The Boy I Was Warned About

The first time Liam Mercer broke my heart, he hadn't even kissed me.

He stood in my hallway with a black duffel bag slung over one shoulder, rain dripping from his dark hair onto my mother's clean floor, looking at me like I was the last person on earth he wanted to see.

And my mother, apparently determined to ruin the next eight weeks of my life, smiled and said, "Harper, sweetheart, come say hello to our guest."

Our guest.

Liam Mercer.

The boy Riverdale High School had warned me about since sophomore year. The boy who had been suspended for breaking Caleb Brooks's nose last spring. The boy whose name appeared in whispered conversations, disciplinary report the occasional anonymous confession on the school gossip page.

The boy my best friend had once described as a walking red flag wearing expensive-looking boots.

And now he was standing three feet from my bedroom door.

I stared at him.

He stared back.

Then his eyes dropped to the pink fuzzy slippers on my feet.

His mouth twitched.

"Nice shoes, Bennett."

I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me.

Instead, I folded my arms across my chest. "Nice criminal record, Mercer."

My mother's smile vanished.

"Harper!"

"What? I'm welcoming him."

Liam let out a short laugh, the kind that sounded like he was trying not to enjoy himself. "Don't worry, Mrs. Bennett. I've been called worse."

"That doesn't make it acceptable," Mum replied, giving him the gentle, apologetic smile she reserved for difficult customers and people she believed deserved a second chance. "Come in, Liam. You must be exhausted."

He stepped farther inside.

I stepped back.

Not because I was afraid of him.

I simply preferred to keep a reasonable distance from boys who had been suspended for violence.

At least, that was what I told myself.

"Harper, would you take his bag upstairs?" Mum asked.

I turned to her so quickly I nearly lost a slipper.

"Excuse me?"

"His room is ready. The guest room is at the end of the hall, beside yours."

"Beside mine?"

"Yes, darling. Where else would he sleep?"

I looked at Liam, expecting him to object. Surely he had somewhere else to go. A relative. A friend. An abandoned warehouse, perhaps. Anything that didn't involve my mother moving a strange boy into our house like we were running a charity for troubled teenagers.

But Liam merely shrugged.

"Your house, your rules."

His voice was calm, almost bored.

I hated him a little for that.

Mum picked up her handbag from the console table. "I need to stop at the pharmacy before it closes. Harper, please show Liam around. I'll explain everything when I get back."

"You're leaving?"

"I won't be long."

"Mum."

She kissed my forehead before I could dodge her.

"Be kind."

Then she was gone.

The front door clicked shut.

Silence settled over the hallway.

Liam looked at me.

I looked at him.

Somewhere outside, thunder rumbled over Maplewood.

"Well," he said, glancing towards the stairs, "this is awkward."

"You're not staying here."

He lifted an eyebrow. "That's funny. Your mother seemed pretty convinced otherwise."

"I'll talk to her."

"Great."

"I mean it."

"So do I."

He picked up his bag and walked towards the staircase as though he had been living here for years.

I followed him, furious that he wasn't even pretending to be intimidated.

"You can't just move into someone's house without warning."

"Technically, your mother invited me."

"Without warning me."

"Should I have sent you a calendar invitation?"

I stopped halfway up the stairs.

He turned around.

Up close, Liam was even more irritating than he looked from across a classroom. His dark brown hair fell messily over his forehead, and his hazel eyes carried an expression of permanent amusement. There was a faint scar near his left eyebrow, one I had never noticed before.

He looked like the sort of boy who knew exactly how much trouble he could cause and enjoyed discovering whether anyone dared to stop him.

I had absolutely no intention of becoming his next experiment.

"Listen carefully," I said. "I don't know what my mother promised your mother, but this arrangement isn't going to work."

Something changed in his expression.

It was subtle. A flicker of exhaustion, perhaps, or something heavier that disappeared before I could identify it.

"Believe me, Bennett," he said quietly. "I'm not exactly thrilled either."

For one strange second, I almost believed him.

Then he walked past me.

I stood on the stairs, listening to his footsteps move down the hallway towards the guest room.

Eight weeks.

My mother mentioned eight weeks on the phone that morning, though she had conveniently forgotten to mention whose life she intended to turn upside down.

Eight weeks of sharing a roof with Liam Mercer.

Eight weeks of explaining his presence to my friends.

Eight weeks of trying not to murder him before my scholarship application deadline.

I closed my eyes.

This was fine.

I was seventeen years old. I had a near-perfect GPA, a journalism portfolio that needed polishing, and a scholarship application that could determine where I spent the next four years of my life.

I had plans.

Carefully organised plans.

Liam Mercer was not in any of them.

By dinner, I had established three important facts.

First, Liam took his coffee black.

