by Kai Juniper
"Touch me," she demands. "Grab my ass."
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 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 Twenty-Two
No, no, no, no! They have to be here! At least one of the photos had to have 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 I didn't get those photos.
When we get to the house, I go in 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?"
Assuming he's joking, I turn my back to him. "Just go. Tell your dad I'm not hungry."
"He's insisting we eat as a family tonight. I don't know why. Maybe he's going to tell us he's leaving again."
"Trystan, I can't." I sniffle. "Just tell him I'm sick or something."
"She looks just like you."
I turn back and see Trystan holding my phone. I yank it away from him. "Don't."
"I just wanted to see her." He pauses. "Do you look at those a lot?"
"No,” I say, more tears falling. "I can't." I sniffle. "I can't look at her. I want to but I can't."
"But you were just now."
"I was looking for something else. And then I saw her and—" My breath stutters as more tears fall. I turn away from Trystan, not wanting him to see me cry.
"I know it's not the same but I can't look at pictures of my mom either. Braden said he told you about her."
I nod, sniffling and wiping my eyes.
"She used to be an awesome mom. She did everything for us. Dad said she spoiled us, and she did, but she was there for us. She didn't take off and leave us, like he does. She was the opposite of him. He's only focused on himself but she made everything about us. Her only job was being our mom and then...she was gone."
"But she's not gone," I say, turning to him. "You can still see her."
"If you saw her now, you'd know why we don't go over there. She's not my mom. She's some crazy person who screams and yells and throws things at us."
"When's the last time you saw her?"
"Last Christmas. Braden didn't want to go but I made him. I wanted to see her but I didn't want to go alone."
"And what happened?"
"She went fucking nuts. She thought Braden was Dad and told him she wished he was dead." He pauses. "Then she saw me and...she didn't know who I was. I told Dad and he said it might be because of her meds. She takes all these pills that make her forget stuff."
Trystan swipes through his phone, then turns it toward me, showing me a photo of his mom. I never met her but I saw her on TV when I was growing up, standing next to Brock at award shows.
"This is the only one I keep on my phone," Trystan says. "It was taken right after I was born. Dad said that was the happiest he'd ever seen her. She had her two boys, which is all she wanted out of life. She loved kids. She had tons of money but all she wanted was to be a mom. And now she doesn't even recognize her own kids. Or remember us."
"I'm sorry," I say.
He gets up. "I'll tell Dad you're sick."
"Thanks." I walk him to the door.
He stands there, not leaving.
"Aren't you going?" I ask.
He looks nervous, his eyes bouncing all around me.
"Trystan?"
He yanks me into a hug. And it's a real hug, not a groping hug like Braden would do.
After a few seconds, he lets me go, seeming anxious and uncomfortable.
"It'll get better," he says, stepping back. "I promise."
I nod, then close the door.
That was strange. Trystan was being nice, and it didn't seem like an act. I can't figure him out. He's nice and then mean and then nice again. I wish he'd just be nice all the time.
Picking up my phone, I text Jackson. I need to tell him what I saw. Even if I don't have proof, I still need to tell him. He needs to know Kristen is lying to him.
When are you done with practice? I text.
Just got home.
Can I come over?
How? Isn't everyone there?
Don't worry about that. Can I come over or not?
Of course.
I change out of my uniform, then quickly flip through the remaining photos. None of the ones I took today are in there. Jackson will just have to believe me.
Before I go, I text Trystan. Can you come to my room?
If they're all having dinner, I don't want to go out there and be questioned by Braden and Brock. Trystan feels sorry for me right now so there's a chance he might cover for me.
He knocks on my door and I go over and open it.
"Hey, I need a favor," I say.
"What is it?"
"I need to get out of here. The photos made me sad and I need to get out of my room. I want to take a walk on the beach but your dad won't let me. Can you cover for me?"
"Yeah, I guess. Where are you going?"
"I'll just walk up and down the beach. It clears my head. Makes me feel better."
"How long will you be gone?"
"I don't know. Maybe an hour?"
"Text me when you're back. We just started dinner and Dad has some big announcement to make. If you're not there he'll probably come to your room later to tell you."
<
br /> "Tell him I'm sleeping and not to wake me up."
"Okay, but don't be gone more than an hour. I'm not covering for you any longer than that."
