Then Chase lumbers in behind Danielle, messy brown hair tucked in under his usual Red Sox cap. He’s whistling, headphones in, and he fist-bumps the group of guys beside me—Ryder, Simon, Edwin, and then Andrew, who raises an arm awkwardly, trying to keep the words covered. If Chase notices Andrew’s strange position or the tension among the group of guys, he doesn’t say anything, just continues to his locker.

Hannah runs back into the room with the towels, and her face crumples when she notices Danielle and then Chase. Her eyes dart quickly back and forth between the two and she tucks the towels behind her back, trying to be discreet.

I know it’s hopeless, no matter how hard we try to hide the ugly words from Danielle. Now that there are pictures, the whole school will know in seconds. Still, I don’t want it to become a spectacle, especially in front of Chase. If he’s the one who wrote it, I don’t want him to get the satisfaction of a reaction. And if he didn’t write it, then I don’t want him to know it even exists.

But then, over the clamoring chatter of students, I hear Ryder call out, his voice deep and loud.

“Hey, Danielle. Is it true?”

She pulls her arm away from Sophie’s and opens her locker, glancing back over her shoulder at him. “What?”

“Shut up, Jason,” Hannah says through clenched teeth, glaring at him. I hold an arm up as he finishes the question, as if the slight movement might help change his mind. It doesn’t. He barrels on without concern.

“That you taste like rotten fish?”

The room goes quiet, conversation decreasing to whispers. Chase pulls off his headphones and puts his phone away, cocking his head in confusion at the scene unfolding. Simon reaches a hand up in a high-five motion and Ryder slaps it.

Danielle slowly turns to face them. “What did you just say to me?”

“I’m just reading what it says on the wall,” Ryder answers, shrugging innocently. He looks over at Andrew. “Hey, man, show her what it says.”

Andrew folds his arms and doesn’t budge. His voice is calm and steady. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re no fun,” says Simon. “It says you taste like rotten fish. Right over there on the wall.” He twitches excitedly, likely surprised and delighted he’s gotten the words out.

Danielle slams her locker door shut. “Excuse me, Rabbit?”

He pales slightly, moving back and forth from foot to foot, jumpy. If he’s a rabbit, Danielle is a fox, and she stalks toward him, eyes narrowed for the kill.

“I said . . .” he stammers, trailing off.

She folds her arms and taps her foot impatiently. “Say it again, Terst. Say it to my face.”

“I didn’t write it!” Simon’s cheeks flood with color.