The week that passes is both thankfully yet annoyingly uneventful. Dario's away on a weeklong trip for work, so there hasn't been any more talk about shipping me off like he suggested after my suspension. Maybe sending me to live with his cousin in New York was just a threat to keep me in line, or maybe he meant it, but I'm relieved he's not following up on separating me from my sister.
Zia Stella is staying over to "watch us," and she's much more chill and ten times nicer than he is, so the hours I'm home between work and school aren't the worst. I eat lunch with Nyah or sometimes outside when it's nice enough, joke in class with Warren, spend my spare time with Jason, even get an A on my English pop quiz, and it's almost weird how normal everything seems.
Gia's on track as well. This week she joined the debate team and signed up for volleyball tryouts, seemingly having cooled it with the parties and drinking after everything that happened at the motel and our talk about being in a good place here in King City. She seems happy, and it's for that reason I haven't told her about Brandon and his threats. I don't want to worry her unnecessarily, especially not when we're getting along and she's actually getting her act together. Besides, I'm handling it, like I handle everything else, which is why the week has been annoying: there's been no progress with unlocking Brandon's phone.
I've tried combinations of all the numbers important to Brandon like his birthday, jersey number, home address, even his cat's birthday, which I casually asked his younger sister, Brianna, about when she was over hanging out with Gia. I've become so desperate, Jason even got the cheerleader in charge of all the football player locker decorations for spirit day to tell him Brandon's locker combination, and I still had no luck. It is so frustrating. Every time Brandon's phone is in my hand, I just want to smash it on my desk over and over again, screaming obscenities until it shatters into a million pieces. But then the calming voice of reason in my head that sounds suspiciously like Jason reminds me that destroying the phone won't help us find what Brandon's done to Lily, and I practice Anusha's calming breathing techniques to quell the rage.
But other than that, everything's going so well it's almost too good to be true. This is everything I wanted when I came to King City: a stable house, a good relationship with my sister, a future in which college is actually possible, friends, and even the bonus of Jason, who's incredible in every way. But I can't help feeling like trouble is breathing down my neck, and I'm always wondering when the other shoe will drop.
I find out on Monday, exactly a week from Brandon's threat, as he promised.
Despite the fact that I share two classes and a lunch period with him, Brandon's easy enough to avoid. He's the biggest person in any crowd, so I always know where he is and run in the opposite direction. And in class, he's surrounded by friends, so I can easily slip out before he tries to talk to me. It helps that he doesn't try to talk to me, only glares like he's trying to make my head explode, but I can work with that.
But Monday morning after class is dismissed and I'm heading to the cafeteria for lunch, I let my guard down for just a second texting Nyah to arrange lunch plans, and I don't notice Brandon searching for me until it's too late. I practically faceplant into his hard chest.
"Time's up," he growls, corralling me to a less populated side of the hallway by some lockers. "You better have my phone in that backpack of yours."
I don't. It's safely tucked away and turned off in my desk drawer at home, hidden underneath some college scholarship pamphlets I picked up from the guidance office last week.
"I don't know what you're talking about. I don't have your phone," I reply, keeping my voice calm and my heart rate as even as I can.
He's not buying it, though. "I know you do. It was 'stolen' when I was 'jumped' at the motel party." He uses his fingers to make air quotes and add extra emphasis around the words. "I know you or your bitch sister or your asshole boyfriend have it. I gave you a week, and your time is up. Give it to me."
He gets closer to me with every word, and although I'm trying to play it cool, I've somehow backed myself into a locker. With him looming over me, so close I can smell his cinnamon gum, I choke out, "You have a new phone. Why are you so obsessed with the old one? It's gone. The people who jumped you and stole it probably wiped it and sold it off already."
"That'd be fine if it was the truth, which it isn't. I know you have it; I want it back. There are things on it I need."
