If I wanted to take a dig at my brother, or his life, I wouldn’t have done it like this.

Mahalia’s not even paying attention as Benji punches Chad in the stomach behind her. She takes a deep breath and blinks at the ceiling. “Of course I knew how he was. Everyone knows Benji Livingston is a narcissist playboy. It was dumb to give him so much of me. I admit it.” She looks at me. “I’m confused by you. I thought you were a nice kid. I know we don’t talk like that, but this hurts. And it’s embarrassing as hell. Why?”

“I didn’t . . .” I know I’ll sound like an idiot, so I just shut up after that.

She’s perplexed. “How’s it from your account, then? Why would he say that you did?”

“He did?”

“He’s very convinced that you did it to drive a wedge between me and him. Not that I’m ever hearing him out again. Because even if you did, it doesn’t change what he did.”

Laura’s red face and wild hair appear in the gaps between bystanders’ heads. “Stop fighting!” she screams at Benji and Chad. “You guys, stop fighting!”

Mahalia rolls her eyes at her. “Is that what I’m up against? He could’ve chosen anyone. Laura’s not even AP! How long have you known about this, Jake?”

“Mahalia, I haven’t known—I swear, please listen to me. I ignore my brother! I ignore everything he does. It wasn’t . . .”

It wasn’t me. I couldn’t have committed a crime in my sleep. It’s not possible unless my astral body took the camera down. Even if it were possible (which it might be), why would my astral body do something so chaotic?

Everyone is turning to look at me like I’m the one who started the fight. These kids whose names I only know because they’re always so loud when talking to each other—Katie, Chip, Steven.

I must’ve stayed logged in from my phone, and some cruel person chose to download the video and upload it to TikTok. Anyone with access to the phone and my fingerprint could’ve done it while I was sleeping.

S.A.D. The killer who drew his name in the air over Matteo Mooney. Who drew the same thing on the wall of my house so the blood of his victim simmered in the plaster. I still see it when I walk to the kitchen or living room, though Benji and Mom say they can’t.

Sawyer’s initials may just be imprinted onto my psyche and affecting the way I see the real world. He vandalized my book because he knew it would embarrass me in class. He leaked my brother’s sex video because . . . it would embarrass me at school, and at home.