Second, he had a talent for making perfectly ordinary sentences sound insulting.

Third, my mother apparently decided his comfort was more important than my sanity.

"He can use the Wi-Fi in the evenings," she announced, passing him a bowl of roasted potatoes. "And Harper, you can show him how the washing machine works tomorrow."

I lowered my fork.

"He knows how to use a washing machine, Mum."

Liam glanced at me. "I appreciate your confidence in my domestic abilities."

"You're welcome."

"Although, for future reference, I usually wash my clothes before they become sentient."

Mum sighed. "Both of you, please."

I concentrated on my food.

The worst part was that Liam wasn't behaving like the dangerous criminal everyone had warned me about. He was irritating, certainly, but he hadn't threatened anyone, thrown a chair, or punched a wall.

He had even thanked Mum for dinner.

It was deeply inconvenient.

Because if he continued behaving like a normal human being, I would have to find another reason to dislike him.

And I had a perfectly good reputation for being reasonable.

"So," Mum said, turning to him, "how is Rachel feeling?"

Liam's fork paused.

"She's okay."

"She told me the treatment was going well."

"Yeah."

"She must miss you terribly."

He looked down at his plate. "I miss her too."

For the first time that evening, nobody had a clever response.

I glanced at him.

His shoulders were tense, and he was moving his food around his plate rather than eating it. The expression on his face had changed completely.

I remembered hearing that his mother was ill, but nobody at school seemed to know much beyond that. Rumours had filled the gaps, as they always did.

I wondered if any of them were true.

Then Liam caught me looking.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Then stop staring."

There he was again.

I rolled my eyes.

Mum placed her glass on the table. "Liam, I want you to feel comfortable here. You're welcome to stay as long as you need."

"Thank you, Mrs. Bennett. I appreciate it."

"And Harper will help you settle in."

I nearly choked on a potato.

"Why does everyone keep volunteering me for things?"

"Because you're helpful," Mum replied.

"Because you don't like disappointing people," Liam corrected.

I turned to him.

His expression was unreadable.

"What would you know about me?"

"Enough."

"Really? And what exactly do you know?"

He held my gaze for a moment before looking away.

"That you're the kind of person who would rather swallow broken glass than admit she doesn't want to do something."

My mouth fell open.

Mum looked between us.

I forced a laugh. "And you're the kind of person who thinks being rude is a personality."

"See? We're already learning about each other."

I decided then that I would survive eight weeks without speaking to him unless necessary.

It was an excellent plan.

It lasted approximately twelve minutes.

Later that night, I was in my bedroom reviewing the scholarship requirements when I heard a noise from the hallway.

A door opening.

Footsteps.

Then the unmistakable sound of someone entering the kitchen.

I checked the time.

11:43 p.m.

I slipped out of bed, pulled on my cardigan, and opened my bedroom door.

Liam stood at the kitchen counter, drinking water from a glass.

He looked up when I entered.

"Can't sleep?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

He set the glass down. "You could. But then we'd both be asking questions nobody wants to answer."

I ignored that.

"Do you always have to be so difficult?"

"Only when I'm awake."

I walked to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of water.

For a while, neither of us spoke.

The kitchen was dim except for the light above the stove. Rain tapped against the windows, and the clock above the doorway ticked loudly in the silence.

Without the usual audience of teachers and students, Liam seemed different. Less confrontational. More tired.

I wondered what he thought about when nobody was looking.

Then I remembered who he was.

Curiosity was dangerous.

Especially when it involved a boy like Liam Mercer.

"Can I ask you something?" I said before I could change my mind.

He leaned against the counter. "That depends."

"Why did you really get suspended?"

His expression hardened.

I immediately regretted asking.

"Everyone says you broke Caleb Brooks's nose because he insulted you."

"Everyone says a lot of things."

"Did you?"

He looked at me.

"Break his nose?"

"Yes."

"Yes."

I blinked.

At least he wasn't denying it.

"Why?"

"Because I hit him."

"That's not an explanation."

"It's the one I've got for you."

I tightened my grip on the water bottle.

"Do you ever answer a question normally?"

"Do you ever mind your own business?"

I should have walked away.

Instead, I heard myself say, "People think you're dangerous."

Something flickered across his face.

"Do you?"

I hesitated.

It was the wrong answer.

I could tell from the way his jaw tightened.

"I don't know you," I said.

"Exactly."

He picked up his glass and moved towards the hallway.

For some reason, I felt compelled to stop him.

"Then why do you act like you don't care what anyone thinks?"

He paused.

For a moment, I thought he wouldn't answer.

Then he turned his head slightly.

"Because caring doesn't always change anything."

The words landed more heavily than I expected.

Before I could respond, he disappeared down the hallway.

I stood alone in the kitchen, listening to his bedroom door close.

