Page 472 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

We came home from Camp Joy a week ago. Most days, I still wake up thinking I’m in the Mustang Lodge, wondering why it doesn’t smell like thatch.

I swear some of the counselors had tears in their eyes when we left.If there’s one thing me and my stepsister have learned to do, it’s to get away with murder. No one suspected a thing the entire time we were there. We served our time, and now we’re back home.

I don’t want to be careful anymore. I turned nineteen while we were incarcerated, and I know that doesn’t mean shit in the real world, but I feel like a changed man. I couldn’t care less about what people think about Harper and me. All that matters is that we’re in love.

Pretty soon, this shitty town will be a speck in our rearview mirror.

“What...?” Di Toro’s face contorts into disgust. But he doesn’t look away. I guess he can’t.

He’s watching the original video Daniel sent me. The unedited one. The one where it’s pretty damn clear that Harper is fucked out of her mind, and Sean and Eric are about to do the unthinkable to her.

Di Toro looks up at me, but his eyes slide almost immediately to Harper. “When and where was this taken?”

“About six months ago,” Harper says. She leans forward, studies the upside-down screen for a second, and then points. “That’s Sean Pembroke, and that’s Eric Keats.”

I desperately want to grab her hand again. Her voice is strong, not a tremble on her lips, and I’m sofuckingproud.

Sheriff Di Toro turns off my phone and keeps his eyes down. “How old are you?”

“I’ll be nineteen in November.”

Di Toro hands me back my phone and laces his fingers, resting on his elbows and staring at us above the mesh. “Why didn’t you come forward sooner?”

“I was scared,” Harper responds. “And...I guess I was kinda hoping it would all just go away.”

His eyes move to her. “Did they rape you?”

Her throat moves as she swallows. I can’t help it—I reach over and grab her shoulder, squeezing her. If the Sheriff thinks anything of the gesture, he doesn’t show it.

“No,” I say when Harper remains silent. “A friend of mine called me. I...made sure they didn’t get any further.”

“You stopped them?” Only his eyes move.

I nod. “They drugged her.” I squeeze her shoulder again. “We think maybe crack? But we’re not sure.”

Di Toro nods a few times and then stands. “Wait here.”

He leaves, and I turn to Harper with a grim smile on my face. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

“He doesn’t believe me,” she whispers.

“What?” there’s a laugh in my voice. “We haveevidence.”

The door opens before she can reply, and Harper pulls the two halves of her zipped open hoody closed as Di Toro sinks down into his seat again. He toys with a form, pressing down on it with his fingertips as he twists his wrist.

“I need you to send me a copy of that video. And I need to know who was filming.”

“I can’t do that,” I tell him. “The only way I could get a copy of this was to promise that I wouldn’t give his name.”

“Do you think I care whatpromisesyou made?” Di Toro says.

My stomach coils uneasily. Why the fuck is this guy acting like we’re as suspect as the guys on the fucking video? “I can’t.”

“I need to verify this—” he points at my cell phone with the back of his pen “—with someone.”

“My friend?—”

“An unbiased third party.”

---