I can’t do it. I can’t stop myself from saying something.

“Just because your boyfriend treats you like shit doesn’t give you the right—”

“Excuse me?” Marissa says much too loudly. Her eyes grow wide, and her boyfriend takes a step forward. “You don’t know anything.”

“I know more than you think.”

Like that your boyfriend is blackmailing you with a sex video, I want to say. Yeah, I know plenty enough. I don’t say anything, though. I let my eyes tell her what I know.

Brandon gives me the kind of sadistic smirk I’ve only ever seen in johns. Maybe my joke was closer to the truth than I thought.

“You’re a whore, Anna Rodriguez. We know it. Everyone knows it.” He spits my name like it’s disgusting.

It is disgusting.

But my advantage is that he’s lying to get under my skin. He doesn’t know how close to the truth he is.

Does he?

I think of the note in my locker.

Did he somehow find out what happened to me in New York?

A soft hand grabs my arm and pulls me back, and Jackson puts himself between me and them.

“Shut the hell up,” he says. “You know nothing about her.”

I get that sick feeling again. Jackson’s standing up for me again. Only…I don’t know if Brandon is only calling me a whore to get under my skin or if he really knows. But it doesn’t matter, because he’s right.

I am a whore.

Or was.

Or…I don’t know. Can you ever stop being a whore? Somehow, it becomes part of you.

Brandon grins. “And you do?”

“Yes. I do.”

“Keep telling yourself that, buddy.”

At this I turn and push my way through the crowd of bodies. They part for me like they’re afraid to touch me, but I’m glad, because I need to get away as fast as I can. Tears sting my eyes, but I blink to keep them back.

“Anna!” Jackson calls, and he runs after me, but I don’t stop.

I keep pushing, keep running from the horrible past I won’t ever be able to escape. But hell if I’ll stop trying.

Finally I reach the end of the hall and I stop. I’m far away from the crowd of gossipers, and the bell is going to ring soon, so the halls are clearing out.

I press a hand over my mouth and cry. I want to stop when I see Jackson coming closer, but it’s too late now.

“Anna,” he whispers from behind me. When I don’t turn to him, he walks around and stands in front of me. “You can’t let them get to you.”

I shake my head, fighting the tears. The more I react, the more he’ll suspect I’m not what he thinks I am. I’m not that good girl with a slightly troubled past. No, I’m royally fucked up.

I’m not the damsel in distress.

I’m the villain.

It’s only a matter of time before he realizes this.

“I don’t understand why you let it get to you so much, Anna. What they say…it’s stupid. It’s not true, so it doesn’t matter.”

I choke on another sob. Only it is true. I wish I could tell him this. Maybe I should. Maybe I should just rip the Band-Aid off. Take off my mask and let him see the scars beneath. Then I could stop being so scared he’ll figure it out on his own.

Except I can’t bring myself to do it. I don’t want him to see.

I don’t want him to change the way he looks at me, the way he feels about me. I need his faith in me. It’s the only thing keeping me going right now.

The bells rings, leaving only Jackson and me in the hall. He wraps his arms around me, and I press my wet eyes onto his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything else and only pulls away when I do.

“Ready for class?” he asks me.

I nod and wipe the tears away. I feel so stupid for crying. So what if some idiot teenager called me a whore? I’ve been called a whore a million times, hooker a million more. I’ve called myself those words. They’ve been true for years now, and I’ve never been afraid of that truth. Until now.

Until Jackson.

Chapter Twenty-Five

After school, Jackson, Jen, Alex, and I stay to work on the decorations. We only have two weeks to get everything together, but today isn’t the most productive day. Jackson starts off just showing us some of his old props and some pictures of last year’s homecoming decorations. They’re pretty lame, I won’t lie. Ugly red ribbons tied in bows all over the place, one big sign that just says Homecoming. They didn’t put much effort into it, that’s for sure.

If Jen and Alex saw or heard about what happened in the hall after we left the cafeteria, they don’t say. No one speaks about it at all.

This is both good and bad. Mostly, I’m just not in the mood to be happy. Not anymore.

Then, as Alex lies back to take a nap and Jen and I flip through the book of old decorations and sets, Jackson disappears behind the curtains of the stage.

It’s quiet on the old stage, only the sounds of Alex’s fake snoring and the plastic of the photo album crinkling. Then Jackson emerges from backstage with an armful of beanbags and an enormous grin.

“They left the prop box unlocked,” he announced.

“Uh-oh,” Alex says.

Before the rest of us can react, Jackson gives a blood-curdling yell and starts throwing little beanbags at all three of us.

Jen screams. I cover my head, the beanbag hitting the wall right behind me with a thump. Alex jumps up, does this weird roll thing, and grabs some of the discarded beanbags to throw back at Jackson.

I crawl to hide behind a mural of a sunset, feeling pretty numb. I’m not mad, or scared or happy. I’m nothing. I want to be happy. I want to be able to play with my new friends, but my heart still hurts.

I pick up one of the beanbags that hit the wall next to me. It’s softer than it looks. I take a deep breath and allow some of the pain, the heaviness to fall away. I let my lips form a small smile and I step out from behind the mural and throw the beanbag back at Jackson. It hits him in the side of the head.

Everything stops.

Jackson turns slowly to me, his face unreadable.

Then he yells “Ahh!” and runs at me with big stomps of his feet. I laugh and run away from him, picking up whatever beanbags I can find and tossing them at him. One hits him in the face, and then I trip and roll to the ground laughing.

Alex jumps in front of him with her fists up like she’s a boxer. “Don’t worry, Anna! I’ll protect you!”

“You’ll protect her?” Jackson says, incredulous. “I’m supposed to be the hero!”

“Why? Because you’re the guy? No way. Besides, you attacked. Heroes don’t attack people.”

He puts his hands on his hips, and I laugh.

“I don’t need saving. How about that?”

“Deal,” Jackson says and flops down next to me. Alex narrows her eyes, like she’s not done playing their stupid game.

“You guys are seriously insane,” Jen says.

“Yes, they definitely are.”

They both shrug.

I look around, beanbags all over the stage, pages from the album twisted and ripped, photos and paper everywhere. Whoops.

“Well, we had a productive first day,” I say.

Alex beams. “I could get used to this. You get extra credit for doing this all the time?” she asks Jackson.

“Pretty much.”

“Damn, I’m doing high school wrong.”

Jackson gives one firm nod.

I watch Jackson as he stands and grabs a big broom to sweep all the mess into a pile. What is it about him that makes me feel like a kid again? Like I really am innocent. Like I can have a normal, happy life.

And then people like Marissa and Brandon remind me that while a normal, happy life might be possible for other people, it’s probably never going to happen for me.

Finally, I get up to help him clean, and Alex and Jen take my lead. It doesn’t take long for us to get things back in order, except that some of the pictures from the album are irreparable. Jackson says no one will notice, and considering how bad some of them are, I believe him. No one should remember those horrible red bows.