Chapter 5
Five
LEO
Tuesday is hell.
Jade still isn’t back.
Her seat in homeroom is empty.
Her locker untouched.
Her friends quiet, careful, watching me like I’m a grenade with the pin halfway out.
I sit in first period pretending to take notes, but my knee won’t stop bouncing.
I keep checking my phone under the desk.
No messages.
No read receipts.
Nothing.
She’s really gone.
Mindy slides into the seat next to me like she belongs there now, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “You’re shaking the whole row,” she murmurs.
“Sorry.”
“You’re worried she won’t come back,” she says softly.
I glare straight ahead. “She’s coming back.”
Mindy doesn’t argue. Which somehow makes it worse.
By lunch, the entire school is buzzing.
The cafeteria feels louder than normal.
Everyone pretending nothing happened while making sure everyone sees them pretending nothing happened.
The empty chair across from me—hers—is a black hole.
Mindy sits beside me, as planned.
Tristan and X flank me.
We’re playing our roles.
A girl from the senior dance committee walks by with her little entourage. She’s all lip gloss and fake diamonds and inherited confidence.
“Guess it finally worked,” she giggles. “Scholarship girl couldn’t take the heat.”
Another snickers. “Honestly, good. We didn’t want her here anyway.”
My jaw tightens.
Then the worst one leans down, like she wants me to hear her. “Let this be a lesson to administration. If they want diversity, fine—but make it useful diversity. Hot athletes only.”
They all laugh.
“Yeah!” another girl chirps. “Like a few more six-pack guys wouldn’t hurt. We could have our own version of what Leo had.”
Leo.
Like I’m a commodity.
Like Jade was a toy I broke.
Nausea crawls up my throat.
I make eye contact with Tristan first.
His expression goes dark, sunglasses lowering just enough to reveal the spark of violence in his eyes.
X isn’t far behind—leaning back, sizing up the girls like they’re a problem he’s ready to solve.
Then they both look at me.
I don’t smile.
I don’t joke.
I don’t blink.
“I can’t wait to bring these bitches down,” I say under my breath.
And from the way Tristan grins and X cracks his knuckles—
neither can they.
Coach Roman corners me outside the gym between third and fourth period.
She doesn’t even pretend to be calm.
“Leo Holt! Office. Now.”
I follow her inside. She slams the door. Hard.
Her jaw is clenched tight, her ponytail swinging like a warning flag.
“I’m not gonna sugarcoat this,” she snaps. “I am livid.”
My stomach sinks. “Coach—”
“No. You listen.”
Her eyes glitter with a mix of anger and fear, the kind only adults who actually give a damn ever show.
“All the social posts. All the gossip. The press. The lawyers sniffing around. The lawsuits.” She shakes her head. “It’s a circus. And Jade—your Jade—she thinks unplugging fixes it. But it doesn’t. This kind of exposure?” She jabs a finger at me. “It can nuke a scholarship career.”
Ice crawls under my skin.
“What do you mean?”
“Universities don’t want drama.” Her voice sharpens. “They don’t care whose fault it is. They don’t care if she’s the victim. If her name keeps showing up next to ‘incident’ and ‘scandal’—they’ll drop her. Fast.”
My pulse spikes.
“She worked her whole life for this,” Coach Roman continues. “And it’s slipping. Because a bunch of spoiled, bored, vindictive girls decided to make a point.”
I clench my fists so hard my nails cut my palms.
“I’m gonna fix this shit for her,” I say.
“You better,” she shoots back. “Or everything she built—everything she bled for—is going nowhere, Leo.”
Her words land like a punch.
I walk out, chest burning, and slam my fist into the nearest locker. The metal dents inward with a sick echo.
Xavier appears like he was waiting.
“Come with me,” he says. “And leave your phone.”
I toss mine into my locker. Tristan does the same. X shuts the door, spins the lock, and nods.
We head out to the quad, choosing a corner behind the science building where the cameras don’t reach.
X checks over both shoulders, then finally speaks.
“Mindy came through.”
My heart spikes.
“She got us the name of the housekeeper’s cousin’s-in-law,” X says, lowering his voice. “The one who actually bought the supplies. Cash. Out of state.”
“And?” I grit.
