“It’s not funny,” Jack says, even though he’s laughing.
“I’m going to refer you to what I already said. Things are different between you and Hannah. Hannah’s different.”
“Yeah, okay, I get it. Ford, do you realize someone at my house last night took those pictures of us? Someone we know.”
“Yeah. I don’t know what to do.”
“What if we each made a list of who we remember being there?” Jack says.
“That’s a good idea. We could even get the girls to make a list, too. It’s a start.”
“It’s better than doing nothing. I know Jim will take care of it, but it could take him a while.”
“If anything, we could narrow down the suspects. We need to find out who drives that beat-up Toyota truck.”
“We will.” Jack stands up. “Come on. We’ve had enough drama for today.”
I toss Jack his keys. “I agree.”
“I need you to do something for me,” Jack says as we get in the car.
“Yeah, sure. What is it?”
“You’ve got to stop calling Clark by her first name around me. It’s freaking me out.” He laughs.
“Uh—yeah, that’s not going to happen. I’ve worked hard for the privilege to call her Hannah, and I’m not giving it up.”
Jack shrugs. “It was worth a shot.”
When we get back to Jack’s, Mrs. Clark says Hannah went up to her room after talking with her dad and hasn’t come down.
“Is it okay if I go up and talk to her?” I ask her.
“Of course.” She nods.
Hannah’s door is open a crack, so I quietly open it and peek my head in. She’s curled up on her bed, asleep. I walk in, sit down next to her, and pull the covers off her head. My heart breaks when I see the tear stains down her cheeks. I know all this drama is hard on her. She’s always flown under the radar socially at school. It’s because of me that she’s been thrown into the middle of all this drama. It makes me regret being so cocky and wanting to be the center of all the girl’s attention at school. Girls who giggle and swoon over me don’t care about what kind of person I am on the inside. They only care that I’m the school quarterback, look good without my shirt on, and drive a nice car.
I don’t let girls in. I don’t let them see the real me. Hannah is the only girl who’s ever seen the real me because she’s never cared about popularity or what position I play in football. She’s the only girl who’s ever had the guts to call me on my crap. She’s the only one who’s ever outwitted me.
During sophomore year, we had AP Biology together last period. After class, I followed Clark down the hall. I had a smoke grenade, pulled the string, and slipped it into her backpack as I passed her. Purple smoke billowed out from behind her as she walked. I’ll never forget the look on her face as she screamed my name. She ran outside, dumping her bag onto the grass, trying to find the source. When she finally found it, the smoke turned her face and clothes purple. We both got pulled into the principal’s office for the prank. I’d never seen Mr. Forrest so mad. His entire face turned bright red when he yelled at us. Thankfully, we both got off with only two weeks’ detention and not a suspension. Having a suspension on our records would disqualify us for valedictorian.
I thought that was the end of our pranks, but I was wrong. A couple of weeks later, I opened my locker, and tampons and sanitary pads fell everywhere. Hannah jam-packed my locker with them. I found them for weeks in the most random places. Clark had unwrapped a bunch of pads and shoved them between the pages of my schoolbooks. I even found them in my baseball bag and shoved them in my cleats. That’s when my feelings for Hannah began to change.
I lean down lightly, running the back of my hand across her cheek. “Rise and shine, Buttercup.” Her eyes flutter open, and she looks up at me. “Hey, you.”
“Hey, back.” She sits up, rubbing her hands over her face.
I run a knuckle over the red streaks on her face. “Is this because of all the photos?”
Hannah’s quiet for a minute, then reaches over, pulling her phone off the nightstand. “It’s because of everything, but mainly this. After talking to my dad, I came up here to lie down. A few minutes later, I got a text message. I thought maybe it was Leah or June, but it wasn’t.” She clicks on her phone, then hands it to me. The contact she has for the number says Unknown. It reads:Hannah Clark, I’ve been impatiently waiting for you to join my little website. How do you like it?
My vision blurs. I’m so angry. “Did you just add this contact and name it Unknown?”
Hannah shakes her head, a tear slipping down her cheek. She takes her phone and scrolls up to two other text messages she’s gotten from this number. They both read:There is something you should see in the basement.The time stamp on both is June second. The night of Jack’s end-of-school party.
“That’s why you went to the basement that night?” I grab a tissue off her nightstand, wiping her tears away. It hurts my heart to see her cry.
“Yes.”
