Free Modern Monsters (Entangled Teen) by Kelley York

having any clue who raped her. If she’s going to pass him by on the street. If it could happen again, because he got away with it once. If she isn’t fully convinced it was me, how can she sleep at night knowing the real rapist is still out there?

Chapter Eight
    Apparently evidence does not matter once a group of high school students gets wind of a juicy rumor. They grab it in their teeth and run with it like wild animals, zeroing in on the person it’s about. Technically, that person would be Callie but since she isn’t here…I’m next in line.
    It’s a subtle change. People stare at me. They whisper in class and then twist to look in my direction before someone nudges them and whispers, “Don’t stare!” I am this dark shadow to point at and talk about in the halls. Suddenly everyone was Callie Wheeler’s best friend just so they can say how they saw this coming, how they knew I was the sort of person to do something like this. Aaron watches me like a hungry lion, and it’s all I can do to hover close to Brett’s side because it’s the only place I truly feel safe from being eaten alive.
    It isn’t just them, either. It isn’t school and it isn’t home. Thursday afternoon as Brett and I are walking to his car, someone whose face looks vaguely familiar approaches with a smile. I start to ask what he wants but Brett grabs my arm and begins dragging me full force to the car. The man follows right on our heels and I see he has a recording device of some kind in his hand, holding it up as he begins to say, “You’re Victor Howard, right? Just a moment of your time!”
    Brett pushes me into the passenger’s seat before I’ve fully realized what just happened and he whips around, glaring. “No fucking comment,” he says, before getting into the car and speeding out of the parking lot.
    My heart is galloping at a steady hundred miles an hour. “W-w-what—”
    “Craig something-or-other,” he hisses. “He’s from one of the local news stations.”
    I swallow hard. “I d-don’t understand…”
    “It’s a small town, Vic. The media must have gotten wind of it and want to find out more.”
    No. It still isn’t processing. Me, the guy who has flown under the radar all his life, the designated driver, the nobody…and now the news wants my story? This confuses me more than anything else, but I can tell Brett is livid.
    “They’ll turn this into a fucking sideshow,” he growls. “For you and Callie both. Don’t talk to them, no matter what, got it?”
    “But…” If I tell my side of the story, wouldn’t that be a good thing?
    “ No matter what, Vic. My dad is going to tell you the same thing.” At the next stoplight, he looks over at me. “Promise?”
    I slump back into my seat and close my eyes, unsure what to do with the overwhelming sense of nausea overtaking me. “I promise.”

    Friday morning, Craig something-or-other is back. This time with a camera in hand. He doesn’t approach us, but I see him from across the parking lot snapping pictures while I stare, dumbfounded. Brett shoves me to his side and I duck my head as we hurry to the school, taking solace inside where—I’m guessing, hoping—a reporter can’t follow. Mr. Mason told me the same thing Brett did: not to talk to him under any circumstance, and that he’s probably been to my house and doesn’t yet realize where I’m staying. That could change soon.
    I am beyond exhausted. I sit numbly through classes. By the time we get to lunch, I have to quietly excuse myself and slip outside to be alone. Not that Brett listens. He follows and sits next to me on the bench and asks me what’s wrong while I’m slouching forward, pressing my palms into my eyes, trying not to cry.
    Brett says nothing but I feel his hand on my back, reassuring. My whole body aches from the built-up tension. I thought with the DNA test cleared, this would be over. Yet I feel like it’s only the beginning.
    I tried to call Mom a few nights ago to