“Are they only saved on his phone?” I ask. “Isn’t there a way you can take his phone and delete them?”

She huffs and tucks her hair behind her ear. “He’s really controlling about letting me see his phone, even though I saw his password and memorized it. It’s not that hard when it’s all zeros.” She scoffs and shakes her head, as if amazed at Ryan’s personal choices. “He’d have to be distracted so I can delete them, but I can’t distract him and delete the pictures at the same time. They also save to his computer automatically when he plugs in his phone, so I can’t possibly delete all his pictures without him noticing, because then how am I supposed to get to his computer? I’ve thought it all out before, Amelia.”

Except the one aspect she hasn’t planned on is having an accomplice.

“If there was a way to get to his phone and laptop, is anything backed up to the cloud?”

If his photos back up to his cloud account that would complicate stuff, because even if she did delete everything, he’d have another copy stored online.

She shakes her head and scowls at the leaf that falls out of her hair. “He doesn’t trust the cloud. He said something about not wanting the government to spy on him, which is stupid because it’s not like Ryan has anything they would want. News flash Ryan, you don’t have launch codes or didn’t invent the next billion-dollar company. He’s not smart enough for that—he literally can’t even remember his own passwords; he writes them all down in a book he keeps in his closet.”

She scoffs then looks at me as if noticing me standing there for the first time. “Ew. Why are we standing here talking like people who can actually stand being in each other’s vicinity for more than ten seconds? Are you driving me home or what?”

We were being civil and having an actual conversation, and it’s not the worst thing ever. I shiver at the absurdity of it all. As she walks to the passenger-side door and stares at me with annoyance as she waits for me to unlock the door, a plan starts forming in my mind. One that’s risky, but I technically pulled off another version of it with Ethan Moore a while ago.

She pulls at the handle but the door doesn’t open. “I know I’m hot, but are you gonna unlock the door or stare at me all night?”

“What if I can help you delete the pictures from his phone and computer?”

She eyes me suspiciously and walks back to stand with me in front of the car. The chill in the air is still prevalent and only getting worse as the sun disappears behind the horizon, but I don’t feel any of it when faced with the cutting heat of her intense stare. “You’d do that?”

“If you leave him, yes,” I tell her, but then continue before she can say anything. “And if you tell your mom it was Ryan, not Anna, who beat you up, and let her come back to school.”