Chapter 6
I felt my stomach drop.
Tyler had used my name.
My fear.
My silence.
Everything I had tried to hide.
And he had used it to frighten another girl.
I stared at Mom.
"Who is she?"
Mom hesitated.
"The school hasn't shared her name with us."
I nodded.
I understood.
But I couldn't stop thinking about her.
Was she sitting in her bedroom crying?
Was she staring at threatening messages?
Was she wondering whether her parents would hate her?
I knew exactly how that felt.
And suddenly, the shame I'd been carrying became mixed with something else.
Anger.
Not at myself.
Not at Jordan.
At Tyler.
He had convinced me I was powerless.
Now I understood that he wanted every girl he threatened to feel that way.
Dad looked at me.
"Maya, this isn't your responsibility to fix alone."
I swallowed.
"I know."
But I couldn't forget that Tyler had used my payment to convince someone else he could get away with it.
The next day, Angela met with us again.
She explained that investigators were examining the allegations against Tyler.
The school had also begun reviewing whether students had been pressured into sending money.
I asked whether I could speak with the other girl.
Angela shook her head gently.
"Not unless she chooses to contact you through an appropriate channel."
I nodded.
"I understand."
She looked at me.
"Your job right now is to tell the truth, preserve evidence, and focus on your safety."
I took a breath.
"Okay."
Then she asked something unexpected.
"Have you ever received a message from Tyler mentioning another student by name?"
I thought carefully.
There had been so many messages.
Threats.
Deadlines.
Instructions.
Insults.
I had barely read some of them before deleting them.
My stomach tightened.
"I deleted a few."
Angela nodded.
"We may still be able to recover them."
I handed her my phone after arranging for a proper forensic copy.
A specialist later recovered several deleted messages.
One stood out.
Tyler had written:
Ask Brianna what happens when people don't cooperate.
I stared at the screen.
Brianna.
I knew a girl named Brianna Lewis.
She was a sophomore.
Quiet.
Smart.
She worked in the school office after classes.
I remembered seeing her cry in the hallway two weeks earlier.
At the time, I thought she'd failed a test.
Now I wasn't so sure.
I showed Angela.
She immediately forwarded the information to investigators.
Later that afternoon, Dad came home with news.
Gregory Brooks had been formally terminated from his position following the company's internal investigation.
The company had referred evidence to authorities.
But Gregory was denying wrongdoing.
His attorney claimed the financial records were being misunderstood.
Dad looked exhausted.
I sat beside him.
"Are you okay?"
He sighed.
"I'm angry."
I nodded.
"At him?"
"At the situation."
He looked at me.
"I've spent years trying to protect the company from fraud."
His voice softened.
"And now someone used my daughter to get to me."
I lowered my head.
"I'm sorry."
Dad took my hand.
"Maya, listen."
I looked up.
"You made a serious mistake."
I nodded.
"But Gregory and Tyler made their own choices."
I swallowed.
"You don't have to carry responsibility for what they did."
Tears filled my eyes.
For so long, I'd believed everything was my fault.
If I hadn't gone to the party.
If I hadn't accepted the drink.
If I hadn't taken the money.
If I hadn't threatened Jordan.
Some of those choices were mine.
But not all of them.
And understanding the difference was slowly changing how I saw myself.
That evening, Jordan asked if I wanted to help him practice basketball.
I stared at him.
"Me?"
He shrugged.
"You're good at rebounds."
I laughed softly.
"I'm terrible."
"Exactly. Good practice."
We went into the driveway.
He bounced the ball toward me.
I caught it.
For a while, we played without talking.
Then he stopped.
"Maya."
I looked up.
"Yeah?"
He took a breath.
"I want to ask you something."
My stomach tightened.
"Okay."
"Why did you think Mom would automatically believe you if you accused me?"
I looked down.
The question hurt.
Because I knew the answer.
Mom had always been more protective of me.
I was younger.
More emotional.
More likely to cry.
Jordan was older.
Tall.
Athletic.
Usually calm.
Whenever we argued, Mom often told him to be the bigger person.
And I had used that pattern against him.
I swallowed.
"Because I knew she'd defend me."
Jordan nodded slowly.
"Yeah."
My eyes filled.
"That was wrong."
He stared at me.
"Do you know how scared I was when you said I threatened you?"
I nodded.
"I do now."
He looked away.
"Dad could've believed you."
My throat tightened.
"I know."
"People could've thought I hurt my own sister."
I began crying.
"I'm sorry."
He wiped his eyes.
"I need you to understand that I wasn't just angry."
I stepped closer.
"I do."
His voice broke.
"I was scared you were willing to ruin me to protect yourself."
I couldn't answer.
Because that was exactly what I'd done.
I looked directly at him.
"I will never do that again."
He nodded.
"I want to believe you."
I swallowed.
"I know I have to earn it."
For a moment, he stared at me.
Then he tossed the basketball.
I caught it.
"Come on," he said.
"Let's finish the game."
I smiled through tears.
It wasn't forgiveness.
Not completely.
But it was a beginning.
The next morning, Principal Harris called my parents.
The disciplinary review had reached a decision.
I would lose my student treasurer position permanently.
I would be suspended from student leadership activities for the remainder of the school year.
The school would require restitution, counseling participation, and a formal accountability agreement.
The matter had also been referred for appropriate review outside the school.
I cried when Mom told me.
But I didn't argue.
I had taken the money.
I had broken trust.
Now I had to rebuild it.
Dad and Mom arranged repayment of the missing funds so the leadership program wouldn't be harmed while the legal process continued.
They made it clear that the debt was mine to work off through an agreed plan.
I accepted.
Then I asked if I could write apology letters to the students affected.
Dad nodded.
"That would be a good start."
I sat at my desk that night.
My hands trembled as I wrote.
I didn't blame Tyler.
I didn't make excuses.
I simply admitted what I had done.
Then I promised to take responsibility.
When I finished, I felt exhausted.
But strangely lighter.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message from Aaliyah.
Maya, you need to see what Tyler just posted.
My heart stopped.
I opened the link.
And there it was.
A photograph from the party.
My face.
My body slumped on the couch.
May you like
And beneath it, a cruel caption.
This is the girl who stole the fundraiser money.
