Aftermath by Kelley Armstrong (30)

It only takes ten minutes to proofread the school paper. I consider texting Jesse a quick: Hey, you still free for lunch? It’s what I want to do.

Instead, I text Tiffany to say the RivCol Times is officially published.

I meet up with Tiffany and give her back the newspaper office key.

As we’re walking to the cafeteria, I catch a glimpse of a dark-haired boy, and my heart double-thuds as I realize how bad it’d look if Jesse saw me going to lunch with Tiffany. The boy isn’t Jesse, but I should let him know I was done early. When Tiffany stops to talk to someone, I quick-type the message.

My fingers hover over the Send button.

Hit it. Just hit it. 

Still hovering.

Seriously? What is your problem? You think he’s going to find out you’ve changed and walk away… so you’ll push him away instead? Make him feel like he’s done something wrong? 

That’s not fair.

I move my finger over the button again and —

“Okay, let’s…” Tiffany walks up beside me and looks at my screen. “Is that Jesse?”

I nod as I press Send and push the phone into my pocket.

She pulls back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. By the time I realized what I was reading” – she taps her temple – “it was already there.”

“I know you warned me about him.”

“Warned you about Chris, too. Which means I should probably not warn you about the guys who are real trouble.”

I tense. “If you’re implying I ‘went after’ the very guys you warned me against, Chris and Jesse were friends of mine from before.”

“I know. Sorry. Lame joke.” She hugs her books to her chest. “I’m not very good at them. Jokes, I mean. Not lame ones. I’m really good at lame ones. You’re right. I just… I know what it can be like, trying to rekindle friendships from before the —”

“Hey, Tiff, did you get my ad in the paper this week?”

It’s one of the seniors. When Tiffany stops to talk to him, Jesse comes around the corner. He has his hood up, earbuds in, as he weaves through the busy hall. Then he sees me.

He stops short. His gaze rises to the hall clock.

I take out my phone. My text is still there. Unsent.

I look up. Jesse’s walking the other way. I quickly interject with Tiffany and the senior – forgot something, gotta run, see you later.

I jog up beside Jesse and say, “The problem with text messages? People don’t respond if you fail to send them.”

He stops. “What?”

I hold up my phone. “I’ve been waiting for you to answer this. Which isn’t going to happen if I don’t hit the Send button.”

His gaze flicks to the screen, and he grunts something unintelligible.

I continue, “I saw you walking away, and I just wanted you to know I wasn’t blowing you off earlier.”

“What?” He shoves his hands in his hoodie pockets. “No, I didn’t see you. I turned around because I remembered I forgot… something.”

“Oh. Well, then, I look kinda stupid, don’t I? Let’s back up.” I press Send. “Message sent.” His phone dings. “And delivered. Now I’ll withdraw from this awkward moment, and see you in math.”

I get about three steps before my phone pings with a text.

Another ping.

Another ping.

I turn, and he’s right where I left him. He mouths, “Sorry,” and I smile and start toward him. There’s a group of kids huddled against the lockers, whispering and watching. I’ve almost reached Jesse when someone says, “What the hell?” and the voice is loud enough to catch my attention. It’s just a guy reading his cell phone. I start past. Then he sees me and barrels forward, saying, “What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Jesse says. “She’s just trying to get an education, like everyone else here. Now step off —”

“I’ll ‘step off’ when she explains what the hell she was doing.”

“Doing with what?” I ask, but Jesse starts going around him, his hand on my elbow.

The guy blocks. Jesse sidesteps again. Guy blocks.

“If you want to dance, you really should ask,” I say. “Consent is important.”

That gets snickers from the growing crowd.

We start walking again. Then Jesse staggers, and I wheel to see the guy pulling back after shoving him.

I say, “If you need to shove someone, shove the person you’re actually pissed off at.”

The guy crosses his arms.

“No, really,” I say as I step up to him. “You’re mad at me. Don’t push Jesse because you can’t hit a girl. That’s sexist. Come on. Take a swing.”

