The hallway seemed to tilt as I watched Zayelle drag Jacinta toward the office. For a split second, I felt a wave of relief—the truth was coming out. Jace would stay. The "shaken soda can" would finally be emptied.
But Zayelle stopped at the corner of the hallway. She turned her head, looking back at me over her shoulder. The smirk she gave me wasn't one of victory over Jacinta; it was the look of a predator who had just spotted a second, easier target.
"You really thought I was doing this for us, Cass?" Zayelle’s voice was like a blade. "I told you. You’re a thorn. And I’m tired of bleeding."
She reached into her designer tote bag and pulled out a worn, familiar book with bent corners.
My heart stopped. My lungs seized.
"My diary," I whispered, my voice failing me. "How did you—"
"Y
