Chapter 20: Ping of justice

Tuesday lunch rush is a roar of clattering trays and overlapping voices, but for me, it feels like the quiet before a firing squad. I sit at my usual table, my hands wrapped around a lukewarm bottle of water. Across from me, Jaxson is picking at a salad he hasn't touched. To the rest of the school, we are the same old story: the King and the Charity Case.

But beneath the table, his heavy work boot is pressed against my sneaker, a steady, hidden anchor.

"He’s here," Jaxson whispers, his voice barely a breath.

I look up. Miller is sitting three tables away, surrounded by the usual crowd of hockey players. He looks untouchable. He’s laughing, his head thrown back, acting like a man who didn't spend his weekend stalking his best friend. He thinks he’s the only one with a secret. He thinks he’s the one holding the remote control to our lives.

Jaxson pulls the new burner phone from his pocket, keeping it shielded under the lip of the table. His face is a mask of stone, but I can see the muscle jumping in his jaw. This isn't just about the blackmail anymore; it’s about the Polaroids in Jaxson's pocket—the proof that Miller has been betraying him with Chloe for months.

"Ready?" Jaxson asks.

"Do it," I say.

Jaxson taps the screen. Send.

We both watch Miller. For five agonizing seconds, nothing happens. Then, a sharp, distinctive ping erupts from Miller’s jacket pocket.

Miller doesn't rush. He finishes a story he’s telling, takes a slow sip of his drink, and then pulls out his phone with the casual air of someone expecting a text from a scout.

I watch his face. It’s like watching a high-speed car crash in slow motion.

First, his eyebrows knit together. Then, the color drains from his face, leaving him a sickly, ashen grey. He sits bolt upright, his spine snapping straight as he stares at the image of the stolen equipment ledger—the one with his own handwriting detailing the thousands of dollars he’s funneled away from the team.

He looks up, his gaze frantic and wild. He scans the cafeteria, searching for the source of the attack. When his eyes land on our table, Jaxson doesn't look away. He doesn't smirk. He just takes a slow, deliberate sip of water, staring Miller down with a cold, predatory intensity.

Miller’s phone pings again.

This time, he nearly drops it. It’s the photo of the Calculus final. The message underneath is simple: 'Academic fraud is a felony for a scholarship student, Miller. How much is your future worth?'

Miller stands up so fast his chair screeches against the linoleum. He doesn't say a word to his teammates. He shoves his phone into his pocket and bolts for the exit, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. He looks like a man who just realized he’s been standing on a trapdoor.

"He’s running," I whisper, my heart finally finding a steady rhythm.

"Let him run," Jaxson says, his voice low and dangerous.

"What if he knows it's us?"

"He’ll be busy trying to figure out which one of his clients turned on him to think about us, Maya. He won't be looking at us."

I sigh, the weight in my chest lightening. Finally. He's finally off our radar.

Sarah slides into the seat next to me, her eyes wide as she watches Miller disappear through the double doors. "What did you do? He looked like he saw a ghost."

"Just some school business," I say, a small, genuine smile touching my lips.

"Well, whatever it was, it worked," Sarah says, leaning in. "But be careful. Chloe is still on the warpath. She’s been in the girl's locker room all morning checking lockers for that silver pin. She’s convinced the girl is someone on the cheer squad."

I feel a pang of guilt, thinking about the Polaroids in Jaxson’s pocket—the proof that Chloe is just as much a victim of Miller’s games as she is a participant. But I can't tell her. Not yet.

"Let her look," Jaxson says, standing up. "I have to get to practice. Coach is still riding me about the weight room thing."

"Be careful," I say.

"Always," he whispers.

My lips curve into a smile as his back disappears behind the cafeteria door. We have the evidence. Miller is scared. Chloe is looking in the wrong direction. For the first time, it feels like we might actually win.

But as I gather my books, I notice something. Miller left his bag. It’s sitting on the chair he just vacated, forgotten in his panic.

"Sarah, wait here," I say.

I walk over to the table, my heart pounding. I pretend to be looking for a lost pen, leaning over the chair. I reach into the side pocket of Miller’s bag, hoping to find the other burner phone—the one he used to film us.

My fingers brush against something cold and hard. I pull it out, shielding it with my hand.

It’s not a phone. It’s a key. A locker key with a small, handwritten tag: 114 - Gym Annex.

That’s the old, unused gym. The one they only open for storage.

"Maya? What are you doing?" Sarah calls out.

"Nothing!" I shove the key into my pocket.

If Miller is hiding something in the old gym, it’s not just photos. And if he’s panicking, that’s exactly where he’s going to go to destroy the evidence.

I have to get there first.