Outside, the rain grew heavier.

And for the first time since he'd arrived, I wondered whether the stories about Liam Mercer were missing something important.

I didn't know what that something was.

I wasn't sure I wanted to find out.

I was brushing my teeth when my phone vibrated on the bathroom counter.

An Instagram notification.

Then another.

Then three more in quick succession.

I rinsed my mouth and picked up the phone.

A message from Tessa waited at the top of our chat.

TESSA: PLEASE tell me your mother did not actually let him move in.

I stared at the screen.

ME: Who told you?

Her reply came almost immediately.

TESSA: Harper, the entire school knows about Liam Mercer. Someone saw him getting out of your mum's car this afternoon.

Of course they had.

I typed a response, deleted it, then typed another.

ME: It's temporary. Eight weeks.

The typing indicator appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

TESSA: You need to be careful around him.

I frowned.

ME: You've told me that approximately six hundred times.

TESSA: I'm serious. You don't know what happened last year.

I stared at the message.

ME: Neither do you. Nobody does.

Her next reply took longer.

TESSA: I know enough.

Before I could ask what that meant, another notification appeared.

This one was from an account I didn't recognise.

No profile picture.

No posts.

No followers.

The message contained a single sentence.

UNKNOWN: Ask Liam Mercer what he did to his sister before you start feeling sorry for him.

My stomach tightened.

I read it again.

Then a second message arrived.

UNKNOWN: And whatever you do, Harper, don't let him find out you know.

A cold feeling crept up my spine.

From somewhere down the hallway came the faint sound of Liam's bedroom door opening.

I looked towards the bathroom entrance.

Then back at my phone.

A third message appeared.

This time, it contained a photograph.

I tapped it.

The image was grainy, clearly taken from a distance. A boy stood outside Riverdale High School, his dark hair falling over his forehead, his right hand clenched into a fist.

Liam.

Beside him stood a girl with long brown hair, her face turned away from the camera.

Ruby Mercer.

And on the ground between them, partially hidden by the boy's legs, was something I couldn't quite make out.

A schoolbag.

Torn open.

Books scattered across the pavement.

My phone vibrated again.

UNKNOWN: He didn't get suspended for no reason.

I heard footsteps approaching.

My heart began to pound.

Then Liam's voice came from the other side of the door.

"Harper?"

I couldn't speak.

The handle turned.

"Harper, open the door."

I stared at the photograph, my fingers trembling around the phone.

Because the girl in the picture wasn't just Ruby.

Around her wrist was a thin silver bracelet with a tiny star charm.

I had seen that bracelet before.

Not at school.

Not in a photograph.

But on someone who had stood beside me for years, smiling as though she had never done anything wrong.

The bathroom handle rattled again.

"Harper," Liam said, his voice suddenly sharper. "What are you looking at?"

I looked at the door.

Then at the message on my screen.

UNKNOWN: The girl who ruined Ruby's life is closer to you than you think.

And suddenly, I wasn't wondering whether Liam Mercer was dangerous.

I was wondering who else in my life had been lying to me.

By seven-thirty the next morning, three things had gone wrong.

First, Liam Mercer had used the last of the hot water.

Second, my mother had decided that sharing a bathroom schedule with a boy who barely spoke to her was an excellent opportunity for me to practise patience.

Third, someone had posted a photograph of Liam and me standing in our front doorway.

The caption read: Looks like Harper Bennett has a new project. Hope this one doesn't end in suspension.

I stared at the post on my phone while my toast went cold.

The photograph had been taken the previous evening. Liam was standing on the porch with his duffel bag, his dark hair damp from the rain. I was in the doorway, arms folded, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

Whoever had taken it had captured the exact moment I wished I could erase.

There were already twenty-three comments.

Harper? Seriously?

Maybe she's trying to fix him.

Girl, good luck.

And then, from an account I recognised immediately, came the comment that made my stomach tighten.

Tessa Grant: Some people really enjoy making bad decisions.

I read it twice.

Tessa was my best friend. She had sat beside me during exams, borrowed my clothes without asking, and cried on my bedroom floor when her parents nearly divorced. She knew how much I cared about my reputation, how hard I had worked to earn the teachers' trust, and how close I was to securing the journalism scholarship I'd been chasing since freshman year.

She also knew that I had never liked Liam Mercer.

So why did her comment feel less like a warning and more like a threat?

"You're going to burn a hole through that screen."

I looked up.

Liam stood at the kitchen entrance wearing a grey sweatshirt and black jeans. His hair was still damp, but at least it wasn't dripping on the floor this time.

"Do you always read other people's phones over their shoulders?" I asked.

"Only when they're glaring at them like the phone owes them money."

I locked the screen.

He walked towards the cupboard, opened it, and stared inside.

"Where are the mugs?"

