Page 19 of Girl Violence

“Josette stole money from me,” Miss Finn quickly tells her before Josette has a chance to say anything.

“I did not,” she argues, glaring at the back of her ugly head. “I’ve been here all day doingyourjob.”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t do such a thing,” Diane tries to reason with her aunt. “Evan didn’t raise her like that.”

“Of course, she would. She’s a troublemaker, just like her mother.” Josette’s teeth clench. Even Diane flinches at the mention of her mother. “I’m phoning the police. I know it was you.”

Josette throws the book she’s holding to the floor angrily. She knows Miss Finn hates her guts, but she’s taking it too far. Bringing her mother into it is a touchy subject. “I haven’t taken your money. It’s not like you get enough to want to steal anyway. Guess what? Kindles are taking over!”

Miss Finn points her finger in Josette’s face. “I know you did it, you disrespectful—”

“I took the money,” a voice interrupts the argument. They all turn, seeing Vince standing near the end of the aisle wearing dark blue jeans and a black T-shirt beneath a hoodie. Josette hasn’t seen him most of the day since Miss Finn gave him admin work in her cushy office because she obviously favours him.

“What?” Diane and Miss Finn say in unison. Diane continues, “Vince?”

“I took the money,” he calmly says. “I needed some change for the vending machine. I was on my way to tell you to dock it from my pay.”

Josette’s mouth drops open. He getspaid? She’s a slave!

“You should have asked first.”

“It’s fine, Diane—”

“Yeah, you should have, before she accuses someone innocent,” Josette says indignantly.

“You’re far from innocent, Josette Preston,” Miss Finn hisses.

“Right.” Diane steps in, taking hold of her aunt’s arm and manoeuvring her away from the heated row. “I’ll talk toyoulater,” she says to Vince. “Come on, I need help choosing a colour for my living room, Aunt Sandra.”

They leave, and Josette slumps against one of the shelves, shaking her head. Why is she always to blame for everything that goes wrong?

There’s a shuffle next to her, and when she looks, Vince is rearranging the books she put on the shelves. Despite the fading bruise, he looks good. It makes Josette’s insides ache with torture, something she’s been feeling for a few days now, and it’s killing her. Ever since the picture incident and when he touched her arm, even though it was for a few seconds, she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about his touch in other places.

To distract herself from her thoughts, she picks up the book she threw down. They haven’t spoken since their argument outside the park, and it’s been days since.

“Did you really take the money?” she finally asks after a while.

“No.”

Josette frowns. “Then why did you say you did?”

“Her voice was annoying me.” He turns to look at her, eyes hard. “Didyoutake the money?”

“Of course not, and I didn’t need you to step in to save me.” He says nothing, and Josette sits down on the floor with a sigh, deciding to have a break. She deserves one after putting up with that. Pulling out her phone, she logs into Instagram. “What the fuck...”

She has 269 notifications.

Josette’s stomach turns, suddenly scared to click on the tab to see why she has so many notifications. Whatever it is, it can’t be good. Her heart races as she clicks on it, seeing she’s been tagged in a picture.

Vince stares down at his own phone, eyebrows knitting together. Their eyes meet, and Josette can feel the blood drain from her face when he opens his mouth and then closes it.

Her hands shake as she clicks on the picture. When it loads, horror seeps ice-cold through every vein inside her body. It’s a picture of her—a verynakedher. She’s lying on a bed with blue, checked sheets. Sheets Josette remembers because they’re a part of a nightmare. She’s asleep in the picture, wearing nothing but a black, lacy thong. You can see her breasts, stomach, and legs. A blanket covers the rest. Her hair is spread out over the pillow, and a bottle of beer in her hand looks like it’s been placed there.

Josette scrolls further down, hands trembling as she reads the caption beneath it,WHORE.She then sees a few of the fifty comments on the picture. Mostly from complete strangers.

I always knew she was like that.

Whoever took this picture is a lucky bastard.

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