"Go on in, Laurel. Reform yourself real good—maybe they'll show you some leniency." Nelson smiled.
The entire class erupted in laughter behind him.
Damian stood at the back of the crowd, his arm around a new girlfriend.
"Acted so pure and innocent this whole time. Turns out she's a thug queen. Disgusting."
I didn't look at Damian. Didn't look at Nelson.
I looked calmly at the officer.
"I'll cooperate with the investigation."
Two officers flanked me, one on each side, and walked me out.
The chatter from the private room surged behind me like a tide.
"Nelson's got balls. Turning in one of his own like that."
"For real. I always knew something was off about Laurel Fox. Walking around with that cold face all the time."
"She's going away for a long time, right? Life, at least?"
I sat in the back seat of the squad car. The officer in the passenger seat turned to look at me.
"You're pretty calm for someone in your position. Already know what you did?"
I leaned back against the seat.
"I didn't do anything. Of course I'm calm."
At the police precinct, I was taken straight into an interrogation room.
Detective Mercer dropped a thick stack of files onto the table with a heavy thud.
"Laurel Fox. Ten years ago, the alley behind the college district. The victim had three fingers hacked off. You going to own up to that or not?"
I shook my head.
"No. I didn't hurt anyone."
He turned his laptop screen to face me.
"Still want to play tough? These are printed chat logs from the group, provided by the person who reported you."
I leaned in for a closer look.
The group was called "Fox Crew — Core Members."
In the chat history, an account with my photo as its avatar was giving orders.
"[Laurel Fox]: Tonight. The alley out back. Cripple that bleach-blond punk who doesn't know his place."
"[Nelson Whitney]: Got it, Laurel. The knife's ready."
"[Russ Pruitt]: I'll keep lookout. Already got someone to hack the surveillance."
I looked at the chat logs and nearly laughed out loud.
"Officer, these don't even have account IDs. Two burner phones and a couple of swapped avatars—anyone could fake this in five minutes."
Detective Mercer tapped open a photo.
"What about this?"
In the photo, I was wearing my high school uniform, holding up a machete nearly half a meter long. The blade was smeared with something red.
The background was the dim streetlight in the alley behind the college district.
"That's you, isn't it?"