Chapter 254 Chapter Two Hundred And Fifty Five

Chapter 254 Chapter Two Hundred And Fifty Five
"I can't believe I'm letting you talk me into this," Nicole muttered, her voice dripping with reluctance as she slumped back against the booth.

"This is insane. You're insane. I'm insane for even entertaining this bullshit."

She held out her hand impatiently, palm up. "Pass the thing over. My laptop's in Jake's car."

Relief flooded through me so intensely I felt dizzy. "Thank you. Thank you so much, Nicole. I know you don't owe me anything, and I know you're still mad at me, but I promise—"

"Save it." Nicole cut me off with a sharp gesture. "I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing this because if there's even a tiny chance that Allison framed you, then she needs to be exposed. That's it. Don't read anything else into it."

I carefully pulled the SD card from my pocket—the evidence I'd literally cut open a thirty-thousand-dollar bag to obtain—and placed it in Nicole's outstretched hand.

She examined it briefly, holding it up to the light like it might reveal its secrets, then closed her fist around it and stood up.

"Come on," she said flatly, heading toward the exit.

I scrambled to follow her out of Marco's, the late afternoon sun hitting my face as we stepped into the parking lot.

Nicole's car—well, technically Jake's beat-up Honda Civic that he'd lent her for the day—was parked under a tree at the far end of the lot, partially hidden in shadow.

"I don't owe you any rides anymore, by the way," Nicole announced as we walked, her boots crunching against the gravel. "You forfeited all ride privileges when you stuck your tongue down that Jace guy's throat. In public. Where everyone could see. Including me and Jake, who thought you were our friend."

The bitterness in her voice stung, but I tried to keep my tone light. "Sure. No problem. Walking's better for me anyway. Keeps the weight off."

The words had barely left my mouth before I regretted them. It was such an automatic response, born from years of obsessing over my appearance, over maintaining the transformation that had changed my life.

But saying it out loud now, in front of Nicole, made me feel shallow and stupid.

Nicole stopped walking and turned to look at me, her expression somewhere between pity and disgust.

"And seriously, Lena, it really doesn't matter if Jace climbed Mount Everest with you strapped to his back while fighting off bears and saving orphans. He's not your knight in shining armor. In fact, I think both Dawson boys are bad news. Always have been, always will be. Money and good looks don't change the fact that they're toxic."

By this point, I'd already explained the whole situation to Nicole during our tense conversation inside—about the SD card, about the photos of my handwriting, about the mysterious phone number.

She'd listened with her arms crossed and her face impassive, occasionally interjecting with sarcastic comments or skeptical questions.

But ultimately, she'd grudgingly agreed to help, even though her heart clearly wasn't in it. Even though every word and gesture screamed that she was doing this under protest.

"I'll stick the memory card in my laptop and we'll look at those videos you mentioned," Nicole said as we reached the car.

She popped the trunk and pulled out a well-worn backpack covered in band patches and political pins.

"Maybe that'll give us more clues or something. Though honestly, this feels like a massive waste of time."

I briefly wondered what Jace would think if he found out I was still pursuing my own personal investigation into the matter.

That I hadn't gone straight home like he'd asked me to. That I was now working with Nicole, of all people, who hated him with every fiber of her being.

He'd probably be furious. Worried. Maybe even hurt that I hadn't trusted him to handle it.

But I pushed those thoughts aside. I had to do this. I couldn't just sit at home and wait for someone else to save me.

Nicole unlocked the car and we both climbed in—her in the driver's seat, me in the passenger side.

The interior smelled like stale fast food and Jake's awful cologne. There were textbooks scattered across the back seat, along with a skateboard, some empty energy drink cans, and a pack of Skittles wedged between the seats.

I reached back and grabbed the Skittles without thinking, suddenly starving after the stressful day I'd had. I was just about to tear the package open when Nicole's hand shot out and smacked mine.

"Put that down," she snapped. "It's Jake's, not yours."

"Sure," I said quietly, placing the candy back where I'd found it.

The old Nicole—the Nicole from a week ago—would have rolled her eyes and told me to go ahead and eat them, then complained loudly about Jake having a bottomless pit for a stomach and leaving his snacks everywhere.

She would have laughed about it. We would have shared the Skittles while gossiping about school drama.

But this Nicole was cold and distant, making it crystal clear with every small gesture that she hadn't forgiven me. That maybe she never would.