"Top shelf."

He reached for one, then paused when he noticed my expression.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"That's a convincing nothing."

I pushed my phone into my pocket. "Someone posted a picture of us."

His hand stopped inside the cupboard.

"Us?"

"At the front door. Last night."

He took out a mug and closed the cupboard carefully.

"Let me guess. I'm the criminal, and you're the poor girl whose mother made a terrible decision."

"Something like that."

"Then why do you look like you're the one who got caught doing something wrong?"

The question landed harder than it should have.

"Because people are already talking, and I haven't even done anything."

Liam leaned against the counter. "Welcome to my world."

I wanted to tell him that his world was the result of his own choices. He had hit Caleb Brooks. He had earned the suspension. He had a reputation long before he arrived at my house.

But the photograph on my phone reminded me that people were perfectly willing to invent a story before they knew the facts.

"I don't want this affecting school," I said.

"Then don't give them anything to talk about."

He picked up his mug and left the kitchen.

I watched him go, annoyed that he'd managed to make me feel as though I were the one being unreasonable.

My phone vibrated.

A message from Tessa appeared.

We need to talk before school. Don't make this worse than it already is.

I typed, What exactly do you mean by that?

Three dots appeared.

Disappeared.

Then her reply came.

Just meet me at the lockers. Please, Harper.

That was the first time all morning that I felt genuinely afraid.

Not of Liam.

Of what Tessa knew.

The rumours had multiplied by the time I reached Riverdale High.

Someone had edited the photograph into a collage. In one picture, I was standing beside Liam at the front door. In another, I was sitting beside him in the cafeteria during freshman year, when our English teacher had assigned us to the same table for a group exercise.

The second photograph was at least two years old.

The caption read: Maybe this has been going on longer than we thought.

I stopped in the corridor.

I remembered that class. Liam had barely spoken to anyone, and when I asked him to contribute to our assignment, he had told me that I talked too much.

I'd called him arrogant.

He'd called me a walking report card.

We finished the assignment with the highest mark in the class and never spoke again.

Someone had apparently decided that was evidence of a secret romance.

"Harper!"

Tessa hurried towards me, her blonde ponytail swinging behind her. She wore the worried expression she usually reserved for moments when she wanted something from me.

She grabbed my arm and pulled me towards the quieter end of the corridor.

"Tell me you didn't know he was moving in with you."

"I didn't know until yesterday."

"Your mother is actually letting him live in your house?"

"Eight weeks, apparently."

Tessa stared at me as though I'd announced I was joining the circus.

"Eight weeks? Harper, that's practically an entire school term."

"Thank you. I can count."

"This isn't funny."

"I'm aware."

She glanced around before lowering her voice.

"You need to be careful. People are already saying you knew him before the suspension. If the teachers start thinking you're involved in whatever happened with Caleb, it could affect your scholarship."

That stopped me.

"My scholarship has nothing to do with Liam."

"Of course it does. You're supposed to be the responsible one. The girl who gets good grades and stays out of trouble. Now you're living with the school's most notorious troublemaker."

"He's not a criminal, Tessa."

Her expression changed.

It was small, barely there, but I noticed it.

"Did I say he was?"

"No. But you keep talking as if he's guilty of everything people accuse him of."

"Because he has a history, Harper."

"So do most people."

"Not like him."

She said it too quickly.

I folded my arms. "What exactly do you know about what happened with Ruby?"

Tessa went still.

For a moment, the noise of the corridor seemed to fade around us.

Then she laughed, a short, unconvincing sound.

"Ruby? Liam's little sister?"

"Yes."

"Nothing. Why?"

I studied her face.

Yesterday, the anonymous account had sent me a photograph of Liam standing beside Ruby outside school. It showed her books scattered across the pavement and her schoolbag torn open.

The message beneath it had said that the girl who ruined Ruby's life was closer to me than I thought.

I had spent half the night trying to convince myself that the sender was lying.

Now my best friend was standing in front of me, refusing to look me in the eye.

"I saw a picture of them," I said carefully. "Someone sent it to me."

Tessa's grip tightened around the strap of her bag.

"Who?"

"I don't know."

"Did you reply?"

"No."

"Good. Don't. Whoever sent it is probably trying to stir up trouble."

"How would they know I received it?"

She blinked.

I hadn't told her the message was anonymous. I hadn't even told her there was a message.

For a second, neither of us spoke.

Then the bell rang.

Tessa stepped back.

"I have to get to class," she said. "Just stay away from Liam as much as you can, okay?"

She walked away before I could ask another question.

I watched her disappear into the crowd, the uneasiness in my stomach growing heavier with every step she took.

By second period, I had almost convinced myself that I was being paranoid.

Then Ms. Reed announced the journalism project.

