"I'm good with that. So what'd the lawyers say?"
"Not much. They're waiting to hear more about the evidence. The police still haven't given us details about the tie."
"Last night I was thinking about the case and I think it's time to tell the police what I know about Kristen and Principal Edwards."
"They'd never believe you," he says, speeding up as he goes down the winding road that takes us back home. "They'll think you made it up to take the attention off you and me."
"The police need to know. I don't care if they don't believe me."
“You can do what you want but if it were me, I'd keep quiet. If there was someone else that saw Kristen with Steven then the police would be more likely to believe you, but you alone saying that stuff will just seem suspicious. They knew you hated Kristen. The cops will think you're just trying to make her look bad. And they know you're pissed at Principal Edwards for accusing us. They'll think you just want to get back at him by accusing him of sleeping with this stepdaughter."
I sigh. "I really wish my phone would've saved those pictures I took of them. I would've had evidence."
"Talk to your lawyers and see what they say. I'm guessing they'll tell you to keep quiet."
We're on our street now and he slows down.
"You need to stop?" he asks as we approach Brock's house.
"No. Well, yeah, I do. I want to get some clothes."
"You don't need clothes tonight," he says with a sexy smile. "It's just you and me."
I smile back. "I'll need some for tomorrow."
He pulls into the driveway. "I'll wait here."
"Jackson, it's okay. You can come in. No one's home."
We get out of the car and go inside. I hear footsteps down the hall and the sound of a door closing.
"You said nobody was home," Jackson says.
"Maybe it's Brock."
"I'll wait outside."
"No, Jackson, just come to my room."
"Rumor?"
I turn around and see Maria coming toward us, holding a basket of laundry.
"Hi, Maria. I didn't know you were still here."
"I got a late start today." She eyes Jackson with a look of suspicion. "Are you going somewhere?" she asks me.
"I'm going to Jackson's place. I just stopped by to get some clothes."
Her eyes dart back to me. "You're spending the night?" she asks in a judgmental tone.
I don't answer. She's not my mom. She can't tell me what to do.
"How's Shayla?" Jackson asks, flashing that smile of his that tends to win people over.
It doesn't work on Maria. She thinks he's guilty. She's staring at him with disgust and anger, like he shouldn't be walking free after what he did.
"Don't talk about my daughter," she says. "Or TO her. Stay away from her."
