Chapter 246 Chapter Two Hundred And Forty Six

Chapter 246 Chapter Two Hundred And Forty Six
LENA'S POV

"Um, um..." I stuttered, my brain completely failing to come up with a coherent excuse.

The girl's expression shifted suddenly, her eyes widening with recognition. "Wait. I know you. You're the new popular girl." She took a step closer, studying my face. "You're the one who saved me back then."

My mind scrambled backward through recent memories, trying to place where I'd seen her before. Then it clicked—that day in the hallway outside the cafeteria. Allison had cornered a junior, dumping the contents of her lunch tray onto her uniform while her friends laughed. The girl had been frozen, tears streaming down her face, too terrified to move or fight back.

I'd seen myself in her. The old me, the freshman version who'd endured three years of that exact same treatment. Before I'd even thought about the consequences, I'd stepped in. Told Allison to back off. One thing led to another, and I'd ended up slapping Allison right across her smug face when she'd tried to shove the girl again.

All hell had broken loose after that. Allison's friends had screamed. A crowd had gathered. But in the chaos, the junior had disappeared.

I looked at the girl in front of me now—really looked at her. Same dark skin, same wide brown eyes, though they weren't filled with tears anymore. Same athletic build. "I remember you," I said softly.

Without warning, she crushed me into a hug. I stumbled backward slightly, surprised by the sudden contact.

"I'm so sorry I just turned and ran that day," she said, her voice muffled against my shoulder. "I guess I was so scared that the minute I got the chance, I just bolted. I didn't even stay to make sure you were okay. I just ran away like a coward."

"I completely understand," I said, gently patting her back. "Really. I don't hold anything against you at all. You were terrified. Anyone would have done the same thing."

She pulled back, giving me a bashful smile as she wiped at her eyes. "I'm sorry. I guess I should've asked before I did that. I just—" She laughed nervously. "I was actually just coming down this hallway to get to the bathroom when I saw you. I see you around a lot, actually. In the halls, at assemblies. But I never got the courage to come up and say thank you. You're always surrounded by people, or with Jace Dawson, and I'm just... me." She gestured vaguely at herself, like that explained everything.

"It's okay. Really," I assured her. "You don't have to thank me for that."

"I'm Sarah, by the way," she said, stretching out her hand with an earnest formality that was almost endearing. "Sarah Mitchell. I'm a junior. Third-year suffering through Westbrook's special brand of hell." She laughed, but it was tinged with something sad.

I shook her hand, managing a small smile despite everything. "Lena. But I guess you already knew that."

"So..." Sarah's eyes drifted back to Madison's locker, then back to me. The question hung in the air between us.

"Oh yeah." I let out a long breath. "I'm sure you've already heard by now that I got expelled."

We both stared at the locker together, the bright pink Birkin visible through the metal slits like some kind of forbidden treasure.

Sarah's eyebrows shot up. "Wait, I thought that was just a rumor. People were talking about it in my history class, but I figured it was just more gossip. You know how this school is—someone sneezes wrong and suddenly there's a whole conspiracy theory."

"Unfortunately, it's not a rumor." My voice came out more bitter than I intended. "Allison strikes again."

"What?" Sarah's face shifted from surprise to outrage. "That's horrible! What did she do?"

"Framed me for cheating," I said flatly. "Forged a bunch of cheat sheets in my handwriting dating back to freshman year. Convinced the principal I've been cheating on tests this entire time. Got me expelled effective immediately."

Sarah's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my God. That's—" She shook her head. "That's so much worse than what she did to me."

"What did she do to you?" I asked, genuinely curious now.

"She posted photos of me from middle school all over social media," Sarah said quietly, her arms wrapping around herself protectively. "I was... bigger back then. Like, really big. And I had braces and acne and just—I looked like a mess, basically. She somehow got these old yearbook photos and made this whole Instagram account dedicated to mocking me. Called it 'Westbrook's Biggest Loser' or something equally creative." Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "She had her friends comment on every post. It stayed up for weeks before the school made her take it down. But by then, everyone had already seen it. Already shared it. You can't unsee something like that, you know?"

My chest tightened. "I'm so sorry. That's awful."

"It was freshman year," Sarah continued, and I could see her trying to keep her voice steady. "I didn't eat lunch in the cafeteria for six months after that. I'd hide in the library or eat in bathroom stalls because I couldn't stand the way people looked at me. The way they'd whisper and laugh when I walked by."