She stood at the front of the classroom holding a stack of papers, her red-framed glasses balanced on the end of her nose.

"As you know, Riverdale High is preparing a special feature on the history of Maplewood," she said. "The best submissions will be published in the school magazine and presented at the community heritage evening next month."

I straightened in my chair.

This was exactly the sort of project that could strengthen my scholarship application. I had already planned to write about how Maplewood had changed over the past twenty years, focusing on the people who had helped shape the town.

Ms. Reed continued.

"I've paired everyone according to complementary strengths. You'll conduct interviews, research local records, and produce a written feature together."

I pulled out my notebook.

"Harper Bennett."

I looked up.

"Ethan Cole."

Ethan, seated two rows ahead, turned around and grinned at me.

I smiled back.

Then Ms. Reed read the next name.

"Liam Mercer."

My smile disappeared.

"And Harper Bennett."

The class erupted into whispers.

Someone near the windows actually laughed.

I stared at Ms. Reed, waiting for her to correct herself.

She didn't.

"Ms. Reed," I said, raising my hand. "Could I speak with you after class?"

"Certainly."

"Privately?"

Her expression sharpened. "Is there a problem with your assigned partner?"

I could feel everyone watching me.

"No," I said, because the truth was complicated and I wasn't ready to explain it in front of thirty students. "I just wanted to clarify something."

"Then we'll speak after class."

I sank into my seat.

Across the room, Liam sat with his chair tipped back against the wall. He looked as if being paired with me was no more interesting than being told to clean the whiteboard.

When our eyes met, he lifted his eyebrows.

I mouthed, Seriously?

He shrugged.

I wanted to throw my notebook at him.

After class, I waited until the other students had left before approaching Ms. Reed's desk.

"Is there any chance I could switch partners?" I asked.

"Why?"

I had prepared several answers on the walk over. None sounded reasonable now that I was standing in front of her.

"Because I think the situation at home might make it difficult to work together."

"Your mother told me Liam would be staying with you temporarily. I don't see how that prevents you from completing a journalism assignment."

"It doesn't. Not exactly."

Ms. Reed folded her hands on the desk.

"Harper, I chose you and Liam because I think the two of you could produce something worthwhile. You approach stories differently. You like structure and evidence. He has an eye for details other students overlook."

I stared at her.

"You've never worked with him."

"I have read his previous assignments."

"He's been suspended."

"And he is still a student at this school."

Her words were calm, but there was no room for argument.

"The project is worth twenty percent of your term grade," she added. "You will receive individual marks for your contributions, but the final feature must be completed together. I expect both of you to take it seriously."

Twenty percent.

My scholarship application.

My carefully maintained record.

All tied to a boy who had arrived at my house with one bag and an attitude that could strip paint off a wall.

"Understood," I said.

"Good. Your first task is to visit the Maplewood Public Library after school and review its local archives. You'll need to submit a proposed angle by Friday."

I thanked her and left.

Liam was waiting outside the classroom.

"Let me guess," he said. "You tried to get rid of me."

I walked past him.

"That obvious?"

"Your face gave it away."

"Then consider this a warning. I intend to get the highest mark in the class, and I won't let you ruin it."

He fell into step beside me.

"That's nice. I intend to pass without spending every waking hour discussing the fascinating history of a town that peaked when they built the shopping centre."

"You're impossible."

"And yet, here we are."

He sounded amused, which made me even angrier.

"You could at least pretend to care."

His expression changed.

For a second, the sarcasm disappeared, leaving something tired and distant behind it.

"You think I don't care about anything?"

I opened my mouth.

Nothing came out.

He looked away first.

"Library after school," he said. "Don't be late."

Then he walked off, leaving me standing in the corridor with a feeling I couldn't quite name.

I had expected him to be difficult.

I hadn't expected him to make me question whether I understood him at all.

At lunch, I found another message from the anonymous account.

This time, there was no photograph.

Just a sentence.

You should ask your best friend what she posted about Ruby.

I read it once.

Then again.

My fingers had gone cold.

I opened Tessa's profile and scrolled through her recent posts. Nothing looked unusual. Pictures from the weekend, a video from the school football game, a selfie with the caption protect your peace.

I went further back.

Nothing.

I searched for Ruby's name.

Still nothing.

Maybe the account was lying. Maybe someone had hacked an old profile or was trying to make me distrust my best friend.

I wanted that to be true.

Then I remembered Tessa's face when I'd mentioned Ruby that morning. The way she'd asked who sent me the photograph. The way she'd insisted I stay away from Liam before I'd even told her what the anonymous message said.

I opened our private chat and typed:

Did you ever post anything about Ruby Mercer?

My thumb hovered over the send button.

I couldn't do it.

Not yet.

Instead, I put the phone away and spent the rest of lunch pretending to listen while Ethan talked about the journalism project.

