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  Oh God.

  I clutch my head in my hands. I’m trying to stop the thoughts from going round and round my brain, but I can’t. They’re stuck on a stupid, predictable loop. There isn’t a mute switch. I can’t turn it off.

  Ren’s probably laughing at me right now. Looking at my Instagram with no photos on it, thinking I’m this pathetic high school girl who waits for him outside his house.

  The darkness created by my palms is soothing, kinda.

  There’s a muffled sound of a familiar, distant voice.

  I lift my head out of my hands, squinting, to see who’s speaking. A strand of hair flops out of my bun and over my face.

  Seb is walking over in the direction of the concourse with a huge gang of guys from our year. He’s staring at me and has a slight frown.

  ‘Sis!’ he shouts, seemingly oblivious to the attention he’s drawing.

  The guys around him glance at me. Oh, why can’t he ever be quiet? My cheeks start to heat up.

  ‘What you doing? You all right?’ he hollers.

  I pull a face at him and nod by way of response – desperate to make him stop talking.

  ‘Fine,’ I mouth.

  Seb stops walking – he looks dangerously close to coming over.

  I clear my throat. ‘I’m just reading. R-e-a-d-i-n-g.’ I mouth the letters, pulling out my phone and gesticulating towards the screen.

  Everyone is looking at me. A hotness sweeps up my neck and across my cheeks. I stare at Seb, trying to laserbeam my thoughts into his brain: Please stop talking.

  Seb’s eyes snap with recognition, and then he smiles, waving at me as he wanders off with his group.

  I unlock my phone and start actually reading, the heat in my face simmering down.

  It’s open on Ren’s Instagram page. There’s hundreds of photos of him, all of which I’ve already seen. I start clicking through the images, back further and further, until I find ones he’s tagged in from when he was in Year Seven.

  He looks so tiny, like a little child. His cheeks big and round, skin tanned, and hair a messy mop of black.

  My heart starts to ache. I really can’t believe he’s having such a tough time with his manager. He’s so lovely. It’s bullying, really.

  I look down at my cracked hands. I can’t let my stupid nerves get in the way of helping. After all, Ren would do the same for me. Like when I first went to the gym: he came over, asked me what body area I wanted to work on, and drew me up an entire workout plan without me even asking. He was clearly busy – people kept coming to ask him for advice – but he stayed and talked me through all of it.

  Getting up off my bench, I start walking towards the leisure centre, which is attached to the school PE block. I ignore the crowds of people standing and nattering. Usually I would feel embarrassed walking by myself – but today I have a purpose.

  When I get to the entrance, I walk straight up to the woman on the front desk.

  She’s standing behind the counter, leaning to one side, raking a long-fingernailed hand through one of her blonde curls.

  I clear my throat.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she says, only half looking at me.

  I swallow. ‘Is Ren Moore here?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid he no longer works here.’

  Wait – what?

  ‘What – why did he leave?’ I blurt out.

  The woman looks at me fully – my too-big jumper, my greasy skin – then shakes her head. ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you that information. It’s confidential.’

  Oh God. What have I said? I sound and look like such a freak. But it’s about to get worse. It’s like my tongue doesn’t connect with my brain. My lips are shaking, but they still keep moving.

  ‘But I have to know. I really have to know. I’m . . .’

  I inhale.

  ‘. . . his sister.’

  The receptionist’s eyes widen.

  ‘You’re his sister?’

  ‘Yes.’ My cheeks are burning so much, I feel like they might actually catch alight.

  She purses her lips.

  ‘Just a moment. I need to speak to someone. Wait here.’

  CHAPTER 11

  Chloe

  The next morning, my head is thumping so hard I can’t move.

  Lying face down on my duvet, I feel numb.

  Completely and utterly numb. Like someone has plunged me into a bucket of ice. I try to nudge my arm up from underneath my chest, but I can’t.

  My breath is coming in short, sharp bursts.

