Chapter 93
Summer's POV
The notice went up Thursday morning, right before morning assembly. I was early—had been early all week, actually, unable to sleep past five AM no matter how hard I tried. The anxiety of not knowing what was happening with Kieran, of being kept in the dark while decisions were made that would affect his entire future, had turned my stomach into a constant knot of tension.
So I was there when they posted it. Watched the assistant principal carefully tape the official school statement to the announcement board outside the main office. Watched him smooth out the corners with meticulous precision before stepping back to admire his work.
The moment he left, I was there.
OFFICIAL STATEMENT REGARDING RECENT INCIDENT
The administration of St. Jude's Preparatory Academy has concluded its investigation into the incident that occurred during the recent White Mountains field study trip.
After careful review of all evidence and testimony, the following disciplinary actions have been determined in accordance with school policy:
Tyler Ashford - Immediate suspension from all academic and extracurricular activities, effective immediately. Suspension from physics competition team for the remainder of the current academic year.
Kieran Cross - Formal warning. Suspension from physics competition team for the remainder of the current academic year.
The matter has been resolved in accordance with school guidelines and relevant policies. No further statements will be issued at this time.
Students and families seeking additional information should contact the Office of Student Affairs directly.
I read it three times. Then four. The words didn't change.
Suspension from physics competition team for the remainder of the current academic year.
Behind me, I heard footsteps. Voices. The hallway was starting to fill with students arriving for the day, and within seconds there was a small crowd forming around the bulletin board.
"Holy shit."
"Did you see—"
"Tyler got suspended? For real?"
"What about Cross?"
"Says here he got a warning too. And he's off the physics team."
"Wait, seriously? But wasn't he like, the best one?"
"My mom heard from Mrs. Ashford that they're not pressing charges," someone said from the back of the crowd. "Something about a settlement."
"Settlement? Like, money?"
"I don't know, but Tyler's dad is pissed. My dad works with him and he said—"
"Shh, not here—"
I wanted to scream. Wanted to rip the notice down and tear it to pieces. Wanted to grab every person reading it and shake them until they understood that the neat, official language was just a sanitized version of something much uglier.
Instead, I turned and walked away. Pushed through the growing crowd, ignored the curious looks, the whispered speculation. Made it to the nearest bathroom and locked myself in a stall before the tears could start.
He'd given it up. The competition. His shot at the national team. Everything he'd been working toward since before I even knew his name.
And I knew—knew with absolute certainty—that it had something to do with those videos. With protecting me. With making sure I never had to know what Tyler had done.
My phone buzzed. A text from Mia: Did you see the notice? Are you okay?
I stared at the message until my vision blurred. Couldn't bring myself to type a response.
---
Morning assembly was a blur. Ms. Peterson made some vague announcement about "recent events" and "community healing" and "moving forward together." I didn't hear most of it. Couldn't focus on anything except the empty seat three rows ahead where Tyler usually sat, and the knowledge that somewhere else in the building, Kieran was probably sitting alone, dealing with the fallout of a decision I didn't fully understand.
But then, just as Ms. Peterson was wrapping up her speech, the auditorium doors opened and Ms. Thompson walked in, her expression tight and professional. She made her way to the stage, leaned in to whisper something to Ms. Peterson, who nodded and stepped aside.
"One more thing before you're dismissed," Ms. Thompson announced, her voice carrying across the suddenly quiet auditorium. "The administration wants to remind all students that St. Jude's has a zero-tolerance policy regarding harassment and invasion of privacy. Effective immediately, any student found taking unauthorized photographs or videos of another student, or posting such content online without consent, will face immediate disciplinary action up to and including expulsion. This applies to all school grounds and school-sponsored activities."
A ripple went through the crowd. Whispers. Shifting in seats.
"Additionally," Ms. Thompson continued, her gaze sweeping across the rows of students with deliberate slowness, "any student who shares, forwards, or otherwise distributes such content will face similar consequences. This policy will be strictly enforced. No exceptions."
She let that sink in for a moment before stepping back. Ms. Peterson returned to the microphone to dismiss us, but I barely heard her. My mind was racing, connecting dots I didn't want to connect.
Unauthorized photographs. Online content. No exceptions.
They knew. The administration knew about the videos. About whatever Tyler had been doing.
And they'd buried it in a generic privacy policy announcement so they wouldn't have to admit what had actually happened.
---
When the bell finally rang, releasing us to first period, I stayed in my seat. Watched the auditorium empty around me until it was just me and the janitor starting to sweep the aisles, and Ms. Thompson standing at the edge of the stage, organizing papers.
"Miss Hayes?" She looked up, surprise flickering across her face. "You alright?"
I nodded automatically. "Fine. Just—thinking."
She studied me for a long moment, and something in her expression softened slightly. "About Mr. Cross, I imagine."
I didn't confirm or deny it. Just sat there, gripping the edge of my seat.
Ms. Thompson descended the stage steps and moved closer, lowering her voice even though we were essentially alone. "I know you two are friends. This must be difficult for you."
Friends. The word felt inadequate, but I didn't correct her.
"Do you know if he's okay?" I asked instead. "Have you—has anyone checked on him?"
"I believe Coach Anderson spoke with him yesterday." Her expression was carefully neutral. "He's handling it as well as can be expected, from what I understand."
As well as can be expected. What did that even mean? That he was fine? That he was falling apart? That he was somewhere between the two, trying to hold it together like he always did?
"I'm worried about him," I admitted. The words came out smaller than I meant them to.
"I know." Ms. Thompson's voice gentled in a way I'd never heard from her before. "But Mr. Cross is resilient. He'll get through this."
Will he? I wanted to ask. Will he really? Or is this just another thing he'll have to survive, another weight added to the pile he's already carrying?
But I didn't say any of that. Just nodded and gathered my things.
"Miss Hayes," Ms. Thompson called as I reached the end of the row. I turned back. "For what it's worth, I think you're a good friend to him. He needs that right now."
The unexpected kindness in her voice made my throat tight. I managed a nod and fled before I could start crying again.