Chapter 245 Chapter Two Hundred And Forty Five

Chapter 245 Chapter Two Hundred And Forty Five
LENA'S POV

Marcus and Allison eventually left together, Allison still muttering angrily under her breath while Marcus guided her down the hallway with a hand on her lower back. Students parted for them like the Red Sea, nobody wanting to be in Allison's line of fire when she was in one of her moods.

Jace pulled me into a quieter corner near the water fountains, away from the main flow of traffic. His hand was still wrapped around mine, warm and solid.

"I'm sure that somewhere in that bag, Allison must have kept some kind of evidence that all of this is just a lie," I said, the words tumbling out in a rush. "All I want to do is just take a look. Once I do that, I'm sure I'll find what I'm looking for and I'll be off the hook. It's the only way."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Jace held up his free hand, his eyes widening. "What? There's no way you actually think she would be dumb enough to keep evidence like that, do you? I mean, come on, Lena. Be serious for a second."

"I'm going through with it, Jace." I pulled my hand free and crossed my arms. "I know it's not the most ethical thing to do considering the circumstances, but come on. I literally don't have time for this. Seventy-two hours, remember?"

"Don't do it." His voice went hard. "Nothing good is going to come out of that. You get caught going through someone's stuff and you're adding theft to your record on top of everything else."

"Well, you said it yourself—Allison can't be trusted to be reasonable," I shot back, feeling heat rise in my cheeks. "This is what I have to do. I'm sure of it."

I made to move forward, but Jace pulled me back by my wrist, his grip gentle but firm.

"What if you get caught?" His eyes searched mine, and I could see genuine worry there. Fear, even.

"Then I get caught." I tried to sound confident, but my voice wavered slightly. "I can't possibly get into worse trouble than I'm already in, can I?"

"Yes, actually, you can." Jace moved closer, lowering his voice as a group of freshmen walked past us, giggling about something on someone's phone. "Just let me handle it first. I'll negotiate something with Allison when the time comes during free period, and then you'll get out of this without any more damage to your reputation. I'll make her see reason."

I shook my head slowly, feeling exhaustion wash over me. Everything felt impossible. Every path forward seemed blocked. I sighed, changing tactics. "Go on and take your test. I'm sorry I didn't help you prepare more for it. I hope the notes I wrote you on the subject were enough."

"You know I know you're trying to change the subject, right?" Jace's eyebrow rose.

I just shrugged, not trusting myself to speak without my voice breaking.

Jace's expression softened. "Yes, your notes are great. You know what would be even more great?"

"What?"

"If you would just go somewhere safe and wait for me until free period instead of stalking Madison around all day like some kind of amateur spy." He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "Please, princess. Just wait for me."

I mulled it over, weighing the options in my head. Risk versus reward. If I waited for Jace and his negotiation with Allison didn't work, I'd have wasted precious hours I could have spent finding evidence myself. But if I went after the bag now and got caught, I could make everything exponentially worse. Add criminal charges to academic dishonesty. Give Mrs. Sinclair even more ammunition to use against me.

But what if the bag really did have something in it? What if there were drafts of those forged papers, or notes about Allison's plan, or something—anything—that could prove my innocence?

The warning bell rang, loud and shrill, cutting through my spiraling thoughts.

Jace had to go. I could see the conflict on his face—he didn't want to leave me alone, but he also couldn't skip this test. Not after everything his mom had said last night about him focusing on school.

"I'm sorry all of this is happening," he said quietly, both hands coming up to cup my face. "And I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure this doesn't go through. I promise you, Lena. I'm going to fix this."

"Okay," I whispered, though I didn't fully believe him. Not because I thought he wouldn't try, but because I wasn't sure this was something anyone could fix. The panic was rising in my chest again, that suffocating feeling of my entire future slipping through my fingers like sand.

Jace started to pull away, but I blurted out, "Coach suggested maybe we could talk to your dad."

Jace paused mid-step. He didn't look back at me. His shoulders tensed, his whole body going rigid. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that," he said flatly. Then he was gone, disappearing into the stream of students heading to their next classes.

The halls emptied quickly after the final bell rang. Suddenly I was alone, just me and the echo of slamming lockers and distant voices from closed classrooms. I wandered aimlessly for a bit, my mind racing, occasionally ducking into bathrooms or turning down different hallways whenever I spotted someone in the distance who looked suspiciously like Mrs. Sinclair or another administrator.

My heart jumped every time I saw an adult. Every teacher passing by felt like a potential threat, someone who might recognize me and report that the expelled student was still on campus.

After about fifteen minutes of this paranoid wandering, I found myself thinking about that bag. About Madison. About how I'd watched her put Allison's things in her gym locker before heading to practice. It would be sitting there right now, unguarded. Waiting.

Before I consciously decided to do it, my feet were already carrying me toward the gym wing. Just to look, I told myself. Just to see if it's really there. I don't have to actually do anything. I'm just checking.

The gym hallway was quieter than the main corridors. Most students were in class, and the few who had gym this period were already in the building. I could hear the distant squeak of sneakers on the basketball court, the sharp blast of Coach's whistle.

The girls' locker room was at the end of the hall. I pushed through the door carefully, listening for any sounds. Empty. The smell of sweat and cheap body spray hung in the air. Rows of blue lockers lined the walls, most of them with combination locks hanging open or stuffed with forgotten gym clothes.

I walked slowly down the aisle, checking the names taped to each locker. Jenkins. Martinez. Lee. Chen.

There. Madison Chen's locker, third row from the back.

I stopped in front of it, my heart hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat. I leaned forward and peered through the little ventilation slits in the metal door.

And there it was. A bright pink Birkin bag sitting on top of everything else—gym shoes, a wrinkled PE uniform, a water bottle. The bag looked obscenely expensive against the backdrop of Madison's messy locker, like a diamond in a pile of trash.

I stared at it, my hands starting to sweat. This was it. This was the moment. All I had to do was figure out how to open the locker, grab the bag, find the evidence, and get out.

But how did people even get stuff out of lockers? I wasn't a thief. I didn't know how to pick locks or pop them open with a screwdriver or whatever criminals did in movies. I kept peering inside through the slits, feeling increasingly useless and desperate.

My fingers traced the edge of the lock. Could I just... pull really hard? Would it break? That seemed unlikely. These locks were built to withstand teenage athletes yanking on them multiple times a day.

"What are you doing?"

The voice came from directly behind me. I whirled around so fast I nearly lost my balance, my back slamming against Madison's locker with a metallic clang.

"I'm sorry, I'm not a thief!" The words burst out of me before I could think of anything better to say.

The girl standing there looked me up and down slowly, her expression unreadable. She was tall, with dark skin and her hair pulled back in a tight bun. I recognized her vaguely—maybe from the track team? She was wearing athletic shorts and a Westbrook hoodie, a gym bag slung over one shoulder.

"You didn't answer my question," she said calmly, crossing her arms. "What are you doing looking inside Madison's locker?"

My mind went completely blank. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. What could I possibly say that wouldn't make this worse?