I knew it. I freaking knew it. He doesn't care if it gets wiped because there's evidence on it! But as long as he suspects it's in my possession, data completely intact, with proof of what he did to Lily on it, he's going to keep fighting me for it.
But there's something I need to know, something that's been bothering me. "Why don't you just use the Find My Friends app to track the phone then?"
It's a risk—maybe he forgot he had that option altogether and I just reminded him of it. But to my utter relief, he mutters, "I turned all location services off on the phone."
Thank goodness. Now I can keep attempting passcodes without worrying he'll track the location to my house. Keeping the smugness from my tone, I reply, "Well, that sucks, but I don't have it. If you'll excuse me—"
My attempt to shoulder past him fails epically when he sidesteps and closes the minimal distance between us, his broad shoulders blocking my entire view of the hall.
"You're a liar, just like your Hollywood whore of a mother," he growls, and the words take me by surprise.
People in King City know Florence Bowen, and most who grew up with her don't particularly like her or have the best memories of her, but not many people know she's my mom. We have different last names, and I don't go around advertising our relationship. The fact that Mr. Lewis told me the teachers are gossiping about it amongst themselves should've worried me more and warned me that it was only a matter of time until more people realized it. Brandon mentioned something about my acting superior because of my "shitty C-list actress mother" the day I was running out of his house, and I never gave it a second thought. But he's been doing his digging. It should worry me. It does worry me.
Brandon uses my shocked silence as an opportunity to continue. "Did you forget that I can ruin your sister and your boyfriend's lives and prove she was with me when I got 'jumped'?" He uses the air quotes again.
It's almost no fun how predictable he is. I knew he'd say that when he cornered me eventually.
"Yeah, I'm not worried about that," I reply, crossing my arms and forcing him to take a step back. The small distance created between us helps me feel less claustrophobic, but I don't suck in air like I want to, instead keeping my cool. I'm in control here, despite him being the one who backed me against the lockers and initiated the conversation.
"You should be. If I show the texts, it proves Gia was there when I was supposedly 'jumped.'"
It takes everything in me not to slap his hands down when he does the air quotes.
"Which would poke holes in that whole story," he finishes.
He's right, but I knew this was coming and prepared.
"Well, I've had time to think about it, and as I said, I'm not worried about it," I say, chin raised in the air. Confidence is key here to sell it. "Gia wasn't in the room; I stopped her from going right after she sent the text. Everyone at the party saw her. She's in videos and pictures at the party having fun while the fight in your hotel room took place. Your texts are all circumstantial." Besides, he may be threatening it, but something tells me he doesn't actually want to get the police involved, not if he'd have to explain why he was trying to get Gia to his room, and also not if he's hiding something about Lily on his phone.
He believes me. I know he does. His eyes widen, and his head rears back as he scans my face. I stand straight, a defiant spark in my eyes as he runs through his options in his mind. I notice the switch a moment too late.
Rage contorts his face, and his fist slams into the locker right beside my head, making me flinch. "Give me my fucking phone!" he yells directly in my face, veins throbbing in his neck, and panic squeezes my throat. My heart beats out of my chest as he leans down, and I don't know what he's going to do to me, how I'll be able to defend myself against him when he's barely in control of himself. But as soon as his nose touches mine, he's thrown back. More and more space appears between us, and I exhale, my chest heaving.
Jason's there, his hand releasing the back of Brandon's shirt where he had it bunched to throw him off me.
He stands in front of me protectively, shielding me from Brandon with his body. "You ever get that close to Siena again," Jason starts, words dripping with venom, "and you'll never play football again. I'll make sure of it."
Brandon tugs at his shirt to fix his collar, the shock turning to indignant anger. He steps toe to toe with Jason, who meets his eyes directly, not intimidated in the slightest. They're the same height, both with impressive builds, but Brandon's muscles look inflated next to Jason's lean mass. Jason is so tense I can feel the energy he's using to restrain himself from here.
