Chapter 121


    Harper


    With Easton''s phone tucked under my arm to hide it from my teacher, I enter the ssroom, and hurry


    to my desk.


    Once I''m sitting, I take out my textbook and notebook and pretend to be ready for ss. Really, it’s just


    a stage, so I can look prepared while, in all actuality, I’ll be hiding behind the guy in front of me, using


    Easton''s phone to catch up on all the things I’ve missed. Just as I''m typing in his passcode—the same


    code, I’ve learned, that opens his locker—I hear, “Are you all right?"


    The questiones from my left, the seat where ke sits. I''m sure he’s asking because he saw


    Easton and I arguing.


    ke misses nothing. I don’t want to get into it. It''s none of his business.


    Whatever I tell him, I’m sure will get right back to Aisha, and then I''ll have to listen to her teasing, too.


    I''m over it. I nce at him, observing the concern etched across his face. “Yeah, I''m fine."


    “You deserve better."


    He turns his body toward me. “I told him that when I saw him gloating in the hallway a few seconds


    ago. What dude does that, by the way? Fight with their girlfriend, and then act like king of the world?"


    He rolls his eyes. “Anyway, I just want you to know that you don''t have to put up with someone treating


    you that way. You''re a hell of a catch, Harper. Any guy in this school would agree."


    My heart aches. I was the reason for today’s fight. I was the one who royally fucked things up. I was the


    one who waited her whole life to date someone—someone as amazing as Easton—and then kept him


    a secret from her parents.


    What''s wrong with me? How am I going to make this up to Easton? How am I going to show him how


    much I love him? “Harper?"


    I realize I''m staring at ke, lost in my thoughts, not saying anything. “Yes?"


    “Stop doubting yourself. Every word I said is true."


    I nod and turn back toward the front of the room, the teacher beginning her lecture. I don’t know what


    she''s saying, nor do I care.


    What I need is to get out of my head for a few minutes and focus on something other than my massive


    fuck—up. I unlock Easton’s phone and pull up his Instagram. Do I snoop? Ugh, I can’t help myself.


    ? 2024 N?v/el/Dram/a.Org.


    I immediately pull up his DMs and start scrolling, looking for names that stand out.


    There''s nothing, just a bunch of stuff with his guy friends. Phew. I logout of his ount and login to


    mine, catching up with all the messages I''ve missed.


    I check Aisha’s page, surprised there isn’t some type of reference about my fight with Easton this


    morning—or anything about me in general or her evesting love for him. She’s been quiet, and that’s


    not like her.


    WHGOSSIP hasn''t had anything really juicy to share either. In fact, their posts have been a littleme


    lately, a few hookups that the school already knows about, a fight between two cheerleaders that


    resulted in lost weaves. Snore.


    I logout and check my Facebook and TikTok,ughing at Sadie’s video with her hairless cat. She likes


    to dress him up in these wild costumes and the cat couldn’t be more uninterested. It''s hysterical. And


    it’s gained her over a hundred thousand followers.


    She’s even having petpanies reach out to her for endorsements, it’ s nuts. Seeing that I haven''t


    really missed much, I logout of all my ounts and stare at the background on Easton’s phone.


    The photo is of us, the first night at hiske house, sitting outside on the dock. Sadie had taken the


    picture and our legs are dangling in the water, his arm is around my shoulders, my head is resting by


    his neck.


    I''m sorry.


    I''m so sorry, Easton. I didn’t mean to fuck this up. Even though things didn’t end badly when we parted


    in the hallway, I feel hopeful that he’s somehow going to forgive me, and I''m going to find a way to


    make this right.


    Still, my heart aches. I need more. I need to feel the love he didn''t give me this morning. I pull up his


    photo App and start scrolling through all his pictures. I’m surprised at how many there are of us, I didn’t


    realize Easton took as many photos as me.


    Some are of us snuggled together at his house, others were taken in my bedroom, lots were snapped


    while we were at school, tons more of us at theke house. I scroll through many more random shots,


    searching for more pics of us.


    I’m going pretty fast, so there’s quick shes of detail that catch my eyes—liquor bottles, Ryan doing a


    keg stand, the boys moshing at a concert.


    I keep scrolling, knowing there has to be more shots and suddenly, something out of nowhere catches


    my attention, and I reverse back a few photos.


    There''s a fluttering in my chest as I rewind the pictures I''ve already seen, going slow to make sure I


    don''t pass it again.


    I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for, I just know something didn’t feel right when I saw a sh of it


    the first time.


    My thumb swipes again and suddenly my chest tightens to the point where I can’t breathe. It''s not like


    I''ve been running and can''t catch my breath. This is the feeling that something has literally taken the air


    out of my lungs.


    Because that thing has punched me in the fucking gut. And it doesn’t stop with one kick. It punches


    again. And again. My hands shake as I hold Easton’s phone. My stomach churns. Why does he have


    this photo? Why does it appear like he’s the one who took it? I don’t want to—and I don’t know why I do


    —but I spread my thumbs over the picture to blow it up. My heart begins to pound as the pixels spread,


    Mrs.


    Scott''s boobs erged over the center of his screen. She''s topless. Braless. Smiling. At my man. In


    what seems like a house—probably her house because I know it’s not Easton’s, I''ve never seen that


    painting hanging on any of his walls.


    I can’t.


    I fucking can''t.


    A thoughtes to me. Maybe it’s a super old photo that he forgot to delete. That he meant to trash,


    and it just slipped his mind.


    I pull up the details of the picture where it shows the date it was taken. My stomach churns again, the


    bile threatening to rise to my throat. The date that’s timestamped is a date I''ll never forget. Because it


    changed our entire rtionship since that very next morning, every student in this school thought he


    had slept with Mrs. Scott. But I believed he didn''t. I thought he was loyal to me.


    I stupidly took his words for the truth when he told me nothing happened between them. But something


    most definitely happened. This photo is proof.


    Proof that my boyfriend cheated on me with that bitch. I set the phone down on my desk, my chest


    heaving, my lips quivering, this overwhelming urge to scream takes over my body. How could he? Why


    would he? It doesn’t matter.


    Because ... We''re done.