Chapter 11 Social Fallout (Brynn POV)
By morning, the photos were everywhere.
I woke to my phone buzzing nonstop with notifications. Instagram, Snapchat, the school's anonymous gossip page all of them featuring grainy images of Jaxon and me entering the maintenance building, with increasingly creative captions speculating about what we'd been doing inside.
Golden boy slumming it with crazy girl.
Guess Hale has a thing for broken girls.
She attacked someone last year and now she's going after the lacrosse captain?
Harper sat up in her bed, scrolling through her own phone with a grimace. "It's bad, B. Like, trending on three different platforms bad."
"Great." I threw my pillow over my face. "Perfect."
"For what it's worth, some people are defending you. Saying it's nobody's business who Jaxon spends time with."
"And the rest?"
"Are saying you're a gold-digger trying to social climb by hooking up with the most popular guy in school." She set her phone down. "There's also a poll about whether you two are actually dating or if it was just a one-time thing."
I removed the pillow. "There's a poll?"
"You're winning 'definitely dating' by forty-three percent."
This was a nightmare. I grabbed my phone and scrolled through the comments, each one worse than the last. Most were just speculation and gossip, but some were vicious calling me names, questioning my mental stability, suggesting Jaxon was making a huge mistake.
And then there were the girls. So many girls who apparently had been hoping to catch Jaxon's attention themselves, now turning their disappointment into hostility directed at me.
She doesn't even deserve to breathe the same air as him.
What does he see in her? She's literally insane.
Someone needs to warn him before she attacks him too.
"You should ignore it," Harper said gently. "People are bored and looking for drama. It'll blow over."
But it didn't blow over.
By the time we got to breakfast, I could feel eyes following me through the cafeteria. Conversations stopped when I walked past, then resumed in urgent whispers. A group of junior girls at a corner table openly glared at me.
"Just get food and sit down," Harper murmured. "Act like nothing's wrong."
I grabbed a tray and moved through the line, trying to use the breathing techniques Jaxon had taught me to stay calm. Anchor on touch the tray in my hands, solid and real. Filter everything else.
It was working until someone deliberately bumped into me from behind, hard enough that I nearly dropped my tray.
"Oops. Sorry." The girl a senior I recognized from AP English didn't sound sorry at all. Her friends giggled.
I turned to face her, keeping my expression neutral. "No problem."
"I heard you're tutoring Jaxon Hale," she said, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. "That's so nice of you. I didn't know you were smart enough to tutor anyone."
"She's not tutoring him," one of her friends stage-whispered. "She's doing other things."
More giggles. My hands tightened on the tray.
"If you have something to say, say it." The words came out sharper than intended.
The senior's smile turned cold. "I'm just curious what someone like you could possibly offer someone like Jaxon. I mean, besides the obvious."
"Madison, leave her alone." Harper appeared at my elbow, her voice firm. "Seriously, grow up."
"I'm not doing anything. Just making conversation." Madison flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder. "But maybe Brynn should be more careful. Jaxon's way out of her league, and everyone knows it."
She walked away before I could respond, her friends trailing behind her like a mean girl entourage from a bad teen movie.
"Ignore her," Harper said. "She's had a crush on Jaxon since freshman year. She's just jealous."
"Everyone's jealous. Or angry. Or both."
"Because Jaxon Hale is basically school royalty and you're" Harper caught herself. "You're not in the popular crowd. It threatens the social hierarchy."
"I don't even like hierarchies."
"Which is probably why this is happening."
We found seats as far from other students as possible, but the hostile stares continued throughout breakfast. I forced down toast I couldn't taste, hyperaware of every whispered conversation that might be about me.
After breakfast, I headed to my locker to grab books for first period. The hallway was crowded with students rushing to class, and I had to push through the crowd.
Then I saw it.
Spray-painted across my locker in bright red letters: SLUT.
The word was huge, impossible to miss, dripping slightly where the paint had run. Students stopped to stare, some looking shocked, others smirking like this was exactly what I deserved.
My vision blurred. Anger surged through me, hot and violent, and I felt something shift behind my eyes.
"Oh my God." Harper grabbed my arm. "B, don't look. Just don't look."
But I couldn't look away. Someone had done this. Someone had vandalized school property just to humiliate me, to punish me for something I hadn't even done.
"Who did this?" My voice came out rough, barely controlled. "Who fucking did this?"
"I don't know, but we need to report it"
"I don't want to report it. I want to find whoever did it and"
A hand landed on my shoulder, and I spun around with a growl that wasn't entirely human.
Jaxon stood there, his expression dark with anger. But the anger wasn't directed at me it was directed at my locker, at the slur painted across it in accusatory red.
"Who saw this happen?" His voice carried Alpha authority that made several nearby students flinch. "Anyone. Speak up."