“And she’s scared,” he says. “She’s got paper receipts. Literal receipts. And an audio clip of Bianca and Nadia asking her to buy everything. Plus the threat about deportation.”
My blood goes cold.
X smirks. “And you know my dad works high up in AI and IT. We can trace, verify, authenticate. Ironclad.”
“Good,” I say. “Pay her a hundred grand for everything.”
Tristan chokes. “A hundred—”
“Pay her,” I repeat. “She deserves it. And we bring all of it straight to the cops. And the lawyers. No more school board bullshit.”
X nods. “Yeah… we didn’t tell Jade this. But my dad’s guy? He’s technically still on retainer.”
Tristan scoffs. “Your dad’s guy is slow. Mine is a shark. He’ll shred these girls alive in court.”
“Oh please,” X shoots back. “Your guy tanked his last settlement.”
“Only because the other lawyer cried!” Tristan says.
“He cried because he was losing—”
I snap my fingers, loud.
“Does it matter whose attorney is hotter?” I growl. “Pick one. Pick both. I don’t care.”
They shut up instantly.
Then X’s grin spreads slow.
“So after school,” he says, “we meet up, get the evidence, hand it over to Tristan’s attorney—fine—and start the wheels turning.”
“And we do it quiet,” Tristan adds. “Silent. Surgical. They won’t know what’s coming until they’re already drowning.”
A slow, dark satisfaction settles in my chest.
Good.
For once, money isn’t going to bury the truth.
We’re going to use it to expose it.
“I want them ruined,” I say.
My voice is low.
Steady.
Dead serious.
X nods.
Tristan nods.
This isn’t about school drama anymore.
This is war.
I tell the guys I’ll meet up with them later.
Tristan’s got some girls’ basketball workout to run before varsity. X pretends he believes me when I say I’m “running errands in town before dinner.”
They both know I’m lying.
I don’t care.
Because there’s one place I have to go.
Jade’s house.
I park halfway up the street like some lovesick creep, engine off, watching the place from a distance. The porch is still dark. The windows still empty. That stupid wreath her aunt put up last week is lopsided now, blown sideways by the wind.
She’s not back.
I knew she wouldn’t be.
But seeing it—seeing how untouched the house is—hits harder than I expect.
Newspapers are scattered across the porch steps.
The mailbox is overflowing.
The potted plants by the door are frozen solid, brittle leaves curled in on themselves.
Her cats weave in and out of the porch railing, tails flicking, rubbing against the pots like they're waiting for someone who should’ve opened the door days ago.
Someone’s been feeding them.
Someone’s been letting them in and out.
Which means someone knows she’s gone.
I get out of the car, my breath fogging the cold air, and walk up the sidewalk.
I grab the newspapers.
Collect the mail spilling everywhere like the house is crying for her.
I’m halfway down the steps when a voice cuts through the quiet.
“HEY! Hey, you! What are you doing there?!”
I turn slowly.
An older woman stands at the hedge, hands on her hips, glare sharp enough to slice granite.
I lift my hands in surrender. “I’m just grabbing the mail. I’m a friend of Jade’s.”
Her expression softens a notch. “I’m the neighbor. Been taking care of the cats.”
I nod. “Ah. That makes sense. I, uh… I thought they’d be back today.”
She waves a hand. “Oh, they said later tonight. Or sometime soon. They told me.”
Which is a lie.
But she doesn’t know that I know that.
“Right,” I say. “Yeah. That’s what I heard too.”
I offer her the stack of mail. “Can you give this to them? I didn’t want the wind blowing it everywhere.”
She takes it, nodding approvingly. “Good boy. Kids these days don’t think to do that.”
I force a small smirk. “We’re working on a school project. End-of-semester thing. I was hoping she’d be back so we could get started.”
“Oh,” she says, turning toward her walkway. “I’m sure she’ll be home soon.”
Yeah.
Sure.
She disappears into her house.
I walk back to my car, shove my hands into my jacket pockets, and glance at Jade’s dark windows one last time.
She’s not here.
She’s far away.
Someone’s protecting her.
But this isn’t over.
Not for me.
Not for her.
Not for any of the people who hurt her.
I slide into the driver’s seat and whisper into the empty car—
“This isn’t over, Gitanilla.”
Not even close.”