"What's your dad's big announcement? Do you know?"
"Probably just something about a job. I have to get back there before Dad starts yelling at me."
He leaves and shuts the door.
Racing out the sliding door to the patio, I quickly walk around the pool and down the steps. When I get to the beach, I take off in a sprint, hurrying to get to Jackson's house so I'll have more time to talk to him.
When I get to his house, I'm struggling to breathe. I'm not a runner and going that fast left me completely breathless. His back door is locked. Peeking inside, I see him walking toward the hall that goes to the bedrooms. I knock on the glass door.
It startles him and he stops. He sees me at the door and hurries over.
"How'd you get here so fast?" he asks, opening the door.
"I ran," I say, still catching my breath. "I don't have much time. I got Trystan to cover for me but he'll only do it for an hour and I've already used up ten minutes."
"What's going on?" he asks as I come inside.
"I have something to tell you, but first I need some water."
"Let's go to the kitchen."
I follow him there and he gives me a bottle of water from the fridge. He pulls out a chair at the table. "Here. Sit down."
I gulp down the water. "I can't sit. I'm too worked up."
"Why? What's going on?"
"I had to stay after school today." I take a breath. "For counseling."
"Yeah? How was it?"
"This isn't about the counseling. It's about what happened after it was over. Ms. Adams left and I was alone in the school, or I thought I was. But as I was leaving I heard a noise. It was coming from one of the classrooms."
"What was it?"
I set my water down and look him in the eye. "People were in there having sex."
"Let me guess." He folds his arms over his chest. "Braden and one of the cheerleaders?"
"No. It was Principal Edwards and—" I pause, afraid he won't believe me. Kristen has fooled him to the point that I'm afraid he'll believe her over me.
"And WHO?" he asks.
I take a breath. "Kristen."
Jackson's face explodes with anger. "That fucker raped her? At school?" He takes off for the front door like he's on his way to go kill Principal Edwards.
"Jackson, wait!" I run after him. "He didn't rape her! She wanted it!"
He whips around. "She wanted it? Are you fucking serious right now? You're saying she wanted to be raped?"
"No! Of course not! I'm saying she wanted to have sex with him. She was moaning and telling him how good it felt and to keep going." I shudder. "It was disgusting. I couldn't even believe it was happening."
He stares at me, his eyes bouncing around my face. "You're lying."
"I'm NOT lying! Why would I make this up?"
He storms back to the kitchen and I hurry to catch up to him.
"I know you hate Kristen but making up some story to get me to stop seeing her is just—" He shakes his head. "Something I never thought you'd do. You're not the girl I thought you were."
"ME? Kristen is the one who's been lying to you! All that stuff she told you about her stepdad is a lie. If you saw her today, you'd know it was all made up. He wasn't doing anything to her she didn't want."
"Stop it!" Jackson yells. "Just stop talking about it! There's no way Kristen would make this up. If you saw how she looked when she told me. If you saw how upset she was and watched her cry, you'd know it wasn't just some story she told."
"It was all an act. Jackson, you more than anyone know people can put on a sad face and cry to make their story seem real. You used to get paid to do it!"
"I was trained. She's not. Kristen has been scared and suffering for months living with that monster. It isn't an act. She wouldn't have asked for my help if she didn't need it."
"Are you kidding me? Of course she would! She wants you, Jackson! And she'll do anything to get you back."
Jackson leans back against the counter, folding his arms over his chest and staring at the floor. "I don't know why you're doing this. Everything between us has been going great. I've told you multiple times that Kristen isn't a threat. I'm not taking her back. We were never even in a real relationship."
"But that's what she wants. And the only way she can get it is by manipulating you. Making you feel sorry for her." I go over to him. "I took pictures to prove I wasn't lying. My stupid phone didn't have the memory to save them so I can't prove it to you. But the fact that I even have to hurts me."
He keeps his gaze on the floor and doesn't respond.
"I would never make something like this up just to make Kristen look bad. When you told me what was happening to her at home, I wanted to protect Kristen just like you did. I'd never do anything to stop you from helping her if I really thought she needed to be saved from what her stepdad was doing to her, or might do to her in the future." I pause. "But that's not what's happening. I don't know what Kristen is up to, but whatever it is, she's using you, and I can't just stand by and not say anything."