  I don’t want to think about last night, but the feeling of that guy pressing me against the tree keeps coming back to me. His hands running up and down my body. His big face forcing itself onto mine. At one point, I thought he wasn’t going to stop. I’ve never felt scared like that with a guy before. Thank God I managed to push him off and get away.

  Oh God. I think I’m going to be sick!

  I leap up and run to the bathroom, feeling like death. I kneel on the cold tiled floor and dry-heave into the bowl.

  I stare into the toilet, retching, tears running down my cheeks.

  There’s a shrill voice from the other side of the door.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake. I need to use the bathroom. Look at you – hungover, and school today as well!’

  I clutch my ears to blot out Mum’s screechy voice, and retch again.

  There’s a long, drawn-out sigh from the other side of the bathroom door, then I hear her padding off to her en suite.

  I push out my hands in front of me. The tendons are shaking so hard they look like they might snap.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, I manage to stumble back to bed. I pull the duvet high up over me – catching sight of lipstick stains across the bedspread which I’ll have to wash before Mum sees and freaks out.

  I sigh and plug in the charger on my phone. The time flashes up – thirty minutes until I have to make it into school.

  I need to tell someone.

  Louise?

  For a brief moment I consider it, but something makes me pause. I can imagine her face when she hears what happened, her eyes alight in a mixture of sympathy and delight.

  I shake my head. No – she’s my friend. She would care.

  But I still don’t call her.

  Tom?

  My ears start to prickle at the thought. He knew I walked off with . . . What even was his name – Joshua? John??

  Even if he didn’t see, he’ll have heard about it. He will hate my guts.

  The first contact that appears when my phone loads up is Sven. There’s a flurry of messages.

  Sven_247 Hey, gorgeous. How are you?

  How’s your night going?

  Sven_247 Just looked back at your Instagram pic. Wow.

  Sven_247 How’s the party going?

  Sven_247 What’s up?

  Sven_247 What is going on?! Why aren’t you replying?

  There’s something about seeing five messages in a row that makes my stomach feel even queasier.

  God, what is wrong with me today? It’s fine. He always texts loads; it’s just because he cares.

  And right now I need someone who cares more than anything.

  I click open the phone and type a message.

  Chlo03 Sorry! My phone died. Had a bit of a night.

  The phone lights up with his online symbol almost instantly. Then I see Sven is typing . . .

  I wonder how he replies so quickly. Does he sit around all day, waiting for my messages? I push the thought to the back of my mind. I need someone like that. He’s so different to anyone else – Mum, or Tom. He’s completely focused on me. And it’s nice.

  Sven_247 Nah, it’s cool. I just got worried about you when you didn’t reply. How was your night?

  My stomach turns over as I dredge up the memory. His hands over me, his face on mine. Thankfully I got away after that, but not before he had almost grabbed my breast out of my dress.

  I blink at the screen and start typing.
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  Somehow, everything comes out. What J did. Tom. What happened at the party. I type and type and type. Like it’s not Sven, but a diary. Somehow it feels so much easier to tell this to Sven than it does to tell my mum. Or Tom. Or Louise. Or anyone. I can just type the words and get it all off my chest. And I know he’ll understand.

  There’s a pause after I hit send. I can see Sven is still online, but for the first time he doesn’t start typing immediately.

  I reread my words, splayed out across the screen. And a pric kling sensation runs across my arms.

  My eyes widen.

  Shit. What have I done?

  I don’t even know this guy. He could just ignore me right now, and I would look like a complete idiot.

  His icon lights up with the words, Sven is typing . . . and relief floods through my veins.

  What is wrong with me at the moment? My thoughts are so hysterical. Maybe I’ll ignore his next message. Take a couple of hours to reply to him. Yes, that’ll do it. That’ll make me feel OK again.

  My phone dings.

  I frown at the screen.

  What the—

  Sven_247 You got with a guy?

  Sven_247 ??

  Sven_247 What did you expect?

  I stare down at the phone, bile rising in my throat. It’s dinging every few seconds. Sven is sending a question mark in each new message.

