It sucks here. I don’t know what else to tell you. Part of me can’t believe I’m here when I was so sure I could handle myself. But like I said before, I never expected you.

I miss you, too. Don’t know when I’m getting out and I refuse to write something stupid like wait for me, but I can’t help hoping you will, even though I flushed my last chance. Write back, okay?

Love, Shane.

I fold the plain notebook paper and slip it back into the envelope, then it goes into my underwear drawer. Things have gotten better with Gabby. Now that I know even my worst behavior won’t scare my aunt away, I feel safer, more at home. I still pitch in around the house, because I love her and want to help, not because I’m afraid if I slip an inch, I’ll be out the door.

Friday night, later that week, I’m sitting in my room, aching for the sound of Shane’s voice. Then I remember—I recorded him on my phone. I pull up the video and tap the screen to play. His music fills the room, making me feel closer to him. The idea bulb flickers over my head. This isn’t great quality, but it’s not like I have anything else to do tonight. So I connect my phone to my laptop and import the file. I’ve done video projects for school before, so I know a little bit about this sort of thing. I can do basic cuts and edits and pretty soon I’ve assembled a decent music video from the raw stuff.

I play it a couple times, then I upload the file to YouTube. After a few seconds of thought, I type into the description: This is my boyfriend, Shane. He’s incredibly talented. And right now, he’s in trouble for standing up for me. If you knew the whole story, you wouldn’t blame him. If people watch this, they’ll see his heart in his music … and they’ll understand that he’s not bad.

Then I record my own video, explaining the entire story. I make sure to mention that Shane got in no trouble at all before his mom died, so clearly these are extenuating circumstances. I don’t omit anything; I put it all out there, including how I blackmailed Dylan with a secret about his mom, how my tires were slashed, how he started picking on Shane again, and I escalated the conflict, and how he retaliated by telling the whole school about my past. I end with, “If you’re punishing people, you need to include Dylan Smith … and me. Because we started this, and Shane is paying for it.”

This is the only move I can make because I can’t let Shane suffer for something I dragged him into. He’s only locked up because he cares about me. So whatever the consequences of telling the truth, I’m ready for them. Aunt Gabby has some contact information for the people handling Shane’s case, so I dig those cards out of the file box. There’s a public defender and a social worker. It won’t hurt to send links to their e-mail. It might not help, but I can’t rest until I put this right. Shane doesn’t belong there. He won’t go on a crime spree if they release him just like I won’t burn anything down.

Like my aunt says, everyone deserves a second chance.

When I send out my e-mail, I also copy the principal and the office staff. Maybe it’s petty of me, but I want Dylan’s mom to know exactly what he’s been doing. Possibly she won’t care, or she’ll even think it’s sweet of him. From her perspective it is, but it’s also mean and destructive.

Before I can reconsider, I hit send. Then I message Ryan. Can u get a couple of videos on the school blog and Facebook page for me?

Right away, he answers, Absolutely. Send them to me?

I forward the e-mail. This way, the school officials can’t keep this quiet. People will be talking about it, at least. It’s possible that they’ll ignore everything I have to say. I’m still the crazy girl who burned a house down, once upon a time. But I refuse to let that moment define me. Aunt Gabby has been telling me for three years that I’ll be okay, that I can do more, be more. And I believe her.

I don’t have to scream to be heard. I just need to believe what I say matters.

Holy shit, Ryan sends back. Coach will have a field day with this. He’s all about ethics and honor. This is a serious violation of his moral code.

I reply, exactly.

The rest of the weekend, I watch the hit counter go up slowly, each time the site updates. The video of Shane singing has more hits than the one of me explaining, but they’re both climbing upward. I’m almost too nervous to go to school, but I opened this can of whoop-ass. Time to see how it smells.

As I walk to my locker, Alex of the awesome Chucks says to me, “It’s so shitty, what Dylan Smith did to you. I hope they expel his ass.”

“That should count as bullying or harassment or something,” a girl adds.

I nod in acknowledgment, moving past them to where Lila’s waiting. “You went for it, huh? I hear they called an emergency staff meeting this morning.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. They’re worried about enabling a ‘toxic learning environment.’ If your videos go viral, the school board will have a shit storm on their hands.”

“I hope so.”

Mid-morning, I’m called down to the principal’s office over the intercom. The room is ominously silent as I gather my things and step out. I walk down the hall slowly, torn between dread and elation. No matter what happens, they’re paying attention.

The main office is quiet, and I don’t see Dylan’s mom anywhere. Another secretary avoids my eyes as she pretends to photocopy something. I pull up short when I spot Dylan waiting just inside the doors, but I don’t let him intimidate me. Instead I take in the fading bruises. Even weeks later, he’s still green in places. I’m about to sit down next to him when Principal Warick clears his throat.

“Miss Czinski, I’ll see you now.”

Dylan makes a sound in his throat as I walk by, but I ignore him and follow Mr. Warick into his office. The room is filled with books and quasi-motivational posters. He has a laptop open on his desk, tilted so that I can see he’s been looking at the videos I posted. I take a seat across from him, waiting for him to speak.

“It appears we have a situation. You allege that Dylan Smith followed you from work, threatened you, revealed certain painful secrets about your past in order to ruin your reputation and humiliate you in front of your peers.”

“It’s true. It happened.”

“What possible reason could Dylan have for singling you out in such a way?”

“I threatened him first,” I admit. “Because he was picking on my friends.”

Now the principal looks slightly alarmed. “You mentioned that in your vlog, but you didn’t say how.”

Even now, I’m not willing to do what he did, at least not in a public forum. But this is a private conversation. So I say, “I saw you kissing his mother.”

Make no mistake, Principal Warick is very married. He has two children in elementary school up the road. So there’s a reason he looks ill.

But he still tries to bluff. “Perhaps you misinterpreted what you saw.”

“Your hand on her ass, hers in your hair, and—”

“That’s enough,” he cuts in. “You realize these allegations could ruin my reputation.”

I nod. “I wasn’t going to say anything. But I needed Dylan to leave Shane and Lila alone. He said basically that he doesn’t like to lose and I could expect him to do something horrible to make me sorry. And he did.”

“Which led to the altercation with Mr. Cavendish.”

“Someone wrote ‘psycho killer’ on my locker. Do you wonder why my boyfriend got mad?”

“In fact, I do not.” Warick sighs heavily. “What is it that you’re trying to achieve with these videos, Miss Czinski?”

“I just want people to know the truth, I guess. It’s not fair that Shane’s taking all the blame when Dylan and I did terrible things, too.”

“So you own your part in the conflict?”

“Yeah. I guess you could even say I started it, although if Dylan would just stop harassing people, it wouldn’t have been an issue.”