“Skye…” Jesse tries to stop me, but I get past him and move closer to the guy, getting in his face.

“There,” I say. “Go ahead and —”

His hand slams into my shoulder, and I fly into the lockers. Jesse grabs the guy by the back of the shirt and yanks him away. My attacker spins, both hands smacking Jesse’s chest.

“You want to get into it, Mandal? Come on, then. Let’s get into it.”

I grab the guy’s arm. As he yanks away, my nails rake down his forearm. He yowls. I retreat fast, hands raised.

“I didn’t mean that,” I say. “I was just trying to stop you.”

He advances on me. “You really do want to get into it, don’t you?”

Jesse takes him by the shirt again. The guy spins, swinging. Jesse grabs his arm and wrenches it up. Someone yells, “He’s playing with you, Caleb. Hit him.” Others join, the crowd closing in.

Caleb swings with his free hand. Jesse dances away, but another guy pushes him forward, saying, “Get back in there, Mandal. You want to defend your crazy girlfriend? Do it right.”

Before I can intercede, a girl steps into my path, a girl I vaguely remember from a year below me in middle school.

“Forget them,” she says to me. “Just answer his question. What is wrong with you?”

I turn away, trying to see what’s going on with Jesse, but the girl yanks me back.

“I’m talking to you,” she says. “Do you know who I am?”

When I don’t reply, she says, “Meg Johnson. My cousin is – was – Brandon Locklear, who died because of your brother.”

She’s scowling and gripping my arm tight enough to hurt, but her eyes glisten with tears. “I’ve heard your mother is mentally ill, and I’m hoping that’s your excuse. Really, really hoping it is. When I heard you were back here, I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to tell you that I understood what happened wasn’t your fault, and I hoped you were doing okay. But I couldn’t work up the nerve. And then you do this.”

“Do what?”

She thrusts her phone at me, but it’s so fast I don’t see anything. “If you are mentally ill, Skye, then you need help. And if you’re not, then you need even more help, because you are one sick bitch.”

“May I please see what you were trying to show me?” I ask, as calmly as I can.

Someone else shoves a phone into my face. On the screen is today’s RivCol Times. The edition I just published.

“Is something wrong with the newspaper?” I ask carefully.

“Hey, Mandal,” someone says. “She’s asking if something’s wrong with the paper? Do you see anything wrong with it?”

I look to see that the guys have stopped fighting, and Jesse is staring down at his phone.

I scroll down the page. The first article should be a headline crowing about the track meet victory. Instead, it’s a massive two-line header: REMEMBERING THE NHH VICTIMS. With my name as the byline.

“No,” I whisper. “I just published the paper. That wasn’t – I didn’t write…”

I scroll faster. Jesse’s at my side now, and he’s reaching for the phone, saying, “Someone tampered with the newspaper.”

I backpedal before he can take the phone from me. I’m skim-reading the article. In it, I apologize for my brother’s participation in the shooting, while making it clear that he never actually hurt anyone, and as I read that, I cringe.

The article goes on to say I want to offer my condolences to the family members at Riverside Collegiate… and then it lists every one of those relatives.

Below that is an embedded video.

My trembling finger hovers over the Play button, and I realize the crowd has gone silent. I look up to see them watching, expressions ranging from confusion and curiosity to barely contained outrage.

Jesse touches my arm, saying, “You don’t have to —”

I meet his gaze. “I do.”

I hit the button. The video starts with the clip from Leanna’s second birthday. Then the ones of Jamil and his friends. Next is Nella dressed up as a lion for Halloween, chasing her little brother, dressed as a mouse. Then Brandon at the hospital, meeting his son for the first time. My eyes well up. Then the screen clears and —

A blood-splattered hall. The camera pans to a body – Brandon’s – sprawled across a pool of blood, cell phone in his hand. Words flash on the screen.

I want to drop the phone. Drop it and run. Instead, I clutch it and force myself to watch the clip of Leanna under the desk, telling her mother she’s all right. The video ends with another slow pan of a blood-streaked hall. And then the final words:

“I didn’t —” My chest heaves and I can’t get the words out. “I would never —”

Jesse gently takes the phone from my hand. “I know you didn’t.” He raises his voice. “Do you really think she’d post that for me to see? Me?”

