The next photos come quickly: A happy Pru graduating from middle school, her parents smiling beside her. A photo of young Madison hunting for Easter eggs on the White House lawn. And then, in quick succession, the salacious headlines about Damian Leroy’s arrest and subsequent prison sentence. News stories about his family, including one article that features a close-up of Tessa’s stricken face as a reporter accosts her with questions about her dad. She holds her hand up, like she’s trying to shield her face from the paparazzi.

I know what Harlowe’s doing, and I’m so furious at her I could scream. I don’t turn to look at my friends’ faces, but I’m sure if I did, I’d see the hurt written there. Harlowe’s rubbing their DNA families in their faces—Pru’s happy family life, including the mother Pippa lost months after meeting her. She wants Maude to hurt for never being a part of one of the most influential families in the country. And, worst of all, she wants to remind Theodora of the role she played in sending Damian Leroy to prison.

It’s emotional hazing, and it’s cruel.

I’m about to waltz over to Harlowe and demand that she turn the damn slideshow off, when a final image is projected in front of us, eight feet tall and impossible not to stare at.

It’s me and Levi. I know it’s him instantly. I know that too-long, scraggly hair, and his lean biceps, and the white T-shirt he insisted on wearing even in freezing temperatures. That’s not Ollie. It’s his clone, and this is last year. And we’re kissing.

I feel my chest tightening, my whole body tensing. Where did Harlowe get this? Where did she get any of these photos? How long has she been planning this? This is the handiwork of someone who researched and gathered information all summer long. This wasn’t thrown together. It was planned.

I don’t turn back to look at Ollie. I can’t. I feel mortified and ashamed. For him to find out about Levi like this…

Or could he have already known? Does he already know? I’ve wondered all summer if he could tell, somehow, that something was different between us. Now I don’t have to wonder anymore. He’s seen the evidence that Levi and I were an us.

The lights come back on. When they do, it’s a harsh reintroduction to the room. To the creaky machinery, and to Ollie, still handcuffed to that chair. I force myself to look at my friends—especially Ollie. I can’t read the expression on his face. Is it surprise? Disappointment? Betrayal? I only catch a glimpse of my other friends’ faces—stoic, but clearly emotional in spite of their inherent strength—before I charge at Harlowe, wanting to wipe the smug look off her face.