WHEN I WALK THROUGH the front door after Ainsley dropped me off, there’s no one in sight.
“Hello? Is anyone here?”
I startle when Ms. Williams appears out of seemingly nowhere. She eyes me with her usual disgust as she takes in my wrinkled clothes and last night’s makeup. “Miss Jasmine. Good morning.”
“Good morning,” I repeat hesitantly. “Is Charles back in town yet?”
She shakes her head. “No. He’s expected to return tomorrow evening.”
“Isn’t he an attorney? Why is he always out of town? That seems odd to me.”
“It’s not my job to question Mr. Callahan’s whereabouts.” Ms. Williams narrows her eyes. “Nor is it yours. Considering you spent the entire night doing God knows what with God knows who, I hardly think you’re one to place judgment.”
“Wow,” I scoff. “I wasn’t placing judgment; I was just curious. But you definitely were.”
Ms. Williams huffs. “If you didn’t come home looking like you’ve been working the streets all night, maybe I wouldn’t have. Your father will not be pleased when he hears how you’re conducting yourself in such a sleazy manner.”
“Well, then he can take it up with me when he gets back.” I roll my eyes as I march up the stairs.
When I get to my room, I dial Jerome’s number again, but he still won’t answer. I’d really like to see my sister sometime this weekend, but he’s making that rather difficult. Why he’s making it so difficult is a mystery. I pull up my social worker, Davina’s, contact info and press the call button.
She answers right away. “Jasmine, how are things going? I had you on my check-in calendar today but you beat me to it.”
“Hey, Davina.” I take a deep breath. “Things are okay. Pretty non-eventful for the most part.”
“Well, non-eventful is good, I would think, all things considered.” I can hear the smile in her voice. “How are you fitting in with your new family? Any concerns?”
“Nope,” I lie. “Everyone’s been... nice, I guess. We’re all still trying to get to know one another.”
There’s no way I’m telling her about how I’m being bullied at school or how cold Charles has been to me. As much as I don’t like my birth father, or that school, I will admit it’s the best place for me to meet my goals of getting custody of Belle.
“I’m glad to hear it, Jazz. Now, since you called me, I’m guessing you’ve got something on your mind? Talk to me, honey.”
“I was hoping you could give me Belle’s address. I’ve tried calling her dad several times. He answered once and said it’d be okay if I stopped by, but he’s been ghosting me since. I need to see her with my own eyes. Make sure she’s okay.”
Davina sighs. “Honey, you know I can’t do that.”
“But—”
“Hold on, now. I wasn’t done. Like I was saying, I can’t give you her address, but I can try to coordinate a sibling visit. My placement check-in with her is scheduled for next week. I can ask then.”
“Thank you, Davina. I really appreciate it. I miss her so much.”
“I’m sure she misses you too, honey. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can, okay?”
I nod. “Okay. I’ll talk to you later.”
I end the call, discouraged I didn’t get Belle’s address, but I know Davina will do her best. I suppose that’s all I can hope for right now.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
JAZZ
By Monday morning, I’m on emotional overload. Every one of my attempts to contact Belle went unanswered. When Charles returned from his trip, I was expecting another scolding, but what I got instead was complete avoidance, confirming my suspicion he doesn’t really give a fuck about me.
I’m getting to the point where I’ve accepted this is my new reality—a world without my mom or my sister. Living in a mansion filled with the most frigid, superficial people I’ve ever met. I’m surrounded by more people than I ever have been, yet I’ve never felt so lonely.
“Hey, you okay?” Ainsley asks, sliding into her regular parking spot at school. “You’ve been really quiet.”
Since our houses are in the same gated community, she’s been driving me to school every morning. Frank still picks me up most afternoons since she goes straight to ballet, but it’s nice to see her friendly face at the beginning of each day. I especially need it today.
I stare out the window, sucking in my emotions. “I’m good. Just tired. I didn’t sleep very well last night.” At least that last part wasn’t a lie.
We exit her Lamborghini Huracan and meet at the back. Our first classes are in different buildings, so this is where we usually part.
She pulls me into a hug. “You look like you needed one of these.”
I squeeze her back, trying my damnedest not to cry. “I do. Thank you.”
She smiles. “I’ll see you at lunch, okay?”
I nod. “Yep. See you then.”
If I wasn’t so inside my head, maybe I would’ve noticed the looks I was getting when I stepped inside Lincoln Hall. Heard the increased chatter and snickering at my expense. Peyton—who came back home yesterday—steps in front of me, blocking my path.
I raise my eyebrows. “Excuse me.”
She laughs mockingly as Whitney and Imogen flank her. “There’s no excuse for you. What you did was unforgivable.”
Breaking her nose is unforgivable? After she started it? Dramatic much?
I try to step around them, but they shift their bodies, blocking my path. I hitch my backpack higher on my shoulder and cross my arms over my chest. Knowing what a stickler Headmaster Davis is for violence around here, I’m not afraid she’ll try to hit me, but she can make me late for class if she doesn’t move her ass.
“Move, Peyton. You’ve made your point.”
Her icy blue eyes narrow into slits. “I don’t think I have, but I will. Just give me time.”
Before I can say another word, all three girls step aside to allow me through. I walk to my locker, wondering why the hell everyone is still standing around. Shouldn’t they be getting to class? A few people make pathetic attempts to trip me, others fling insults. One guy even grabbed my ass, asking how much I charged for a hand job. I ignore them for the most part, until I reach the crowd gathered around my locker, waiting to witness my humiliation. They part as I approach, and that’s when I see it.
In bright white spray paint, the word whore is written vertically, covering the entire length of the wooden door. I can tell from the shine and strong fumes that it’s still wet which means someone must have just done this. I do my best not to react as I enter my combination and open it. As I’m grabbing my calculator off the top shelf, my hand brushes against a sheet of paper. My jaw drops as I pull it out and see the photo that’s printed on it. Two guys and one girl are engaging in a threesome—or the prelude to it, anyway. My phone dings a moment later, so I dig it out of my bag and see that I have an Instagram alert.
Waiting in my DMs is a video clip and several photos from an obviously fake account. As I read the message that came with it, I feel like I’m going to vomit.