Boys Will Be Boys

Chapter Twenty-Six

Author's Note:

I'm so sorry. I have no other words. Gah.

xoxo,
Q.

I’ve been staring at this picture for a solid twenty minutes now, without exaggeration. Honestly, I’ve probably been staring at it for even more. I keep telling my brain to start functioning and tell me what it means, but I just can’t. So I decide to procrastinate, pulling out my phone and dialing Nate.

“What do you want?” He says as a greeting.

“I sold my soul to Josie Guthrie and I’m so sorry.” I blurt out quickly in one breath.

“What?” Nate says, completely lost.

I sigh. “I needed something from Josie Guthrie, so I told her you asked Jess out in order to get it. I’m sorry. I feel like a total jerk.”

“Good. You should.” Nate says. “But what is it you wanted from her?”

“Never mind. Just believe that it was important.” I say. “Are we cool?”

“Of course, man.” Nate replies, easily. “Talk to you later?”

“Yeah.” I answer and end the call.

I focus my attention back on the picture.

I can’t.

I just.

I don’t even.

Who could’ve possibly taken this picture? There’s no way Emery knew this was taken.

To clarify, the picture is of Emery and I in St. Thomas’ Psychiatric Hospital, when he took me to meet Ember. We’re holding hands and my lips are pressed to his cheek. We’re both completely unaware that the picture is being taken.

So here’s my question.

Who took that picture?

I already know it wasn’t Josie. After I promised to give her valuable information on Nate and Jess—which I still feel guilty about—she spilled all the details and told me that she got the tip from an anonymous email she couldn’t trace and that they would send the picture if Josie promised to tell everyone that Emery was the one who told her.

So whoever it was really wanted me to think Emery was the one who told.

I still have no idea.

And it’s aggravating me.

“Gabe!” I yell.

“What?” he shouts back.

“Come help me!” I demand.

I hear him grumble, but then his shuffling footsteps can be heard in the hallway and then my door opens and he comes in.

“What do you want?” He asks, closing the door behind him.

“Come help me figure out who outed me.” I say.
Suddenly he’s interested.

He grabs a chair and pulls up next to me. “Hold up. I thought Emery was the one who outed you.”

I shake my head and point to the picture on my screen. “No, look.”

Gabe really doesn’t need as long as I took to gather the same amount of information.

“Dude, there’s no way Emery knew this picture was being taken.” He says.

I nod, insistently. “I know. But then who took it?”