The first time I go back to work, I can't walk home.

When I think about it rationally, I know there's probably nobody waiting around the corner. Daniel and his friends don't seem like the type of people who'd hang around Stacie's every night hoping I might pass by. That's way too much effort. Besides, they've made their point, they've sent their "message," and they've been warned about the consequences. And yet, I can't walk home. I make it about ten steps before my heart starts pounding and my limbs freeze. Anxiety pools in my stomach, telling me to go back, to never walk past that alley again. I stand there staring at the edge of that wall where the street veers off into darkness for a full minute before I give in and call Kurt to ask if he can pick me up. He does so without question, the angel that he is, and keeps doing it for the rest of the week, even if our house is only a ten-minute walk away.

Haley takes their turn on Friday so they can accompany me when I go to the woods. They don't really need to, but they insist: they need to be there in case something goes wrong. In truth, I think they'd be bored if they didn't come.

Although my ribs are no longer a constant source of pain, I'm still not comfortable doing much more than walking in a straight line, so that's what we do. Just another walk. I'm glad I'm able to turn into a bear at all, but I won't lie, this shit is really soul-sucking. Once my ribs are fully healed, I'm going to climb a fucking tree and swim until I collapse.

At least Haley is here to keep me entertained. They're checking Matthew's inbox and reading everything out loud to me now. "This one just says 'hey, are you single?' No 'how are you?' or an introduction or anything. Nothing." They shake their head. "Man, what are we gonna do about all these thirsty bitches?"

I don't know, ignore them?

"Do you think we can message Penelope yet?"

I nod. I think it's been long enough since we created the account.

"Okay, let's do that, then. I mean, as soon as you're done."

I doubt they need my input considering they've been doing just fine without it, but I appreciate the thought. We finish our walk, I get dressed again, and we get into Haley's car, where it's warm and comfortable. Haley conjures a bag from the backseat and drops it in my lap with the message, "I brought snacks."

"I don't—"

"You always complain about being hungry after turning, and I always suggest getting food, and you always decline because you don't wanna eat too much, but I know you get food as soon as you get back home because you can't sleep on an empty stomach. I'm prepared this time." They point at the bag. "Eat."

I look inside and pull out a string of tiny bags of nuts—you know, the kind that come in packs of ten so you can have a little bit every time—and a banana. I eat that first and then rip open one of the bags.

"We should follow her first," Haley says, pulling out their phone.

"Naturally."

"Okay. Done."

"Maybe like some of her pictures," I suggest.

"Not too many, though. Don't wanna seem too desperate."

"Just the most recent one, then."

Haley likes the picture. Then they tap on "Send a Direct Message" and stare at the screen, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. "What do we say?"

"What would Matthew say?"

They shrug.

"He's a pretty confident dude, right? I don't think he would hesitate to say why he's messaging her. The only question is: how do we word it so it's not . . . gross?"

"Yeah, that's what I'm wondering."

"You have more experience with this than I do," I remind them.

"It's different face-to-face."

"It can't be that different. How do you approach people?"

"I . . ." They make an exasperated gesture. "I don't know—I just talk to them. It's pretty easy to tell whether someone is into you, because they act differently. Like, their body language and tone of voice and all that. Besides, I don't actually have that much experience in approaching people since I get a lot more people coming onto me."

"I guess you do have that reputation working in your favor."

"Yeah. Everyone knows they can just ask if I wanna hook up someday, and I'll probably say yes. Well, used to, anyway. Point is, we don't know what Penelope is looking for right now, so we can't just assume she'll be okay with—"

Haley's phone buzzes. We look at the screen at the same time to see that Penelope has already messaged Matthew.

Hey handsome

Do we know each other?

"Oh," Haley says. "Well, that solves that problem."

"Does it? She seems kinda . . . suspicious."

He gives me an incredulous look. "She called him handsome. I think she's just asking out of curiosity. Anyway, we should reply," he says, already typing a response. "I had the chat open. Not a good look."

"Why?"

"She can see that we immediately read the message."

"Right."

"Okay." He sends the message. "There."

Not yet

I saw you in my recommended and figured I'd shoot my shot

Well bless the algorithm

"Alright," Haley says. "This is good. It should be smooth sailing from here. Hopefully."

"Yeah, hopefully."

Haley spends another ten minutes talking with Penelope, flirting, asking questions, answering questions, before he tells her he's going offline because he needs to drive. We hope she doesn't think of it as an excuse to get out of the conversation. Some people don't care about the dangers of texting and driving, but Matthew does because Haley does. The Destrier requires his full attention.