When the final bell rang, I headed towards the library, determined to focus on something I could actually control.

Liam was waiting outside the school gates with his hands in his pockets.

"You took your time," he said.

"It's been three minutes."

"Four."

"Do you want to do this project or argue about the concept of time?"

"Depends. Which one gets me a better grade?"

I started walking.

He followed.

We had nearly reached the main road when my phone vibrated again.

The anonymous account had sent another message.

This one contained a link to an old post.

I stopped so abruptly that Liam nearly walked into me.

"What now?" he asked.

I opened the link.

The page took a few seconds to load. When it did, I saw a photograph of Ruby Mercer standing in the school corridor, her face turned away from the camera. Someone had written a cruel caption beneath it. The comments were worse.

I recognised the account that had posted it.

I recognised the words.

And I recognised the date.

Two years ago.

My breath caught as I scrolled to the bottom of the screenshot.

There, beneath the cruel jokes and laughing reactions, was a comment from an account I knew better than my own reflection.

Tessa Grant: She really thought he liked her. This is embarrassing.

I couldn't move.

I couldn't even blink.

The account sent one final message.

Now ask yourself why your best friend wanted Liam suspended.

"What are you looking at?"

Liam's voice was close enough to make me jump.

I locked my phone, but he had already seen the expression on my face.

His eyes narrowed.

"Harper."

I looked at him.

For the first time since he'd arrived at my house, I had no sarcastic answer ready.

"Who sent you that?" he asked.

"I don't know."

He studied me for a long moment.

Then his gaze dropped to the phone in my hand.

"Was it about Ruby?"

I couldn't answer.

His jaw tightened, and the guarded expression I'd seen the night before settled over his face again.

"Right," he said quietly.

He stepped away from me.

"Liam, wait."

He didn't.

He walked towards the library, leaving me beside the road with the worst possible discovery burning through my thoughts.

My best friend had helped humiliate his sister.

And somehow, someone believed that was only the beginning.

I had always believed that being a good person meant making the right choices.

Study hard. Tell the truth. Keep your promises. Don't hurt people just because you can.

It was a simple enough list, and for most of my life, I had followed it.

I had never cheated on a test, never deliberately spread a rumour, and never done anything that might jeopardise the future I had planned for myself. My mother liked to tell people that she didn't worry about me because I had a good head on my shoulders.

Teachers trusted me. My parents praised me. Other students came to me when they needed notes before an exam or someone to proofread an essay.

I liked being that girl.

The girl people trusted.

The girl who did the right thing.

But standing outside Maplewood Public Library, watching Liam Mercer walk away from me, I began to wonder if I had confused being good with being careful.

Because I had seen that post two years ago.

Not the screenshot the anonymous account had sent me. The original post.

I remembered the photograph of Ruby in the corridor. I remembered the comments beneath it. I remembered feeling sick when I realised how many people were laughing at a girl who had done nothing to deserve it.

I had reported the post to a teacher.

That was the part I had repeated to myself whenever the memory surfaced.

I had reported it.

What I never mentioned was what happened after that.

The post disappeared for a few days. Then another appeared. People whispered about Ruby in the corridors, and Tessa told me the whole thing had been exaggerated. She said Ruby had been chasing a boy who never liked her, that she had made herself look foolish, and that people were only reacting to what she had done.

I had wanted to believe her.

It was easier than admitting that my best friend could be cruel.

So I stayed quiet.

And now Liam's sister was carrying the consequences of something I had watched happen.

"Harper."

I looked up.

Liam had stopped near the library entrance. He was staring at me with an expression I couldn't read.

"Are you coming or not?"

I glanced at the phone in my hand.

"I thought you were angry with me."

"I am."

The bluntness of his answer made me flinch.

"Then why are you waiting?"

"Because Ms. Reed assigned us a project, and I'm not interested in getting another lecture from the school over something that has nothing to do with our assignment."

He pushed open the library door.

"Unless you've changed your mind about doing the work."

I followed him inside.

I didn't know whether to be relieved or offended.

Probably both.

The library smelled of old books, floor polish, and the faint cinnamon scent of the coffee shop next door. Sunlight fell through the tall windows, illuminating dust in the air.

Liam headed straight for the local history section.

I followed with my notebook and laptop, trying to ignore the fact that we had barely spoken since the message arrived.

"We need a topic," I said, opening my notebook. "Something with enough historical material for a proper feature, but interesting enough that people will actually read it."

"You're the journalist."

"We're both journalists for the purposes of this project."

"Then why are you asking me?"

I stared at him.

He pulled a book from the shelf and glanced at its cover.

"Relax. I'm thinking."

"You could try doing it without being unpleasant."

He looked at me over the book.