Silence. Students exchanged glances but no one volunteered information.
"Fine." Jaxon pulled out his phone. "I'll check the security footage myself."
"There aren't cameras in this hallway," someone muttered.
"Then I'll find out another way." He looked at me, his amber eyes intense. "Are you okay?"
"No. I'm not okay. Someone spray-painted 'slut' on my locker because people think we're sleeping together." The words came out too loud, and more students stopped to listen. "This is insane."
"Harper, take her to student services." Jaxon was already texting someone. "I'll handle this."
"You don't need to handle anything"
"Yes, I do." He met my gaze, and something passed between us understanding, maybe, or shared anger at the injustice of it. "This is partially my fault. Let me fix it."
Harper pulled me away before I could argue, guiding me through the crowd of gawking students toward the administrative building. Behind us, I heard Jaxon's voice, loud and commanding, ordering people to get to class.
Student services was on the second floor. Harper explained the situation to the secretary, who looked appropriately horrified and immediately called maintenance to clean the locker.
"They'll repaint it during first period," the secretary assured us. "And Dean Whitmore will want to investigate who did this."
Great. More time with Dean Whitmore. Just what I needed.
We waited in the lobby while the secretary made calls. Other students came and went, all of them staring at me with varying expressions of pity, judgment, or curiosity.
"This is going to make everything worse," I said quietly.
"Maybe. Or maybe people will realize how messed up this is." Harper squeezed my hand. "Either way, you didn't deserve this."
Fifteen minutes later, a maintenance worker arrived with paint and cleaning supplies. Harper and I followed him back to my locker, where a small crowd had gathered like it was a tourist attraction.
"Show's over," Harper said firmly. "Get to class."
Most students dispersed, but a few lingered to watch the maintenance worker spray cleaning solution on the paint. It didn't come off easily whoever had done this had used permanent spray paint designed to stick.
I helped him scrub, needing to do something with my hands besides clench them into fists. Harper stood guard, glaring at anyone who looked like they might take photos.
We managed to get most of the paint off, leaving behind a reddish stain that would need to be covered with fresh paint. The maintenance worker promised to return during lunch to finish the job.
"Thanks," I told him.
"No problem, miss. I'm sorry this happened." He gathered his supplies. "Kids these days got no respect."
After he left, Harper helped me transfer my books to her locker since mine was still wet with cleaning solution.
"We should go," she said, checking her phone. "First period started ten minutes ago."
We were halfway to class when my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number: That's what you get for stealing what doesn't belong to you.
I showed it to Harper, whose expression darkened. "Block them."
"It's probably from a burner app. They'll just use another number."
"Then we report it to Dean Whitmore as harassment."
"Harper, I can't keep running to the administration every time someone's mean to me. I'll look pathetic."
"You'll look like someone standing up for herself." She grabbed my hand. "Come on. We're going to Dean Whitmore right now."
She dragged me back to student services before I could protest. The secretary called the Dean, and within five minutes we were sitting in his office, explaining about the vandalized locker and the threatening text.
Dean Whitmore listened with his usual neutral expression, taking notes on his computer.
"This is serious," he said when we finished. "Vandalism and harassment are both violations of school policy. Do you have any idea who might have done this?"
"Half the school," I muttered.
"Brynn." His tone sharpened. "This isn't a joke. Someone committed a crime on school property. If you know who did it—"
"I don't know. It could be anyone who saw those photos and decided I needed to be punished for existing near Jaxon Hale."
A knock interrupted us. The Dean's secretary poked her head in. "Mr. Hale is here. He says it's urgent."
"Send him in."
Jaxon entered, looking slightly disheveled like he'd been running. "I found out who did it. Madison Crawford and two of her friends. I have witnesses."
Dean Whitmore's eyebrows rose. "That's a serious accusation, Mr. Hale. What evidence do you have?"
"Three separate students saw them near Brynn's locker before first period with spray paint cans. They threw the cans in the dumpster behind the arts building. Maintenance can probably still retrieve them."
The Dean made more notes. "I'll need to speak with these witnesses. And with Miss Crawford."
"I can provide names." Jaxon pulled out his phone, reading off three names I vaguely recognized.
"Thank you, Mr. Hale. You can go to class now."
"Actually, I'd like to stay. This involves me too."
"How does Miss Calloway's vandalized locker involve you?"
"Because people vandalized it based on rumors about our relationship. That makes it my concern." Jaxon sat in the chair next to me, his presence somehow both comforting and overwhelming. "If students are being harassed because of their association with me, I need to know about it."
Dean Whitmore studied us both with an expression I couldn't read. "Speaking of your relationship, I've been meaning to discuss that with both of you."
My stomach dropped. "There's nothing to discuss."