"I know exactly what you mean," I said quietly. "She used to trip me in the hallways. Knock my books out of my hands. Pour drinks on my lunch so I couldn't eat it. There was this one time she convinced the entire cheer squad to start a petition to ban me from school events because I was 'lowering the aesthetic.'" I laughed, but there was no humor in it. "They got two hundred signatures."

Sarah winced. "Jesus."

"The worst part was that the teachers never did anything," I said, feeling old anger bubble up. "They'd see it happening and just look the other way. Like bullying was just part of the high school experience we all had to endure."

"Coach Ellis helped me," Sarah said. "After the Instagram thing. He reported it to administration, made sure it got taken down. But yeah, most of the other teachers acted like I was invisible."

We stood there for a moment, two girls who'd survived Allison Cooper's particular brand of cruelty, bonded by shared trauma.

"Of all the things she's done to me over the years," I said slowly, "this has been the worst. And she didn't even have to physically touch me this time. She just destroyed my entire future with some pieces of paper."

"That's what makes her so dangerous," Sarah said, her voice hardening. "She's smart about it. She knows how to hurt people in ways that leave scars you can't see."

I nodded, looking back at the locker. "Yeah, well. The key to getting me out of this expulsion might just be sitting pretty inside that bag, waiting for me."

Sarah followed my gaze. "You want to open it."

I got worried suddenly, the reality of what I was about to do crashing back down on me. "I know. I know it's bad. I really shouldn't—" I ran a hand through my hair anxiously. "Please don't copy me later, okay? This is wrong. I know it's wrong. But I don't know what else to do."

"But you don't have any other choice," Sarah finished for me, her voice matter-of-fact. "I mean, if you don't find proof, you're expelled. If you do find proof, you might still get in trouble for going through someone's stuff, but at least you'd have a shot at clearing your name."

"Finally, someone gets it," I said, relief flooding through me. It felt good to have someone understand, even if that someone was basically a stranger. "Please, you should hurry up and leave before someone sees you here with me. I wouldn't want you to get in trouble too."

Sarah didn't answer. Instead, she reached up and started fishing a bobby pin out of her hair, her fingers working with practiced ease. "You need help opening that locker, right? Well, you're in luck. You've met the expert."

I stared at her. "Huh?"

"That's what my dad does for a living," Sarah explained, holding up the bobby pin like it was a magical artifact. "He builds security systems. Like, professional grade stuff for businesses and wealthy people's houses. And because I have barely any friends and nothing better to do after school, I go everywhere with him. You pick up a thing or two after holding the flashlight for four years straight." She gave me that bashful smile again, self-deprecating but also proud. "I can pick pretty much any standard combination lock in under a minute."

"I did not expect that," I said, genuinely amazed. "Wow."

Sarah rolled up her sleeves dramatically, revealing thin arms with a few colorful friendship bracelets around her wrists. "Yeah, well, I get that reaction a lot. Quiet nerdy girl knows how to break into lockers—doesn't really fit the profile, does it?" She laughed, positioning herself in front of Madison's locker with the bobby pin ready. "My dad would kill me if he knew I was using his teachings for evil instead of good. But technically, we're using it for good, right? To expose an actual crime?"

"Right," I agreed quickly. "Totally for good."

"Well then, Lena," Sarah said, her voice taking on an exaggerated professional tone as she bent the bobby pin into the right shape, "prepare to be amazed."

She inserted the pin into the lock mechanism with surprising confidence. Her tongue stuck out slightly as she concentrated, her fingers moving with delicate precision. "The trick is to feel for the pins inside," she murmured, more to herself than to me. "You have to apply pressure at just the right angle, and then—"

I watched, fascinated and nervous, glancing over my shoulder every few seconds to make sure no one was coming. My heart was beating so loud I was sure Sarah could hear it.

"Got it," Sarah whispered triumphantly. There was a soft click, and the lock popped open.

She pulled the locker door wide, revealing the interior in all its messy glory. And there, sitting on top of a wrinkled PE uniform and a pair of dirty sneakers, was Allison's bright pink Birkin bag.

We both stared at it for a moment, neither of us moving.

"Well," Sarah said quietly, stepping back slightly. "There it is."

My hands were shaking as I reached forward. This was it. This was the moment everything either got better or got so much worse. Inside that bag could be the evidence I needed to prove Allison had framed me. Or it could be nothing. Or it could be something that would only make me look more guilty.

But I'd come this far. I couldn't turn back now.

I grabbed the bag and pulled it out of the locker.