"You could try asking a question without sounding like you're interviewing a suspect."

My mouth closed.

He returned the book to the shelf and pulled out another.

For several minutes, we worked in silence. I searched the library's digital catalogue while Liam examined old photographs and local newspaper clippings. Despite his attitude, he was surprisingly thorough. He checked dates, compared names, and noticed inconsistencies I would have overlooked.

When I found a folder about the redevelopment of Maplewood's old industrial district, he leaned over my shoulder to read the description.

"That could work," he said.

I turned to him, surprised.

"You agree with me?"

"Don't make it a big moment."

"I wasn't."

"You looked like you wanted to frame the occasion."

I rolled my eyes, but I felt the corner of my mouth lift.

It was the first time since yesterday that I had almost smiled around him.

Almost.

Then my phone vibrated.

A message from Tessa.

Where are you? We need to talk.

I typed back.

At the library. What did you mean by that comment about Ruby?

The reply came almost immediately.

What comment?

I stared at the screen.

Then I sent her a screenshot of the old post.

For several seconds, nothing happened.

Finally, the typing indicator appeared.

Harper, that was two years ago. We were kids.

I read the message twice.

Two years ago, I was fifteen. Tessa had been fifteen. Ruby had been younger than both of us.

We had all been kids.

But only one of us had been the subject of the post.

I typed, You knew she was being bullied.

Tessa replied, I didn't know it would get that bad.

I swallowed.

You were making fun of her.

Everyone was saying those things. I wasn't the only one.

I looked at the words until they blurred.

That was the problem with Tessa. She could always find a way to make something terrible sound ordinary. If everyone did it, nobody was responsible. If something happened a long time ago, nobody had to answer for it. If admitting the truth threatened her, then the truth needed to be reconsidered.

I had spent years accepting those explanations because I wanted to believe the best about her.

Now I wasn't sure whether I had been loyal or simply afraid of losing my place in her life.

"Bad news?"

Liam's voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

I turned my phone face down.

"No."

He glanced at the phone, then back at me.

"That sounded convincing."

"Can we please focus on the project?"

He held my gaze for a moment before stepping away.

"Sure."

He didn't ask again.

For some reason, that made me feel worse.

We found our topic in a box of archived newspaper clippings.

In the early 1990s, Maplewood had closed several factories, leaving hundreds of families without work. Local residents had organised a community campaign to save the town's public spaces, eventually persuading the council to turn an abandoned warehouse into a youth centre.

The building still stood on Industrial Road, although it had been closed for years.

"We could interview people who were involved in the campaign," I said, making notes. "Find out what happened to the youth centre and why it was shut down."

Liam studied a faded photograph of the old building.

"People probably cared about it because they needed somewhere to go."

"That's a good angle."

He shrugged.

"It's obvious."

"Obvious things can still be worth writing about."

He looked at me.

For once, he didn't make a joke.

I wrote down the idea, then added a list of potential interviewees. We would need to visit the town archives, speak to someone at the council, and find residents who remembered the campaign.

I could see the article taking shape in my mind. It would be thoughtful and well researched, the kind of feature that showed I could do more than report school events.

The kind of work that might help me win the scholarship.

I wanted that scholarship more than I admitted to anyone.

It wasn't just about attending a prestigious journalism programme. It was about proving that all the hours I had spent studying, editing articles, and turning down invitations because I had deadlines would lead somewhere.

My mother had worked hard to give me opportunities. She never complained about the bills, but I knew what things cost. I knew how carefully she planned our expenses, how often she put off buying something for herself until she was certain I had everything I needed.

I wanted to give her a reason to stop worrying.

I wanted to leave Maplewood for college knowing I had earned my place there.

And I wanted to become a journalist whose work mattered.

But the more I thought about the scholarship, the more I realised how much I had to lose if the truth about Ruby came out.

My name was attached to the school newspaper. My teachers knew me as a responsible student. My application included recommendations from people who believed I had integrity.

If they discovered that I had watched someone being bullied and stayed silent, would they still believe I deserved the opportunities I wanted?

I looked across the table at Liam.

He was reading an old article about the youth centre, one finger resting against the edge of the page.

He wanted people to stop treating his family as if they were the problem.

I wanted to be the kind of person who stood up for people like his sister.

Yet when I had been given the chance to do exactly that, I had chosen the safer option.

I looked down at my notes.

For the first time, I couldn't tell whether I was trying to protect my future or protect the lie that had made my future possible.

We left the library shortly after five.

Liam carried the folder of newspaper clippings while I held the list of possible interviewees. The air had turned cool, and a breeze swept dry leaves across the pavement.

We walked in silence until we reached the corner where our route home separated.

"I owe you an apology," I said.

Liam stopped.

"For what?"

"For not telling you about the message."

"You don't owe me an apology for that."