"I've received multiple reports from faculty members concerned about an inappropriate relationship developing between you two." He folded his hands on his desk. "You're both aware that the wellness buddy program has strict guidelines about maintaining professional boundaries?"
"We haven't violated any guidelines," Jaxon said firmly.
"Then why were you alone together in an empty maintenance building for over an hour?"
"I was teaching her stress management techniques. Breathing exercises and meditation." His tone was perfectly neutral. "All appropriate wellness buddy activities."
"For an hour?"
"She was having a panic attack. It took time to help her calm down." Jaxon met the Dean's gaze without flinching. "Would you prefer I'd left her alone and let her suffer?"
"Of course not. But the optics"
"The optics are that I'm fulfilling my assigned duties." Jaxon's voice took on an edge. "If people choose to spread rumors instead of minding their own business, that's not my problem."
"It becomes your problem when it results in vandalism and harassment of another student." Dean Whitmore turned to me. "Miss Calloway, I need to ask directly. Is Mr. Hale's presence in your life causing you distress?"
The question caught me off guard. "What?"
"Are you comfortable with the current wellness buddy arrangement? Because if you're feeling pressured or uncomfortable, we can assign someone else."
"No." The word came out too fast, too emphatic. "I mean Jaxon's been helpful. I don't want a different wellness buddy."
"Even though his presence in your life has led to harassment?"
"That's not his fault. That's the fault of whoever decided to spray-paint my locker."
Dean Whitmore sighed. "I'm going to be direct with both of you. Your relationship whether romantic or purely professional has become disruptive to the school environment. Students are taking sides, spreading rumors, and now we have vandalism. This needs to stop."
"With all due respect, Dean Whitmore," Jaxon said, his tone anything but respectful, "you can't tell students who they can or can't spend time with outside of official wellness buddy sessions."
"I can when it creates a hostile environment for other students."
"We're not creating a hostile environment. We're being harassed because other people can't mind their own business." Jaxon leaned forward. "Are you seriously suggesting we should change our behavior because bullies don't like it?"
"I'm suggesting you both need to be more careful about appearances."
"Appearances." I heard my voice rising, felt anger building in my chest like pressure behind a dam. "You mean I should stop existing near Jaxon so people won't call me a slut? Is that what you're suggesting?"
"Brynn, calm down"
"Don't tell me to calm down!" I stood abruptly, my chair scraping against the floor. "Someone vandalized my locker. Someone sent me threatening texts. And your solution is that I should be more careful about appearances?"
Heat flooded my body. The anger wasn't just emotional anymore it was physical, making my skin prickle and my vision sharpen. I felt something shift behind my eyes, felt the wolf rising in response to the injustice.
"Miss Calloway, sit down." Dean Whitmore's voice was firm.
"Why? So you can lecture me more about how this is somehow my fault?"
"That's not what I'm saying"
"That's exactly what you're saying!" My hands clenched into fists, and I felt my nails starting to sharpen. "You're blaming the victim because it's easier than dealing with the actual problem!"
"Brynn." Jaxon's voice, quiet and urgent. "Your eyes."
I blinked, and the world came back into focus. Dean Whitmore was staring at me with an expression somewhere between confusion and concern.
"Miss Calloway, your eyes just" He stopped, shaking his head like he was trying to clear it. "They looked... strange. Are you wearing colored contacts?"
"No." I sat down quickly, my heart racing. Had my eyes flashed gold? In front of the Dean?
"Perhaps you should go to the nurse." Dean Whitmore was still looking at me oddly. "You seem unwell."
"I'm fine. Just angry."
"Nevertheless, I think this meeting is over." He stood, moving toward the door. "I'll investigate the vandalism and harassment. In the meantime, both of you need to be more mindful of how your actions affect the broader student body."
We were dismissed like children who'd disappointed their parent. Jaxon and I left the office in silence, not speaking until we were well away from the administrative building.
"Your eyes flashed gold," he said quietly. "Did you feel it?"
"I felt angry. Really, really angry."
"That's a trigger. Strong emotions can cause partial transformation, especially when you're this close to the full moon." He looked around to make sure no one was listening. "You need to be more careful, Brynn. If the Dean had realized what he saw"
"I know." My hands were still shaking. "I just I'm so tired of being blamed for everything. The attack last year, the assembly, the rumors, now this. When does it end?"
"I don't know." He reached out like he was going to touch my shoulder, then dropped his hand. "But we'll figure it out. Four more days until the full moon. Just hold on for four more days."
Four more days of hiding what I was. Four more days of controlling anger that wanted to explode. Four more days before everything changed whether I was ready or not.
My phone buzzed. Another text from the unknown number: You can't hide what you are forever.
I showed it to Jaxon, whose expression darkened.
"Someone knows," I whispered. "Someone knows what I am, and they're threatening me."