  I throw my phone under the duvet, but it keeps dinging. Every sound makes my teeth stand on edge.

  I blink at my shaking hands.

  What did you expect?

  I glance at my short sequinned green dress, crumpled beneath me on the floor, and my phone vibrates again.

  Sven_247 Slut.

  I think of me looking at Tom on the other side of the room, flirting with all those guys. I feel hot humiliation course through my body. I clasp my hands to my chest.

  Rocking back and forth, I can feel J’s hands running over my breasts. I take a ragged breath, open my mouth, and howl silently so Mum can’t hear – black tears streaking down my cheeks.

  But I can’t make it stop. I can’t take it back.

  Under the covers, the phone keeps buzzing.

  DingDingDingDingDing.

  CHAPTER 12

  Amber

  The manager of the leisure centre leans across her desk. Her shoulders are broad, and she takes up most of the bare wood as she rests her muscular arms on the tabletop. We’re in a tiny room without windows, just to the right of the main gym area, and the electric lighting is making it feel like an interrogation.

  My mouth turns dry.

  The manager has her head tilted to one side, lips pursed, and her small eyes open wide. She speaks now in a deep, soft tone. I can barely look at her. I twist my fingers round and round in my palm and notice another speck of blood on my dry skin.

  I only catch snatches of what she’s saying.

  ‘. . . sorry. I can’t divulge this information, even to his sister . . . Suffice to say there were several incidents, and Ren has now left this employment.’

  Incidents?

  I really can’t imagine Ren being involved in any kind of ‘incident’, it just doesn’t seem right.

  My heart aches as I think of him sitting at home, staring at the computer, alone, depressed. It’s so incredibly unfair.

  ‘H-he wasn’t involved,’ I blurt out before I can stop myself.

  The manager blinks. ‘Excuse me?’

  My cheeks flush. ‘Sorry . . . um – he wasn’t involved in the incidents.’

  ‘Who wasn’t?’

  ‘Ren. He can’t have been. I know, um, him.’ The woman is staring at me like I’ve grown an extra head. I take a deep breath. ‘I think . . . he’s innocent.’

  The manager closes her mouth and gives a deep sigh. ‘Amber . . . Moore – is it?’

  ‘Yes,’ I whisper.

  ‘Well, Amber, I can’t go into details, but I can assure you the decision to let Ren go wasn’t taken lightly.’

  ‘What – you mean you fired him?’ I say, my voice sharper than I was intending.

  At that moment, the bell rings distantly, signalling the end of break. The manager glances at the school crest on my jumper. She stands up.

  ‘I’m sorry, that’s all we have time for. Would you like me to speak to your teachers, let them know what we’ve been talking about? I’m sure they’d be happy to offer you some support.’

  ‘No!’ I stand up so fast my backpack bumps the back of the chair I’ve been sitting on. ‘I mean, no – um, I’m fine.’

  ‘OK – well if you have any more co—’

  But I don’t hear the end of her sentence. I’ve already pushed open the door and am walking back through the corridor, out of the leisure centre.

  I walk so fast I start to get out of breath. Across the empty playground, through the concourse, towards the humanities block.

  As my pulse speeds up, my thoughts do too. I can imagine Ren’s face when he was told he was fired.

  ‘Incidents.’

  I see his sweet face crumpling when he was fired. I think of him, again, smiling at me, putting his hand on my shoulder.

  He barely knows me, really, but he still made the time to help me.

  It’s just so unfair. And wrong.

  As I’m walking to class, I’m so engrossed in my thoughts I don’t recognize a familiar deep, throaty laugh and a high, tinkling one until I’m right next to them both.

  I blink.

  Seb and Chloe are at the end of the corridor. She has her hand on her hip and her glossy hair flicked over one shoulder.

  Seb is leaning forward, gesticulating wildly as he talks and grinning at her. His eyes are fixed on Chloe so much he doesn’t even notice me.