I wait for him to respond but he doesn't.
"I'll go," I say, "but please at least think about what I said. I promise you I didn't make it up, but if you'd still rather believe Kristen over me, then I guess we're over."
He doesn't follow me out or try to get me to stay. He doesn't believe me. I knew there was a chance he wouldn't but I held out hope that he would. My heart is hurting knowing he doesn't trust me enough to believe me, and knowing that by telling him, I probably just ended our relationship.
I take my time walking back to Brock's house. When I get there, I sit on one of the loungers by the pool, staring out at the setting sun.
"Feeling better?" Brock asks, appearing beside me.
"Not really." I glance at him. "It was probably the fake hamburger I had for lunch."
He chuckles. "Not liking the school cafeteria?"
"It's okay." I pull my legs up and my wrap my arms around them, feeling cold now that the sun is going down.
"We missed you at dinner," Brock says. "I shared some news with the boys."
"What's the news?"
"I'm up for a role in a major film. A big budget spy thriller. Summer blockbuster. If I got it, it'd be huge. It's the kind of role that could reignite my career and lead to other movie roles. It's what I've been waiting for."
"That's great," I say, trying to sound happy for him, but I really don't care. My mind is on Jackson. I might've just lost the one person I care about more than anyone else.
"There are several actors up for the role," Brock continues. "All with more experience in film. I was actually a little surprised they asked me to audition since I've spent the majority of my career in television. But it just goes to show that hard work and perseverance pays off."
Hard work? All he does is sit around all day waiting for his agent to call.
"The director himself requested I audition." He smiles to himself. "I was flattered, to say the least. If you knew the director, you'd understand."
How long is he going to stay out here telling me how great he is and how much people love him? I swear, Brock could brag about himself for hours.
"I think I'll go inside," I say, getting up. "It's getting cold out here and I need to finish my homework."
"Of course." He stands up. "Go ahead."
When I'm back in my room, I Iook out the window and see Brock pacing back and forth by the pool. He's talking to himself and gesturing with his hands, probably rehearsing whatever scene he'll be doing for his audition.
Too tired to do homework, I change clothes and get into bed. I check my phone for any messages from Jackson but there aren't any. I guess that means we're over. He's choosing Kristen.
I turn the light off and try to sleep. I toss and turn for a good hour before I finally feel myself d
ozing off.
My phone rings and I bolt up from bed, thinking it must be Jackson. Nobody else calls me, except Shayla, but she wouldn't call this late. I grab the phone from my nightstand.
"Hey." I sound out of breath because I'm nervous. If Jackson's calling to tell me we're over, I don't want to hear it. My heart can't take that right now.
"Rumor?" a man says.
It's not Jackson. It's someone else.
"Yeah?" I say, wondering who would call me at this hour.
"We need to talk."
I hold the phone closer to my ear. "Who is this?"
"Kid, it's me. It's your dad."
Chapter Twenty-Three
My phone slips out of my hand and I hurry to pick it up.
"Dad? It's really you?"
"You alone, kid?"
"Yeah. I'm in my room."
"You can't tell anyone I called. You understand?"
"Yeah. Dad, what's going on? Where are you?"
"I'm on the road. Not sure where I'll end up."
"Brock said you were in rehab but he wouldn't tell me where."
"It was out by Palm Springs. I spent a few weeks there, then got tired of it."
Which is another way of saying he's drinking again, and probably doing drugs.
"So you're not in LA?" I ask. "What about your apartment?"
"It's gone. I'm not going back there."
"You could live here. In La Jolla. We could get a small apartment. I'll get a job to help pay rent."
"Sorry, kid, but it's not going to happen. You need to stay where you're at."
"Why? I hate it here. Dad, please, let me stay with you. I don't even know these people. Brock. Braden. Trystan. They're not even family. Why are you making me stay here when I could be with you?"
"What do you mean they're not family?"
I hesitate, then decide to just tell him. "I know you were adopted."
"Who told you?"
"Braden. He overhead Brock talking on the phone."
"To who? Who was he telling this to?"
"I don't know. It doesn't matter. What matters is that Brock and his kids aren't my family. I've never even met them before I moved here, so why are you making me stay with them?"
"It's where you need to be. It's what's right."
