Besides, if he really wanted to get back at me, he has everything he needs to totally ruin my life. He knows about Graphic Grrl. After the Artzfeed post, the quest to uncover my identity went viral. There’s even a whoisgraphicgrrl.com website. With a reward and everything.

Breaking that story would be way juicier than a repeat of my illegal trespassing and vandalism charges.

Tru didn’t set me up, which means he only confessed to save me. He sacrificed himself, for me. That kind of loyalty shouldn’t be punished by expulsion and whatever his parents will do to him. It should be rewarded. Revered. Returned.

“Oliver,” I blurt in the middle of his answer to yet another group project question, pushing to my feet as I snatch my backpack from the floor, “can I be excused?”

He studies me for a second, and I silently beg him to give me permission. Because I’m going whether he gives it or not, and I’d rather not get in bigger trouble for what I’m about to do than is absolutely necessary. Finally, he nods.

I’m out the door and racing down the hall in a flash.

Tru fell on his sword to protect me. And now it’s my turn to protect him.

I rush into the main office and throw open Principal Ben’s door before Agnes and Kyle even have time to notice me. I’ve had the entire run from senior seminar to build up my adrenaline for what I’m about to do.

Panting and desperate to make things right, I blurt, “Tru didn’t do it!”

Principal Ben just stares at me, eyes wide. Maybe barging in the same way Tru did two days ago wasn’t the most brilliant idea I’ve ever had, especially when I see who is sitting in the chairs across from his desk.

Mr. and Mrs. Dorsey.

The look on Mr. Dorsey’s face could melt the Iron Throne.

“Sloane?” Mrs. Dorsey asks.

Oh shit. I didn’t think this through before I raced inside. Not that I could have known Tru’s parents would be here. I didn’t know they were back in town.

My first thought is, Have they seen Tru already or did they come straight here before going home?

I can’t seem to form words. “Um…”

“What do you mean Tru didn’t do it?” Principal Ben asks, apparently not thrown by my unannounced arrival. “Do you have new evidence?”

Think, Sloane. Think.

“He, um…”

When I dashed out of senior seminar, my only plan had been to beg Principal Ben to reconsider, to tell him what my gut told me. I was running on certainty and adrenaline. But with three very intense pairs of eyes focused on me, I know gut feelings won’t be enough. I need real, tangible evidence. Evidence I don’t have.

I could confess, but where would that get me? I’d be expelled in Tru’s place, when neither of us is guilty. If he sacrificed himself to protect me, it’s kind of messed up to do the same. We could find ourselves in some never-ending cycle of self-sacrificing. They might just kick us both out and be done with it.

Great. What am I going to do?

I care about him too much to let him go down for this. For me. Even if it means never getting back to New York.

Oh God, I have an idea. It might be a royally stupid one, but it just might work. Or at least buy us some time.

“Principal, um…” I bite my lip, force myself to relax so I look as sincere as possible. “Principal Haverford,” I begin again, “I can’t stay quiet anymore. I know Tru didn’t vandalize the school.”

Tru’s parents must be stunned silent or something, because they just keep staring at me. Mr. Dorsey looks a bit like he’s ready to crush something and Mrs. Dorsey like she’s hoping I have the lifeline she so desperately wants for her son.

“How do you know this?” Principal Ben asks.

I take a deep breath and prepare myself for the fallout.

This is going to get me into a whole different kind of trouble. Without an audience, I might have had a chance at getting through this without anyone outside the office finding out. But that’s not an option at this point. If the Dorseys are here, that means they’re home and they know their son has been expelled. I have to do this now, or who knows what will happen to Tru?

I have to do it now, and there’s no going back.

“Because,” I say, not meeting the Dorseys’ interested gazes, “he was with me that night.”

Principal Ben gives me a sympathetic look. “Sloane, we don’t know what time the vandalism happened. Just because Tru was with you for part of the—”

“No,” I interrupt, sealing my fate as a perpetually grounded individual. “We were together all night.”

Mrs. Dorsey gasps, slaps her hand over her mouth in supposed outrage, but I can see the sparkle of relief in her eyes.

Mr. Dorsey huffs out an annoyed breath. Like he wanted Tru to be guilty, wanted to be able to punish him for this ultimate act of rebellion. Tough luck, dude.

Principal Ben blinks. Several times.

“I see…” he says. Clears his throat. Looks down at his desk, shuffles some papers. “So, ahem, then why didn’t you tell me this when Tru confessed?”

“Because my mom was there,” I say, as if the answer was too obvious to even ask. “And because she doesn’t approve of Tru. I was afraid of what she would say if she knew we were seeing each other.”

I hold my breath.

For several long moments, everyone is quite still. Frozen, and staring at me. No matter what happens, all I can feel is relief. I know I’ve done the right thing, saving Tru from his misguided attempt to protect me. Whatever happens after this…at least I’ve done that right.

Mom doesn’t look at me as I climb into the car.

Great. Another fun-filled drive.

“So, you heard,” I say.

She draws in a deep breath and then sighs. “Were you going to tell me?”

“What?” I feign innocence, buying myself even a few more seconds before Mom-rage is in full effect.

“About Tru.”

“Why would I?” I retort.

“Because I’m your mother,” she says, her voice way more calm than I expect as she pulls out into traffic.

“You expressly forbade me from having anything to do with him.” I pluck at the hem of my black Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. tee. “Must have slipped my mind to let you know we’re friends.”

“You were with him at Abbey Road, weren’t you?”

I see no point in lying anymore. My fate is sealed. “Yes.”

There is a long pause as she navigates her way onto the freeway, and then she asks, “How long have you been sexually active?”

I cough-choke on my own tongue.

Clearly I had not thought through that part of my non-existent plan. If I could magically climb into a Graphic Grrl strip right now and disappear forever rather than have this talk with Mom, I totally would.

I slump lower in my seat. “I’m not.”

“That’s not what your principal told me,” she says.

“God, you’re talking about my sex life with Principal Ben?” I cover my eyes with my hands. “I hope you have a nice therapy fund set aside.”

“Sloane…”

“Ugh, I’m not, okay,” I say. “I’m not sexually active.”

“Then you didn’t spend all Sunday night with Tru?” she asks. “When I thought you were upstairs—alone—and asleep?”

I could make this fight about something it’s not. Tell her that what I do in the privacy of my own room is none of her concern, that I am adult enough to make my own decisions about my life. But while that might score me some major Rebellious Youth points, in the end we would still be at war over this.

And, to be honest, I’m tired of being at war. I’m tired of tiptoeing around everything, terrified that I’ll do something against The Rules and wind up sentenced to Texas for life. I probably already am.

There’s no way I get out of this unscathed. Either I’m the girl who’s sleeping with the screw-up neighbor, or I’m the girl who lied to the principal. I’m going to face Mom-wrath no matter what I choose.

But I’m tired of playing the what-will-get-me-in-the-least-trouble game. And I’m tired of Mom thinking the worst of Tru, when he’s definitely one of the best.