Chapter 17: The Inbox

Drake's father read the email at the kitchen table, with his reading glasses on and his coffee going cold.

I stood in the doorway in a clean shirt, and I could not make my feet move.

Dean, Finley and Gabe had come in behind me, shoulder to shoulder.

Drake had pulled the truck into the drive three minutes before.

My mother sat across from her husband with her hands folded.

She had read it first, over his shoulder.

She hadn't said anything.

The photo took up the whole tablet screen.

It was grainy and gold and unmistakable.

Drake's father turned the tablet slowly to face the room.

Then he took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"The email is from an address with a gym's name in it," he said.

"It says, and I'm quoting, 'You should know what your daughter does in your garage.'"

"Stepdaughter," my mother said.

"Stepdaughter. Thank you." He folded his glasses. "Callie."

"Yes."

"I'm going to ask you one question. Take your time."

I nodded.

"Is everything in that picture something you wanted?"

My throat closed.

Behind me I could feel all four of them, not touching me, just there.

I could have said anything.

I could have said it was a mistake or a joke or a lie.

I could have hidden in my room for a week.

But I'd had two nights of keeping my eyes open, and I wasn't going back to shutting them.

"Yes," I said.

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