad mood, she could find a way to make me laugh.
“Your mom?” Trystan asks, pointing to the photo.
I nod, wiping my eyes.
He sits next to me on my bed. “You want to talk about it?”
