My previous posts flashed through my mind, and I mentally sifted through every word I’d written. I wasn’t telling people that they could have sex without consequences. I was simply answering questions plaguing those who already had or were about to. Regardless of whatever I wrote, if they were going to have sex…they would do it. With or without the blog.

Right?

Chewing on my bottom lip, I wondered. Surely I didn’t have that much power?

No. No way in hell.

And I sure as hell hadn’t given a play-by-play on how to give a blow job. I wouldn’t even know. Not that I didn’t want to learn…especially after last night, after what Dean and I had shared.

God, the news had blown it way out of proportion.

I’d agonized over every comment, every question, and hand-selected the ones I knew our school officials would never address and ones Google wouldn’t be helpful with. The questions that got to the heart of concerns in new relationships and spoke to fears people were too afraid to voice aloud.

And with each question, I’d discreetly spoken to my best sources of information, my mom or dad. They unknowingly helped me construct responses that offered the same care and understanding that they handled me with.

If Mom sent me this link…she had to have seen the blog. And she knew me. She could likely tell it was me. But she hadn’t said anything? And…

Tanner has seen it, too.

I gasped, quickly glancing at Dean and sighing when I realized I hadn’t woken him. Sliding out of the bed, I retreated to the bathroom, dousing my face in cold water.

Mission accomplished.

Ask Me Anything had reached Principal Tanner’s radar.

Something sharp twisted in my gut. I never thought it would be protesting parents that would bring it to his attention. I thought it would be a happened-upon thing. A spare glance at the right time when a student was reading it.

I never for one second thought parents would think I was a…

Predator.

Fuck.

I hated that was even a thought that crossed their minds. That I could be some evil person luring people to divulge their most intimate questions and thoughts.

An icy-cold shudder racked my body and I stretched my arms out over the sink, leaning with my head hanging between my shoulders.

I’d proven myself enough to the mass of students writing in. They would never send in comments and questions if they hadn’t believed I was a Wilmont student.

Right. Exactly.

I repeated this to myself several times before drying my face with one of the hotel’s super-fluffy towels.

This is fine.

This is what I wanted.