"I also shouldn't have assumed you were guilty of everything people said about you."

He looked away towards the road.

"Did you assume I was guilty?"

I hesitated.

That was all the answer he needed.

"Right."

"Liam, I'm trying to be honest."

"Then be honest."

His voice wasn't loud, but something in it made me pay attention.

"Don't apologise because you feel bad about what happened to me. Don't say you believe me because you want me to like you. If you think I deserved what happened, say that."

"I don't think you deserved to be suspended without anyone considering the full story."

"That's not what I asked."

I tightened my grip on the folder.

"I don't know what happened between you and Caleb. I know you hit him, and I know there has to be more to it than what people are saying."

"Why?"

"Because of Ruby."

His face changed at the mention of his sister.

It wasn't anger exactly. It was something more guarded, as though I had reached for a door he had spent two years trying to keep shut.

"What do you know about Ruby?"

I could have told him.

I could have admitted that I had seen the post, that I had reported it privately, and that I had done nothing when the bullying continued.

The truth was sitting between us, waiting for me to say it.

But I thought about my scholarship application. My mother's pride. The possibility that Liam would never look at me the same way again.

I thought about losing Tessa, even after everything I had just learned.

And I said nothing.

Liam gave a humourless laugh.

"That's what I thought."

He handed me the folder.

"See you at home, Harper."

He walked away before I could find the courage to stop him.

I stood on the pavement, watching him disappear around the corner.

I had wanted him to understand that I wasn't like the people who had hurt his sister.

Instead, I had given him another reason not to trust me.

At home, my mother was preparing dinner when I walked into the kitchen.

"How was your project meeting?"

"Fine."

She glanced over her shoulder.

"Just fine?"

"We found a topic. We're going to write about the old youth centre."

"That sounds interesting."

She turned back to the stove.

"Your school called this afternoon."

My stomach dropped.

"Why?"

"Apparently, someone posted a photograph of you and Liam online. The vice principal wanted to know whether there had been any trouble at home."

I closed my eyes briefly.

Of course.

"There's been no trouble."

"Good. Because I don't want rumours affecting your schoolwork. You have worked too hard for that."

"I know, Mum."

She turned to face me.

"I mean it, Harper. I offered Liam a place here because his mother needs help, and I believe we should be there for people when they need us. But that doesn't mean you have to become involved in every problem he brings with him."

I stared at her.

"What if the problem isn't entirely his fault?"

My mother paused.

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing. I'm just saying that maybe people don't know the whole story."

"Then let the school deal with it. You have your own future to think about."

She said it gently, but I heard the message underneath.

Stay out of trouble.

Protect what you've earned.

Don't make this your problem.

I nodded because it was easier than explaining that it had already become my problem long before Liam moved into our house.

Later that evening, I sat at my desk and opened my laptop.

My scholarship application was saved in a folder labelled FUTURE. Inside were my grades, recommendation letters, personal statement, and a list of everything I needed to submit before the deadline.

I clicked on the personal statement.

The first paragraph described my belief that journalism mattered because people deserved to have their stories told truthfully.

I read it three times.

Then I closed the document.

I couldn't bear to look at it.

My phone vibrated on the desk.

An unknown number.

You think you're better than Tessa because you reported the post privately?

I sat up straight.

Another message appeared.

You had the chance to tell the truth when Ruby needed someone. You chose your reputation instead.

My fingers went numb.

I typed, Who is this?

The reply came quickly.

Someone who remembers what you did.

I stared at the screen, my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

Then a final message appeared.

If you want Liam to forgive you, stop pretending you're innocent.

I dropped the phone onto the desk.

A floorboard creaked in the hallway.

I turned towards my bedroom door just as Liam's shadow passed beneath it.

For one irrational second, I wondered whether he had sent the messages.

Then I remembered the look on his face when I had failed to answer his question outside the library.

He didn't need an anonymous account to tell me I had let his sister down.

He already had enough reasons to believe it.

I opened my desk drawer and took out an old notebook from my freshman year. I kept it because I used to write down ideas for newspaper articles in it.

I flipped through the pages until I found the date of the original post.

There was a name written in the margin beside it.

Ruby Mercer.

Underneath, in my own handwriting, were five words.

Tell someone. Don't let it continue.

I had written that reminder to myself two years ago.

I had even underlined it.

And still, I had done nothing that mattered.

I closed the notebook and held it against my chest, unable to escape the person I had been.

Tomorrow, I would have to see Liam at school. I would have to work beside him, speak to him, and pretend I could separate our project from the truth I was hiding.

But the truth was no longer staying quietly in the past.

Someone knew what I had done.

Someone wanted me to pay for it.

And if I continued to protect myself, I was going to lose the one thing I had always believed made me a good person.

My integrity.