He then asks if I wanna stay over at his place so we can keep chatting with Penelope, and I don't see why I'd miss out on that, so he drives us to his house, and as soon as we're in Haley's room, we go right back to chatting with Penelope.

Thankfully, she was not deterred by the break, so we talk and talk with her until deep into the night. After she and Matthew spend several hours getting to know each other by discussing their interests, their favorite things, and other various trivial subjects, she opens up and tells Matthew she's been so busy with work lately it's driving her crazy. She was planning on going out for the night when she got the notification that Matthew followed her, and it felt like a sign. While he was driving, she drew herself a nice, hot bath and resolved to do nothing but chat with a hot stranger, and it's been the most relaxing evening she's had in a long time. Aside from a genuine confession, it also seems a little like an invitation, so Matthew makes a comment about her nakedness, to which she replies her bath would be even better if there was someone with her, and Haley rolls over on his bed making squeaky noises.

"Dude," I say, laughing. "You're acting as if you're personally invested in winning her over. Do I need to remind you that you're not actually Matthew Bird?"

"I just can't believe it's going so well."

"Okay, but we can't really take her up on that. Unless you're planning on asking her about mythicals while you're balls deep inside her?"

Haley rolls over again, absolutely losing it. "Please—I'm—Gus, I'm not actually going to fuck her. At least, I hope not." They hold the phone up to their face again and type out, "I'd love to join you someday . . . but I have a . . . uh . . . I have an appointment with a client in the morning."

"Sure," I say.

"It was lovely to talk to you," they add, "Penelope."

I nod. "Give her Matthew's number, too. I think she's interested enough."

"Okay. Here's my number . . . What was it again? Give me the phone."

I reach out to the nightstand to grab the burner phone we got a few days ago and navigate to the settings so Haley can copy the number. It'll be a pain in the ass that only one of us—well, only Haley will be able to see the messages if we switch, but I'd like to do it as soon as possible. I trust that Haley will share everything with me.

Haley sends Penelope the number and tells her to add Matthew on the chat app. A minute later, the burner phone pings, and there it is. A small round picture at the top of the screen of a woman with long brown hair and green eyes lined with dark, glittery eye-makeup and red lips. She says hello. Matthew says hello and goodnight.

☽〇☾

Over the weekend, Haley sends me an endless stream of screenshots of Matthew and Penelope's borderline aggressive flirting. I can tell how much fun Haley's having with it by how detailed Matthew's stories are, and Penelope eats it up. I was worried she would only be interested in hooking up with him, but this is good. We can build some trust, meet up with her somewhere that isn't her bed (or bathtub), and actually talk to her. Ideally, we'd find a place that's not too public but not too private, like a park or a restaurant. It's good to have some people around in case someone tries something funny, but not so close that they can listen in on the conversation. Just in case.

On Monday, Haley suddenly goes offline.

By now, I know that usually means they're with Davy . . . which surprises me considering they haven't said anything about their feelings for him, but I have to work, so all I can do is shrug and wait. When Kurt picks me up from the store, I grab my phone and find a new message waiting for me.

💰💰💰💰💰

GUS

what

💰💰💰💰💰

i think davy and i went on a date??

oh that's why you were gone for so long

i was wondering if you changed your mind about the sex

💰💰💰💰💰

yeah no there was no fucking lol

so what did you do?

They tell me all about their date, which was "officially" not a date because they never decided what it was, but to me it sounds like it totally was. It's not about what you do. It's about the way it makes you feel. Haley and I go to the movies and eat dinner together all the time, but we're friends. Haley doesn't text other people afterwards to tell them what happened. They don't wonder what it means for us, because . . . well, we're friends. It doesn't mean anything.

"What are you smiling about?" Kurt asks, pulling up to the house.

"Haley."

He smiles as he brings the car to a halt and turns it off. "You know, I'm really glad you two became friends. I never would have expected it—from a Sinclair, of all people—but Haley is truly one of the kindest people in the world. And you seem like . . ."

I look over at him.

"You seem like you're doing really well," he says. "You seem happy."

"Yeah. I am."

"But . . ."

"But what?"

His eyes veer off into the distance, his hands slowly sliding along the curve of the steering wheel. "Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to help, but I'm worried about you still not wanting to walk home after work."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize. But are you sure you don't want to do anything?"

"Do what?"

"Wouldn't it make you feel better if the people who did this to you—"

"Oh, no, that's not necessary. We're dealing with it."

"Are you?"

I sigh, because I don't know. Things have been going really well lately—people are treating me with the basic respect I lacked for years, and most of Haley's friends have accepted me, but most is not all. I have no reason to believe things will stay like they are now, let alone that they'll get better. More importantly, there's no guarantee I won't be assaulted again, and that's what has my hair standing on end every night.

