Chapter 247 Chapter Two Hundred And Forty Seven

Chapter 247 Chapter Two Hundred And Forty Seven
My hands shook as I rifled through Allison's bag, fingers moving frantically through the contents. I unzipped every compartment, checked every pocket, pulled out item after item with increasing desperation.

Makeup. A ridiculously expensive MAC lipstick in a shade called "Russian Red." A compact mirror with Allison's initials engraved in gold. A tube of designer hand cream that probably cost more than my entire skincare routine.

A water bottle—one of those trendy Stanley cups in millennial pink with stickers all over it.

A small leather wallet with what looked like several hundred-dollar bills inside, along with a black Amex card.

A phone charger tangled around a pair of wireless earbuds.

And a pink journal, about the size of my hand, with a few loose pages sticking out. I grabbed it eagerly, flipping it open. But it was just random scribbles—shopping lists, doodles of hearts and flowers, a few phone numbers with no names attached. Nothing incriminating. Nothing remotely useful.

"Come on, come on," I muttered under my breath, shoving everything back inside and checking again. There had to be something. Judging by the way Allison was so strict about protecting this bag, about never letting it out of her sight, anyone would easily think maybe the keys to the kingdom were hidden inside. But there was nothing. Just the normal contents of a spoiled rich girl's purse.

My chest tightened with panic. Jace had been right. Of course he'd been right. Allison wasn't stupid enough to leave evidence of her crimes just sitting around in her bag.

"Wait, let me try," Sarah said suddenly, reaching for the bag.

I handed it over, watching as Sarah's fingers moved along the interior lining with slow, deliberate precision. She was feeling for something, her eyes closed in concentration, her fingertips pressing gently against the leather.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"My dad taught me this," Sarah murmured, still focused on her task. "High-end bags like this sometimes have hidden compartments. Secret pockets sewn into the lining for valuables. You can't see them from the outside, but you can feel them if you know what you're looking for."

Her fingers paused at the bottom corner of the bag. Her eyes opened. "There."

"There what?"

"There's definitely something here." She pressed harder, and I could see what she meant—a small, barely perceptible bump in the lining that wouldn't be noticeable unless you were specifically searching for it. "It's thin, like papers or maybe a USB drive. But it's sealed inside the lining."

My heart leaped. "Can you get it out?"

Sarah bit her lip, examining the bag more closely. "I'm afraid if we want to get what you're looking for, we'll have to cut this open."

The words hit me like cold water. "But it's a Birkin," I said, my voice rising slightly. "How the hell am I going to replace it? That's destruction of property. Do you know how much these things cost? Like, thirty thousand dollars. Maybe more. I don't have that kind of money. My mom doesn't have that kind of money. We'd have to sell everything we own and we still wouldn't be able to afford it."

Sarah mulled it over, her expression thoughtful. "You won't need to replace it if you're right," she said logically. "If whatever's hidden in there proves Allison framed you, then she'll most likely be expelled instead of you. So there goes that problem. She won't be able to press charges or demand compensation if she's the one who committed the actual crime."

I stared at the bag, my mind racing through scenarios. Each one seemed more catastrophic than the last. What if I was wrong? What if there was nothing useful hidden in the lining? What if it was just more meaningless papers, or old receipts, or something completely unrelated to my situation? Then I'd have destroyed a thirty-thousand-dollar bag for nothing, added criminal destruction of property to my growing list of offenses, and given Allison even more ammunition to use against me.

But what if I was right? What if the proof I needed was literally sewn into that lining, just inches away from my grasp? What if this was my only chance to clear my name, and I let it slip away because I was too scared to take the risk?

"So," Sarah said quietly, pulling a small pocket knife from her backpack—apparently she carried that around regularly, which raised some questions I didn't have time to ask—"what's it going to be?"

"I'm thinking," I said, but the truth was I was stalling.

My hands were clammy. My throat felt tight. I could hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears, could feel the weight of this decision pressing down on my chest like a physical thing.

If I did this, there was no going back. I'd be crossing a line I'd never crossed before. I'd be committing an actual crime, not just bending rules or sneaking around. I'd be deliberately destroying someone's property—expensive property—on nothing but a hunch and a desperate hope.

But if I didn't do this, I'd be expelled. My college applications would be worthless. My scholarships would disappear. My entire future would crumble. My mom would be devastated. We'd probably have to move away, start over somewhere else where people didn't know I'd been branded a cheater.

I opened my mouth to tell Sarah yes, do it, cut it open—

The bell rang.

The sharp, shrill sound cut through the locker room like a siren. My entire body jolted.

"Oh no, what do we do, what do we do?" I yelped, panic flooding my system.

"Don't ask me!" Sarah shoved the knife back into her bag. "I'm supposed to be in class right now! Mrs. Patterson is going to mark me absent!"

Outside in the hallway, I could hear voices. Footsteps. The sound of the gym doors opening. Students were coming. The next period was starting, which meant girls would be flooding into this locker room any second to change for PE.

