“Fine,” she says, straightening her black sweater and composing herself. “I’m going. Can you guys get my stuff in my locker for me?”

Aiden and I tell her we will.

“Great. I’ll see you guys after.” She turns to Principal Anderson and shoots her a sinister smile. “I don’t need the escort off of school property, I’m leaving. Fuck you, and have a nice day.”

With that, she pivots on her heel and struts down the hall, the officers following her anyway, her head held high despite the stares and murmurs about her following in her brother’s footsteps.

Aiden and I stand there staring after her, trying to process everything we’ve just learned.

Principal Anderson tugs on the sleeves of her blazer. “Get to class, Mr. Parker,” she directs at both of us, I’m assuming leaving me out since she probably doesn’t remember my name, and then she turns to leave.

News about Annalisa’s expulsion spreads fast. Aiden and I barely get to calculus before we get texts from our friends about what happened. Some people are even brave enough to come right up to Aiden and ask him before scurrying away in fear from the warning look he shoots them.

By the time lunch period rolls around, it’s all anyone is talking about. The usually calm and levelheaded Julian had to walk out of school in the middle of third period to stop himself from punching a kid in the face.

I haven’t seen Kaitlyn yet, but I’m sure she’s lapping up the attention. No one’s stopped to wonder whether Kaitlyn is full of shit or not. Hell, even I thought Annalisa did it for a second there. It’s only when I’m walking to class after lunch that I run into Kaitlyn. I skip all the preamble and jump right to the point.

“Anna didn’t touch you. Why in the world would you say she did?”

I’m almost tempted to pull a She’s Faking It! and rip the sling off her arm and wipe the FX bruising makeup off of her face. I wouldn’t put it past her to make this up just to screw with us. But I’ve been injured enough to know that her face really is bruised, and her lip really is split.

She studies me with her piercing eyes, the bruise doing nothing to hide the animosity within them.

“What are you talking about?”

The arm in the sling isn’t in a cast, and I can see the very faintest reminiscence of a bruise in the shape of finger imprints, identical to the one currently on my wrist, even though they’re both almost completely gone.

How did I not make the connection sooner?

“Kaitlyn.” I move closer to her and lower my voice. “You and I both know Ryan’s the one who did this to you.” I gesture to my wrist to make a point. “You need to tell someon—”

She steps away from me like I threw ice water all over her.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she insists, her voice hard and final.