“Skye?” Shoes click down the hall, and I turn, still numb, and see Tiffany walking toward us.

“We need to talk,” she says.

“I didn’t —”

She takes my arm and steers me away, calling back to the others. “We are very sorry for this mistake. It will be corrected immediately.”

Jesse catches up. “Skye didn’t —”

“I understand you want to set the record straight about Luka,” she says, her voice low as we walk fast toward the newspaper office. “I know you must have thought a public apology would help.”

“And posting a video of their dead bodies?” I say.

“What?” 

Jesse holds out his phone. She snatches it and plays the video as we walk. Her face pales.

“I… I didn’t see that,” she says. “I just read the article.”

“Skye didn’t post this,” Jesse says. “Not the article or the video. Someone set her up. We need to get the newspaper down.”

 

Tiffany unlocks the newspaper room door.

“Can the files be accessed remotely?” Jesse asks.

“Hmm?” She looks at him, clearly shaken.

“The door was locked, meaning no one snuck in and published that version. Can it be done remotely?”

“No.”

“Is there anyone else with access?” Jesse asks.

She turns on him, key raised. “Are you suggesting I —?”

“No, I mean someone else on the staff.”

“I’m the only one with a key, Jesse. And if you want an alibi, I can provide it, considering I was with Skye right after she published the newspaper.”

“Okay, so we’re looking at a hack. I wasn’t accusing you, Tiffany. I’m sorry if it sounded like I was.”

She doesn’t seem to hear him, just ushers us inside.

“I don’t know what happened,” I say. “I published the right version. I have the test copy in my inbox. I also checked the link when it went live.”

“Let’s just get it down.”

She logs onto the computer. Jesse stands behind her, saying, “Do you use your school log-in? Or is it a different one for the newspaper?”

She doesn’t answer.

“It’s different,” I say.

“And do you each have unique log-ins? Or is it universal?”

“It’s one to get on this computer and another for the publishing service. Both are used by everyone.”

“Okay, so it’s a two-step process with separate universal log-ins. And the paper can only be published from here, but —”

Tiffany cuts in. “This is the newspaper office, Skye. We’ve just had a serious security breach. I don’t need someone hanging over my shoulder asking questions.”

“He’s figuring out how someone hacked in and published that version of the newspaper,” I say. “He knows this stuff. I don’t.”

She glances over at him. “You know how to hack, Jesse? Huh. That’s interesting… considering we just had a hack. One that is going to make life a whole lot worse for Skye. I’ve heard you have a problem with her being at RivCol.”

“Then you’ve heard wrong,” he says evenly. “I was caught off guard when she enrolled, and I’ve apologized for that. I’m sorry if I was distracting you. Getting that video taken down is the important thing right now. I’ll ask questions later.”

“It’s down,” she says after a few more keystrokes. “I’ve pulled the newspaper and deleted the video clip.”

I check the link on my phone. Jesse does the same on his and nods.

“I’ll get the real paper up,” Tiffany says. “If I can do it fast, that proves we had another version.”

She’s flipping through the directory, saying, “The only version I see here is the one that was published.”

“Then someone erased the original,” Jesse says.

Tiffany says nothing. She’s typing when Mr. Vaughn walks in.

“Skye?” He seems surprised to see me there. “I heard there was an… incident. With the paper.”

“It’s fixed,” Tiffany says. “Someone replaced the lead story with a fake one.”

“Allegedly written by me,” I say. “A very disturbing article that is going to have serious consequences for me at RivCol. Which is why I’m going to ask for a full investigation.”

He looks from me to Tiffany to Jesse and then back, and I know what’s coming. He’s going to say as long as it’s been fixed, we can just ignore it. No harm. No foul.

I’m preparing my argument when he opens his mouth and says, “I agree. I’d like you to wait in my office, Miss Gilchrist, while I speak to Miss Gold.”