  Seb hops between his two feet before shouting something and heading to class. Chloe smiles at him, shaking her head, and then steps into the classroom. She glances at me, and I feel myself flush a deep scarlet.

  Oh, God – did she see me staring?

  With my eyes fixed on the ground, I follow them in and sit down. I swear I almost saw a flash of disgust in Chloe’s eye. She probably no longer wants to speak to Seb just because she knows he’s my twin.

  And Ren – who am I kidding? Even if I help him get rehired, he’ll never like me. Why would he? He’s so good- looking, he could have literally anyone he wanted.

  I put my head down flat on the desk and stay like that for the rest of the lesson.

  CHAPTER 13

  Chloe

  Seb is standing outside class, leaning towards me. He’s smiling, but his expression seems strained.

  ‘Yeah, good night,’ he says, ‘but when I was heading back about midnight, I could’ve sworn I saw something. You and that guy from footy – What’s his name? James? – by the trees.’ Seb runs one hand across the back of his neck, his eyes focused on the wall behind me. ‘It didn’t look right. Was he . . . Were you OK?’

  For a split second my eyes widen, but then I quickly rearrange my features and roll my eyes. ‘Yeah.’ I snort. ‘Why wouldn’t I be OK?’

  In the classroom behind us, one of the guys shouts a joke and Seb shouts back. Before he has a chance to say any more about last night, I grin at them both and spin round, heading into the lesson.

  Seb taps me gently on the shoulder, but I pretend I haven’t noticed and slip into my seat next to Louise.

  When I look up, Seb is watching me from across the room, the crease across his brow deep and dark.

  * * *

  Thirty minutes into our biology lesson, I can’t concentrate on a word Ms Greenwood is saying. Her high, lilting voice keeps drifting in and out of my consciousness. I stare at the laminated desk in front of me, trying to focus on her explanation of plant cells. I actually quite like biology, but every few seconds my eye is caught by my phone, which keeps lighting up with new notifications.

  Louise wrinkles her nose and glances at the screen. ‘He’s keen.’

  I raise my eyebrows but don’t say anything. To be honest, my
stomach is still feeling slightly queasy.

  Sven hasn’t stopped messaging since this morning, and I haven’t sent a single one. After he called me a slut, he sent about six messages in a row apologizing, saying things like, I don’t know what came over me and I just hated the thought of you being with another guy.

  But despite his apologies, I couldn’t bring myself to reply. It was fun before: I could imagine someone who thought I was beautiful; someone who was always there in my pocket to flirt with; someone to make me feel better about Tom.

  But I didn’t know him. Not really. He was just words on my phone, not a person I could trust. Reading through my messages made me realize how much I’d opened up to a complete stranger – how vulnerable I’d been. And I felt scared.

  This morning, he’s messaged me even more than usual. Picking up old jokes we shared, sending me photos of things he’s up to. I gnaw on my thumbnail.

  Since I started first period biology, he’s sent twenty-three messages.

  Louise is now squinting down at her phone, scrolling through my Instagram profile.

  ‘God, Sven’s commented on every picture.’ She rolls her eyes.

  My stomach drops. Every single picture?

  ‘Mmm,’ I say, staring down at my textbook.

  Louise shoots me a look. ‘I mean, he’s hot and everything, but that is weird.’

  There’s a second where I don’t know what to say back, but then I just shrug.

  ‘Yeah, he’s obsessed.’ I try to keep my voice even, but there’s a slight tremor on the last word. I clear my throat.

  Louise doesn’t seem to have noticed. ‘So what happened with your guy at the party ? A couple of the others said you left together.’

  I take a few seconds to finish annotating the cell I’m drawing, then look back at Louise with a puzzled expression.

  ‘Who? Oh, that guy.’ I wrinkle my nose. ‘Yeah, he was all right. Nothing happened – he was a bad kisser and I was so out of it.’

  Louise looks at me for a moment, then glances back at her phone, which has a message from Jerome.