Page 92 of Every Hidden Truth

“Remain calm?” he interrupted again, and I peeked over my shoulder in time to catch the bob of Principal Moore’s Adam’s apple as he faced down my irate father. “I can count on two hands the number of times my son has allowed me to see him cry. Remaining calm is the last thing on my mind. So I’ll ask one more time. What happened to my child?”

Aunt June and Uncle Henry flanked Ben. Ms. Acker and Mr. Rodriguez stood farther back, behind Principal Moore and Vice Principal Fields. Any stragglers in the front office were ushered into different counselors’ offices as Vice Principal Fields stepped forward.

“Let’s move this into the conference room where we can speak more privately,” he suggested, his tone soothing. Dad guided me after the others, an arm around my shoulders.

I was directed to a chair at a long, rectangular table in the conference room. Dad took the chair on my right as Ben lowered himself into the seat to my left. He clasped my hand in his as I stared at the glossy table, counting the individual grains of wood. Dad barked requests for information, and Principal Moore reluctantly offered him Ben’s phone.

One glance was all it took. Dad paled, shoving the phone away like it was radioactive. My gut clenched and contorted. I wished I could forever erase that look from his face.

“What is that?” Dad slumped in his chair, running his hand through his salty, chestnut hair. “Why—whatisthat?”

“A student received and promptly reported this picture to our theater teacher. It appears this photograph has been circulating around the school,” Principal Moore said. “As to its origin, I suggest you ask your son.”

I flinched, withering under the principal’s glare.

Mr. Rodriguez scowled as Ms. Acker murmured a sound of dismay, but it was the vice principal who spoke. “Phil, I believethere’s more to the story. In fact, we need to alert the police immediately.”

“The police?” Mr. Moore balked. “Over a stunt like—”

“A stunt?” Aunt June was on her feet, her chocolate eyes blazing. “You think my boys had anything to do with this?”

My heart warmed momentarily at the title she granted me, but I sunk lower in my chair to escape Mr. Moore’s glower. He’d never liked me much. “Well, ask them! They’re the ones in that filthy photo.”

“Fuck you!” Ben’s chair flew backward as he stood, his expression murderous. “We didn’t take that damn photo. And we certainly didn’t send it around the school.”

Principal Moore swelled in outrage as Ben shouted more profanities. Aunt June tried to quell Ben’s anger, but he refused to back down. I couldn’t follow the argument. I was too distracted watching my father stare down at Ben’s phone, still lying on the table.

To stop the screaming, I took Ben’s hand, squeezing his fingers. He fell silent. Flushed and angry, he retrieved his chair and sank into it with a strangled sound. His fingers crushed mine until I feared he’d break my hand. Neither of us let go.

“Silas.” My dad’s voice cut through the room, silencing the conversations abruptly. I tentatively met his tortured gaze. “Do you know who took that picture?”

I clenched my jaw, unwilling to sayhisname. If I did, I would have to explain my accusation. They would force me to reveal everything, and I couldn’t. Icouldn’t.

“Son?”

Turning away, I squeezed my eyes shut, pressed my lips together, and bit my tongue until I tasted blood. Pressure on my fingers pulled my gaze to Ben, and he furrowed his brow, staring at me expectantly.

Of course, he wanted me to divulge the truth. To him, it was the only course of action. But it hadn’t happened to him. He hadn’t faced the violation of being held against his will, greedy hands grabbing and touching. He didn’t know the helplessness or the humiliation of begging for mercy when he knew he’d receive none. How could he possibly understand?

“Silas,” Ben croaked my name, begging me. “Tell them.”

Minutely, I shook my head, pleading with him to understand. But there was no acceptance in his expression.

“Tell them!” He set his jaw as determination solidified in his eyes. “Tell them or I will.”

And I hated him. In this moment, I hated him more than I ever thought possible.

When I didn’t speak, bitter betrayal colored his face, and he released my hand coldly. He faced the table, throat working as he prepared to speak.

But fuck that. He had no right. If anyone was going to finally speak the truth, it would be me, goddammit!

Unwillingly, spitefully, I wet my lips and swallowed the hate, pushing it down, down, down, as I said, “Eric Boyt.”

My voice caught as Ben’s head snapped my way, eyes widening.

Glaring at him, I refused to look away as I said, louder this time, “It was Eric Boyt.”

Everyone’s focus landed on me as the room fell into an eerie stillness.

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