"You want to be tough, big guy?" Brandon asks, tilting his neck left and right to crack it. "You already want another round where I kick your ass?"
Jason's laugh is humorless. "You? Kick my ass? How bad was your head injury?"
"I did kick your ass." Brandon gives Jason's shoulder a shove, but he barely moves. "Yours and your bitch's."
Without breaking the stare-off with Brandon, Jason addresses me through clenched teeth. "Siena, I need you to go to the cafeteria."
Why does he ... oh. He's trying to get rid of me so he can fight Brandon without worrying about me, so I don't get in the middle of it like last time. The only reason Jason got a black eye last time was because he was busy trying to make sure I remained completely untouched.
Though I know he's capable of handling himself, I don't want him to fight. We were just suspended for this exact thing two weeks ago.
"No, Jason," I say, touching his tense back. "Let's just go."
"Not without giving me my phone," Brandon declares, turning to me, but Jason sidesteps, making sure Brandon doesn't even get a clear view of me, never mind get close to me.
"I don't have your phone," I say over Jason's shoulder.
"If you're not going to give it to me willingly, then I'm going to have to take matters into my own hands," Brandon threatens, and Jason doesn't like that. He takes a menacing step forward, but I grab his arm, holding him back.
"Jason, please. Let's go."
A few groups of kids on lunch wander into the hall, stopping and whispering when they see the obvious face-off between Jason and Brandon. Even my sort-of friend Thompson is here with a friend, twirling the strands of hair at the end of his mullet like he's trying to decide whether or not to step in. We're attracting attention.
"Jason," I plead, wrapping both my hands around his arm now, "don't get in trouble for this; he's not worth it."
Brandon's chuckle is dark and malicious. "You going to let your bitch tell you what to do, Parker?"
Jason's muscle ticks under my hand, like he's doing everything in his power to stop himself from ripping it from my grasp and taking a swing at Brandon. Before Jason can decide whether to risk getting expelled, I slip in front of him and poke Brandon's chest. "You know, you are incredibly misogynistic. I have a name and it's Siena. And just because someone respects the opinion of a woman doesn't make them any less of a man; in fact, it makes them more of one."
Jason's hands land on my waist, and he pulls me back from Brandon.
"We're leaving," Jason says to Brandon. "Stay away from Siena, or we're going to have a problem."
"I just want my phone," Brandon growls, pointing at me. "I tried playing nice, but that hasn't worked. Now, you're going to regret this."
Jason steps forward again with a murderous look on his face, almost like it's an automatic reaction and he can't help himself, but I pull him back. More people are walking in the hall now, sending us curious looks, and Jason allows me to drag him away and down a different corridor. Brandon doesn't follow us, but he and Jason don't drop their gazes until we turn the corner and they lose sight of each other.
"I can't fucking stand him," Jason fumes, shaking some of the tension from his limbs and taking his place beside me as we head toward the cafeteria.
"He's the worst, but you can't fight him. We were just warned about that, and I don't think you'd squeak by with a suspension this time. Principal Anderson would expel you if you beat him up." Because there's no doubt that Jason would've beaten him up. I can still feel the anger radiating off him, and so can the kids passing us in the hall, scurrying away quickly to give us a wide berth. I'm not scared of Jason, though. There's nothing he could ever do that would make me scared of him.
"It would've been worth it," he says, and though I hear the conviction in his words and know he truly believes it, that's not something I'd ever want for him, especially not on my behalf.
Placing my hand in his, I give it a gentle squeeze. "I appreciate it, Jason, but let's be smarter than him. We're going to focus on finding what he's hiding so we can finally take him down for good and get justice for Lily."
Jason's jaw clenches before he relents with a subtle nod, his fingers tightening around mine. My body becomes warm and fuzzy from the action—and from the knowledge that Jason, this loyal, smart, and annoyingly handsome boy beside me, would've risked expulsion for me. He's there for me in a way no one ever has been, and I grip his hand a bit tighter.