But do I really need to get the authorities involved? Is that what I need to feel more at ease when I walk home, or has the fear become too ingrained in me for it to even make a difference? I don't know. I guess I won't know until I actually do something.

"You know Haley will help you," Kurt says.

"Yeah, I know."

"Okay, well." He pulls his key out of the ignition. "Think about it, then."

☽〇☾

I don't get much time to think about it. Only a few days later, Mrs. Edwards' voice comes on the intercom, calling four people into her office: Sam Harding, Bennett Donahue, Emre Osman, and Daniel Gonzalez.

The entire school is an uproar over the announcement. They go right back to staring at me, though not with judgment. They're curious, I know that, but I still shrink under their gaze. I can't help but feel responsible, somehow. Especially when, an hour later, she calls Haley and me in. I wonder if Haley said something, but when I find him sitting on the bench outside the principal's office, he looks just as confused. He even asks, "You didn't say anything, did you?"

I sit down beside him. "No."

"Well then. There goes our plan."

"It wasn't much of a plan to begin with."

He frowns and opens his mouth, but then the door opens, and Mrs. Edwards calls us inside. We take our seats across from her and wait for her to speak, except she doesn't. She just crosses her arms and looks at us.

Then Haley asks, "What happened with Daniel, Emre, Bennett, and Sam?"

"They've been suspended," she says.

Haley deflates in his seat. "Oh."

"For now."

Neither of us knows how to respond to that.

"I want to confirm something with you," she adds, glancing at me. "I was hoping you would return to me with more information after we spoke, but it was clear that you were not willing to tell me what happened, so I continued asking around until I found someone who was. It appears that one of your assaulters was feeling a lot of guilt. When I asked the other boys to talk to me, they all kept quiet, but he confessed almost instantly."

"Who was it?" Haley asks.

"Sam," I say. Without a doubt.

Mrs. Edwards doesn't say anything to verify that. She doesn't even twitch. She only asks, "Will you answer my questions now? Truthfully?"

Well, I don't think I can deny it. Sam already confessed.

"Okay," I say.

"Good. I was told you were taken to the hospital because your ribs were bruised."

I assume she wants me to confirm, so I nod.

She makes a note. "Who took you?"

"Uh . . ." Not the question I was expecting. "Davy Harding."

"Did he cover the bill?"

I frown. "Ye—well, no."

At this, Haley turns to look at me. "I thought you said he did."

"No. He made Sam do it."

"What?"

Mrs. Edwards' pen scribbles some more. "Thank you. That is what he told me, but I wasn't sure if he was telling the truth or merely making an attempt at receiving a less severe punishment. Is it true that he stopped the others from . . . taking it further as well?"

"Yes," I say.

"Alright." She puts her pen down and says, "Now, Mr. Reed, if you remember, I said I would launch an investigation if I believe the allegations to be true, and I've seen and heard enough. However, from what I've heard, you already had an opportunity to press charges." She gestures at Haley as she says this. "Is there any particular reason you haven't?"

"Well, I said we should," Haley says before I can say anything, "but Gus made a good point as to why we shouldn't—or well, why it might be a waste of time. The system is kinda rigged against people like him, you know? Which is bullshit. Pardon my language, but it is."

She nods. I don't know if she believes that, but I guess it doesn't matter. As long as she outwardly agrees with him, she's not as useless as I thought.

"We told them we'd press charges next time, though," Haley says. "To scare them off."

She writes that down, too. "And you were the one who spread the rumors? Well . . ." She waves a hand around. "As it were. Either way, Mr. Harding claimed it was your way of 'punishing' them."

He nods.

"But maybe we should press charges," I say.

Haley's head whips around again.

"I'll leave that decision up to you," Mrs. Edwards says. "If Mr. Sinclair is willing to cover the costs for you, then by all means—I encourage you to do so, and I will help however I can. My issue is this: the boys have been suspended, but they can't stay out of school indefinitely. After the suspension ends, I have two options: let them return to Larkwood High or expel them." She shuffles the pages of her notebook between her fingers for a moment, as if she needs it to build suspense. "I do not condone assault, but I do believe in second chances. Especially for those who feel . . . remorse. If you choose not to press charges, we could think of another way to punish them? Perhaps something a little more effective than social exclusion?"

I look at Haley.

He shrugs. "Whatever you want, man."

"Can I have some time to think about it?" I ask.

"Two weeks," Mrs. Edwards says.

I guess I do have time.

☽〇☾