Chapter 90
Kieran's POV
The Monday after the camping incident felt like walking through a minefield. Every conversation stopped when I passed. Every glance carried judgment. The whole school was buzzing about what happened at White Mountain, and I was right at the center of it.
I kept my head down in the hallway, shoulders tight, ignoring the whispers that followed me like smoke. My right hand throbbed where the stitches pulled against the skin, a constant reminder of what I'd done. What I'd had to do.
Logan caught up with me outside the science wing, his usual smirk replaced by something more cautious. "You see The Whisper this morning?"
I hadn't. I'd deleted the app weeks ago, after Summer's investment in getting those posts about her taken down. But Logan's expression told me I probably should have kept it.
"Someone's been cleaning house," he said, lowering his voice as we walked. "All the posts about that camping trip? Gone. People said their screenshot posts were instantly flagged and removed, like someone was watching in real time. It's like someone with serious connections went scorched earth on the whole thing."
My stomach tightened. I thought about Tyler's father on the Board of Trustees, about the kind of power that came with old money and political connections. "What about the USAPhO stuff?"
"That's the weird part." Logan pulled out his phone, showing me a group chat I wasn't part of. "Tyler's people are pushing hard on the narrative that you're unstable. Psycho scholarship kid who attacked him unprovoked. But anything mentioning Summer or cameras or what actually happened? Disappeared."
The stitches in my arm pulled as I shifted my backpack. I'd given Ms. Thompson the evidence—Tyler's iPhone, the wireless camera, everything. She'd turned it over to the police, and their forensic team had recovered enough deleted footage to build a case. Multiple charges were on the table now: invasion of privacy, creation of illicit material, attempted distribution.
Tyler was screwed. Really screwed.
But his mother was apparently in the principal's office right now, crying about how her son was being traumatized by false accusations.
"They're saying you did it to yourself," Logan continued, his voice dropping even lower. "The injuries. That you somehow forced Tyler's hand onto your neck to make those marks. They're calling it some kind of psychotic break brought on by stress and poverty."
I almost laughed. It wasn't entirely wrong—I had manipulated the physical evidence, had deliberately made myself look worse than I was. But the core truth remained: Tyler had been up on that roof, camera in hand, violating Summer's privacy. Everything else was just damage control.
"Let them say what they want." My voice came out flatter than I intended. "The evidence speaks for itself."
Logan studied me for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess it does." He paused. "You know the whole physics team is talking about you, right? Half of them think you're a badass. The other half thinks you're genuinely dangerous."
"And you?"
He grinned, some of his usual energy returning. "I think you're both. And I think Tyler deserved whatever he got."
We reached the physics classroom where the competition team met. Through the window, I could see the other students already inside, their heads bent together in conversation. When I walked in, the room went silent.
Oliver, who usually kept his earbuds in and ignored everyone, actually looked up from his problem set. Even the freshmen in the back row stopped their nervous chattering.
I took my usual seat near the window, pulling out my practice materials like nothing was different. Like I hadn't spent Saturday night in a hospital bed. Like the whole school wasn't dissecting every detail of what happened.
Logan slid into the seat next to me, deliberately casual. "So, rumor is the school's going to issue a formal disciplinary statement this week."
I didn't respond, just opened my notebook to a fresh page. My handwriting was still shaky with my left hand, but I'd been practicing. Had to keep practicing.
"Tyler's suspended pending investigation," Logan continued, apparently determined to fill the silence. "Blake and his crew are laying low. Nobody wants to be associated with this mess."
Through the window, I watched a secretary from the administration building cross the courtyard, carrying a box. Probably collecting Tyler's belongings from his locker. The physical evidence of his removal.
My desk still had the clutter of a working student—practice problem sets, a Bic pen nearly out of ink, the plastic water bottle I refilled at every fountain. Tyler's desk, three rows over, sat empty except for a forgotten TI-89 calculator.
The door opened and Coach Anderson walked in, his expression professionally neutral. "Good morning, everyone. I know there's been a lot of talk this weekend, but we have a mock exam coming up, and I expect all of you to stay focused on your preparation."
He didn't mention Tyler by name. Didn't need to. We all knew what he meant.
The morning passed in a strange haze of normalcy. Problems on the board. Quiet scratch of pencils. The occasional question from a student brave enough to break the silence. I kept my head down, worked through the practice sets, tried to ignore the way people kept glancing at my bandaged arm.
At lunch, Logan tried to get me to join him in the cafeteria, but I shook my head. The thought of all those eyes, all those whispers, made my skin crawl. Instead, I stayed in the classroom, pulling out the sandwich Summer had left in my locker that morning—turkey and swiss on wheat bread, wrapped carefully in wax paper with a note that just said "Eat. -S"
I was halfway through it when someone knocked on the doorframe.
Mrs. Riley Ashford stood in the hallway, looking nothing like I'd expected. She was dressed impeccably—Cartier bracelet catching the light, engagement ring that probably cost more than my mother's annual salary—but her eyes were red-rimmed, her makeup slightly smudged. She looked like she'd been crying.
"Kieran," she said softly. "May I speak with you for a moment?"