Nicole pulled out her laptop—a silver MacBook covered in dark stickers with band names I didn't recognize—and booted it up.

The screen cast a blue glow across her pale face as she inserted the SD card into the side slot and waited for it to load.

I sat there in tense silence, my hands clasped in my lap, watching the loading icon spin on the screen.

My heart was beating faster with each passing second. What if the videos showed something worse than the photos? What if they showed nothing useful at all?

"Wait," Nicole said suddenly, her eyes narrowing at the screen. "Is this the number you were talking about? The one in the document?"

I scrambled closer, practically climbing over the center console to see the laptop screen better. "Yeah, that's it. Why?"

Nicole had apparently already opened all the files and was now staring at the Word document with the phone number.

Her expression had shifted from annoyed skepticism to something more serious. More troubled.

"I know that number," she said slowly, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "It's Mr. Reeves'."

My stomach dropped like a stone. "You can't be serious."

Nicole rolled her eyes at my disbelief and pulled out her phone with one hand while keeping the laptop balanced on her lap with the other.

She scrolled through her contacts list for what felt like an eternity, her thumb moving rapidly across the screen.

"Take a look," she finally said, holding her phone up next to the laptop screen.

I leaned in closer, squinting at both numbers. They matched. Perfectly. Every single digit.

"That makes no sense," I breathed, my mind refusing to accept what I was seeing. "That can't be right. Mr. Reeves has been nothing but supportive of me. He's been nothing but nice to—"

"Maybe he was a little too nice," Nicole interrupted, her voice taking on a darker tone.

"Huh?" I turned to look at her, confused.

Nicole gave me a look like I was the dumbest person on the planet. "Come on, Lena. Don't tell me you haven't heard the rumors about him."

"What rumors?" My voice came out high and strained.

"That he's hot and young and likes to date high school girls," Nicole said matter-of-factly, like she was commenting on the weather. "Junior and senior girls, specifically. Nothing's ever been proven, obviously, but everyone talks about it."

I slapped my hand over Nicole's mouth instinctively, my eyes going wide with horror. "You can't say that!" I hissed. "Are you insane? If anyone heard you—"

Nicole pulled my hand away from her face, looking annoyed. "What? The girls in my AP Lit class said it first, not me. I'm just repeating what I've heard. Obviously it's all kept under wraps because he could lose his job and probably get arrested for it. But everyone knows.'

"They all whisper about it when he's not around. About how he pays a little too much attention to certain girls. How he always seems to have private tutoring sessions with the pretty ones. How he's a little too friendly."

"All everyone does at Westbrook is gossip and spread vicious lies," I said desperately, my voice rising.

"I swear there's something in the water or something. Just last week they were saying I was double-dating both Dawson brothers. People will say anything to make themselves feel important."

"I mean, yeah, you kind of were dating both of them," Nicole pointed out with a shrug. "Technically. Until Noah went psycho and Jace put him in the hospital. Now you're only dating one."

"That's not—Allison isn't involved with Mr. Reeves," I insisted, though my conviction was wavering with every passing second.

"She's eighteen, she's rich, she's popular, she could have literally any guy she wanted. Why would she mess around with a substitute teacher who's barely older than we are? It doesn't make sense."

"Fine. So what's his number doing on a memory card that was hidden inside Allison's bag, along with forgery information?" Nicole challenged, turning the laptop slightly so I could see the screen better. "Coincidence? I don't think so."

"I don't know!" My hands were shaking now, my voice cracking with frustration and confusion.

"Maybe Allison's just bad at organizing her contacts! Maybe she saved his number for legitimate school reasons! You know what, just give it back. We shouldn't be doing this anyway. I'm already involved in enough conspiracies and criminal activity for one day."

I reached for the laptop, intending to shut it down and end this nightmare, but Nicole pulled it away from me. "Too late."

"A teacher sleeping with a student?" I continued frantically. "At a school like Westbrook? With cameras everywhere and parents who have lawyers on speed dial? No freaking way. It's too risky. It would never happen."

"You want to give up?" Nicole's voice was cold and challenging. "Fine. But not before I see what's in these video files."

"Wait, stop!" I lunged for the laptop again, but Nicole was faster.

She clicked on the first video file, and it immediately began loading.

"Nicole, seriously, we should think about this—"

But the video was already playing.