Page 81 of No Place Left to Hide

My phone chimes with another notification.

It’s an email. Also from Jena.

My hand curls into an angry fist around my phone. She’s going to make this next part a whole lot easier if she keeps annoying the shit out of me.

I open it and find an identical YouTube video embedded in the email.

I’m confused, until my eyes lock on the recipients list.

I’m not the only person she sent this to.

I scroll and scroll and scroll through hundreds of recipients, growing increasingly more horrified with every new name on the list. They’re all Waldorf email addresses. She sent this to the whole fucking student body?!

And my parents.

AndDylan.

The last email robs the breath from my lungs. She sent my confession to the detective who investigated Claire’s death.

The subject line is the knife twisted in an already gaping wound.

Re: Goodwins don’t get away with murder.

I can’t undo this. There’s no way to bend the truth this time. No way to come out on top, but there has to be a way to get ahead of it at least. Damage control.

Think, Brooke. Think.

I dial my dad. He’ll have a plan. Just like at the lake.

His phone rings three times and then goes to voicemail.

What?

I dial my mom. She doesn’t pick up either.

She was just calling me! There’s no way she’s asleep. Did they see the video already? Are they not answering on purpose? The second time I dial my dad it doesn’t even ring. He sends me straight to voicemail.

I’m alone.

I drop my phone and it clatters to the dirt. I slump to my knees, pain shooting through my body, as sirens wail in the distance.

And I scream.

FA CREATED CHAT

JH JOINED THE CHAT

3–07 5:14 p.m.

JH: Are you sure this thing is secure?

FA: Positive. I did my research

JH: And by that, you mean you Googled it.

FA: Yeah. Like I said, research

FA: It’s a third party group chat. It keeps no record of the conversation after the chat is wiped

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