”**
No one knows you and Drea are working together.
Not after everything.
At school, you barely look at each other — like strangers who share a hallway and nothing else. It’s believable. Too believable.
But behind that?
You made a deal.
The first time you say Carissa’s name out loud, it tastes bitter.
You’re sitting across from Drea in an empty classroom, sunlight cutting through the blinds.
“She told everyone I was gay,” you say, voice steady but tight. “And that I assaulted her.”
Drea doesn’t interrupt. She just watches you — really watches.
“…That’s not just gossip,” she says finally. “That’s reputation murder.”
You nod once. “I don’t want her embarrassed.”
A pause.
“I want her exposed.”
Drea leans back in her chair, thinking.
“Okay,” she says slowly. “Then she’s mine.”
Your eyes flick up to hers.
“And Max?” she asks.
You don’t hesitate.
“Mine.”
There’s something dangerous in the silence that follows.
Not hesitation.
Agreement.
The Rules
You say them like it’s casual — like it doesn’t mean everything.
“No getting caught.” “No backing out.” “No going soft.”
Drea smirks slightly. “You think I go soft?”
You tilt your head. “I think you used to.”
That hits.
She exhales, then nods. “…Fair.”
Your Move (Against Max)
You don’t confront him.
You get close enough to watch.
You attend one of his “accountability” meetings — quiet, observant, almost invisible. You let him talk. Let him build this image of being changed.
Then you start noticing things.
The slips. The fake apologies. The way he still manipulates the room.
You start documenting.
Not dramatically.
Carefully.
Drea’s Move (Against Carissa)
Drea plays a different game.
She befriends Carissa.
Laughs at her jokes. Sits with her at lunch. Gains her trust like it’s nothing — because Drea knows exactly how girls like Carissa think.
And Carissa?
She talks.
Too much.
Late Night — The Real You Two
You’re on a call. No greetings. Just breathing on the other end for a second.
“She’s lying about more than just me,” you say quietly.
Drea’s voice comes through, low. “Good. That means she’s easier to break.”
“And Max?”
You look down at your phone, at the recordings, the notes.
“He hasn’t changed.”
A pause.
Then Drea:
“Perfect.”
The Dynamic
This isn’t friendship.
Not fully.
It’s sharper than that.
You understand each other in a way no one else does — not because you trust easily, but because you both know what it’s like to be humiliated and not forget it.
One day in the hallway, you pass Drea.
No eye contact.
No acknowledgment.
But as she walks past, she mutters just loud enough for you:
“Carissa’s cracking.”
You don’t look at her.
You just reply under your breath:
“Max is next.”