One of the doors burst open, and I could hear laughter, could hear someone complaining about having to run laps.

"I'll see you later!" I yelled to Sarah, not even sure if she heard me.

I slammed Madison's locker shut, the metallic clang echoing through the space. Then I grabbed Allison's bag, shoved it underneath my shirt—the leather was cold against my skin, the shape awkward and bulky—and took off running.

I burst out of the locker room through the back exit just as a group of girls rounded the corner. I didn't look back to see if they'd spotted me. I just ran.

My sneakers pounded against the linoleum floor. The bag pressed uncomfortably against my stomach, threatening to slip down with every step. I clutched it through my shirt, trying to keep it secure while also trying to look casual, which was impossible because I was literally sprinting through the hallways like someone being chased by police.

A teacher stepped out of a classroom ahead. I veered left, ducking down a different corridor. My breath was coming in gasps now. A stitch was forming in my side. But I couldn't stop. Couldn't slow down.

Where was I even going? I couldn't go back to Coach Ellis's office with a stolen bag shoved under my shirt. I couldn't just stand around in the hallways—Mrs. Sinclair or another administrator would spot me eventually, and then I'd have to explain why I was still on campus after being expelled.

The old media room. The thought hit me suddenly. That tiny, dusty space that nobody used anymore because the school had built a newer, better media center two years ago. The place where Jace and I had shared our first kiss, on the same day I'd first met Noah. The memory felt like it was from another lifetime.

I changed direction, heading toward the abandoned wing of the building. My lungs were burning now. My legs felt like jelly. But I pushed forward, rounding one final corner and nearly colliding with a janitor's cart.

"Sorry!" I gasped, not slowing down.

Finally, I reached the old media room. The door was partially ajar, just like it always was. Nobody ever came here anymore. It was the perfect hiding spot.

I slipped inside and shut the door behind me, leaning against it while I tried to catch my breath. The room was exactly as I remembered it—dusty and dim, with old computers stacked against one wall and shelves full of outdated textbooks and ancient VHS tapes nobody would ever watch again.

There was a tall cupboard in the corner, its doors hanging slightly crooked on worn hinges. Perfect.

I yanked the bag out from under my shirt and shoved it into the cupboard, pushing it as far back as it would go and piling some old papers and folders on top of it to hide it from view. Then I slammed the cupboard doors shut and stepped back.

My heart was beating so fast I thought it might actually explode. My hands were still shaking. I stared at the cupboard, at the place where I'd just hidden Allison's thirty-thousand-dollar bag, and reality crashed down on me.

"Oh my God, what have I done?" I whispered to the empty room. "What have I done?"

This wasn't just sneaking around anymore. This wasn't just breaking a school rule or bending the truth. This was theft. Actual, criminal theft of extremely valuable property. If I got caught—when I got caught, because how could I not get caught eventually?—I wouldn't just be expelled. I'd be arrested. I'd have a criminal record. I'd ruin not just my college prospects but my entire life.

"Why didn't I just listen to Jace?" I said out loud, my voice breaking. "Now what am I going to do?"

I sank down onto one of the old chairs, dust rising up around me. My phone buzzed in my pocket—probably Jace texting to check on me, to make sure I'd stayed out of trouble like he'd asked. But I couldn't look at it. Couldn't face him right now.

I'd promised him I'd wait. Promised him I'd let him handle the negotiation with Allison during free period. And instead, I'd done the exact thing he'd warned me not to do. I'd gone after the bag, and now I'd stolen it, and I didn't even know if there was anything useful hidden inside it.

The worst part was that I still had to decide whether to cut it open. The evidence—if it even existed—was still sealed in that hidden compartment, and I was no closer to accessing it than I'd been ten minutes ago. Except now I'd added grand theft to my list of problems.

I dropped my head into my hands, feeling tears prick at my eyes. Everything was falling apart. Everything I'd worked for, everything I'd built, all of it was crumbling around me and I didn't know how to stop it.

And the terrible, awful truth was that I'd brought this on myself. Not the original expulsion—that was all Allison. But this? Running through the school with a stolen bag, hiding it in an abandoned room, making everything infinitely worse? That was all me.

My phone buzzed again. Then again. Someone was calling now.

I pulled it out with trembling hands. Jace's name lit up the screen.

I stared at it for a long moment, watching it ring. Then I declined the call and turned my phone off completely.

I couldn't talk to him right now. Couldn't tell him what I'd done. Not until I figured out what to do next.

I looked back at the cupboard, at the place where Allison's bag was hidden under layers of dust and forgotten school materials.

I'd come this far. Made this mess. Now I had to decide: cut it open and hope for the best, or return it before Madison noticed it was missing and hope nobody found out what I'd done.

The clock on the wall—one of those old analog ones that ticked loudly with each second—showed I had about forty minutes until free period. Forty minutes to make a decision that would determine the rest of my life.

I took a deep breath, stood up, and walked back to the cupboard.

My hands found the doors. Pulled them open. Reached inside and grabbed the bag.

This time, I was going to see it through.