Page 224 of The Forbidden Note

Fear trips down my back. I dig my nails even deeper into the podium, feeling chipped wood come apart. It takes all my effort to seem unfazed.

“You think you won?” Harris laughs bawdily. “You think this is a victory?” As if someone flipped a switch, his smile collapses into a dangerous leer. “You have no idea how powerful they are. They have eyes everywhere, your home, your family, your school—everywhere. You’re just a pawn in the game.”

A pawn.

It finally clicks.

Too easy.

My eyes widen and I glance down at the papers I’d used to deliver my speech. Harris’s bank statements are printed out and stacked neatly underneath it.

Too easy.

For six years, I struggled to get even a shred of evidence against Harris but in one night, it fell into my lap thanks to conveniently hidden boxes locked in the Redwood basement. I was so deliriously happy about gaining some ground, I never stopped to think about an important Lit lesson.

It’s a staple of every English class.

What, why and who.

Whywould evidence on Harris’s misdeeds be stored in the basement?

Whoput them there?

Whatdid they have to gain by that?

My eyebrows hike and the truth slams into me, almost knocking me over. If not for my grip on the podium, I’d probably sink to my knees.

I’ve been played.

Dazed, I watch as police cars arrive, lights flashing red and blue in the bright sunshine. Cops grab Harris, their faces grim and their handcuffs jangling.

I never called them.

I wanted to talk to Harris first before anyone took him away.

But that was my plan.

Not Jarod Cross’s.

Cross is the ultimate chess player and I fell right into place like a blind idiot.

The cops start hauling a sweaty, red-faced Harris away. He refuses to cooperate, thrashing and fighting like a cat in water.

“This isn’t fair! I didn’t do anything wrong!”

They don’t listen.

Principal Harris’s legs drag in the grass as the police overpower him and pull him toward a police car.

Our eyes meet.

In his, I see a marked hatred. He opens his mouth and yells for the entire crowd to hear. “You’re not teaching today, Jamieson. You’re fired! Do you hear me? My last act as principal is firing you!”

The cops shove Harris’s head into a car and he’s off.

As one, the reporters swing back to me.

“Miss Jamieson, do you feel that justice has been served today?”

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