Chapter 9: Lisa’s Lie Takes Shape (Tim POV)

I walked away from Lisa in the courtyard, her “no idea what’s coming” ringing loud in my ears, that too-wide grin stuck in my head. Shook it off, tugged my hair quick, and headed to class, sneakers scuffing the path. She was up to something—could feel it, like a storm brewing—but I didn’t know what. Next day, she strutted through the halls, pink hair bouncing, boots clicking sharp on the tile. Caught her by the lockers, leaning close to some girl, whispering, her eyes flicking to me fast, then away. She smirked, popped her gum loud, and sauntered off, hips swaying like she owned the place. I zipped my backpack shut, slung it over my shoulder, and kept moving, but my gut twisted, uneasy.

At lunch, I grabbed a tray, slid into line in the cafeteria, the chatter loud around me. Smell of pizza and fries filled the air, trays clattering as people shuffled. I picked up a slice, dropped it on my plate, and turned for a table. That’s when I heard it—whispers, soft but sharp, cutting through the noise. “Tim? Yeah, with Lisa…” trailed off behind me. I glanced back—two girls at a table, heads bent close, eyes darting my way, then down. My sneakers squeaked as I walked, found an empty spot by the window, and sat, tray hitting the table hard. More whispers followed, a guy across the room muttering to his buddy, nodding at me quick before looking away. I tapped my foot under the table, fast, restless—what was she spreading now?

I poked at my pizza, crust crumbling under my fingers, but didn’t eat. Lisa’s voice from yesterday—pregnant, you’re the dad—mixed with her new hint, “what’s coming,” and it churned in my chest. She was too confident, too smug, dropping those little bombs like she knew they’d stick. I tugged a loose strand of hair behind my ear, glanced out the window—gray clouds rolling in, a bird pecking at the ground outside. Whispers kept up, buzzing like flies I couldn’t swat, and I pushed my tray back, stood, and dumped it in the trash, plates clanging loud.

After school, I waited out front, kicking gravel by the curb, sun dipping low. Jack’s truck roared up, tires crunching, and he leaned out the window, blue eyes locking mine. “Get in,” he said, voice short, rough. I swung the door open, climbed up, and dropped my backpack at my feet, the thud muffled by the engine hum. He pulled out fast, gravel spitting under the wheels, and I stared ahead, hands in my lap. Didn’t talk—hadn’t since the garage, him calling “wait,” me dodging him after. Tension sat there, thick, from him seeing me naked, me catching his bulge, still unsaid.

He stopped at a light, fingers drumming the wheel, grease smudged on his knuckles. “Stay out of trouble, kid,” he said sudden, low, turning to me. His hand shot out, grabbed my arm, grip tight, fingers digging in hard. I flinched, pulled back, but he held on a second longer, eyes sharp, possessive, like he was marking me. “Okay,” I muttered, tugging my sleeve down as he let go, the light flicking green. He drove on, silent, but his jaw stayed tight, something off—like he knew more than he was saying.

That night, I locked my bedroom door, clicked the bolt shut, and flopped onto my bed, sheets cool under me. House was quiet, Jack downstairs, TV humming faint through the floor. I pulled my phone from my pocket, checked the time—9:14—then tossed it on the nightstand. Moonlight cut through the blinds, thin lines on the wall, and a branch scraped the window, slow, like fingernails. Felt watched, prickles on my neck, like eyes were on me, but no one was there. I sat up, grabbed my journal from under the mattress, and flipped it open, pen clicking as I pressed it to the page. Scribbled quick—“Jack’s weird, Lisa’s worse. What’s she doing?”—then stopped, tapped the pen on my knee.

Phone buzzed, loud, rattling the wood. I dropped the pen, grabbed it—Lisa’s name glowed on the screen, a text. “Say goodbye to your life,” it read, short, no emoji, no nothing. My thumb hovered, chest tightening fast. I locked the phone, slid it under my pillow, and stared at the ceiling, breath short. Goodbye to my life? What the hell did that mean? Her pregnant lie flashed, her hints, those whispers at lunch—pieces clicking, but not clear. I tugged my hair, hard, the sting sharp, and kicked the mattress edge, foot bouncing off. She was building something, something bad, and I couldn’t stop it.

Next morning, I dragged myself to school, sneakers slow on the quad, air damp from overnight rain. A squirrel darted up a tree, claws scratching bark, and I zipped my jacket higher, hands in my pockets. Hallways buzzed, louder than usual, kids clustered by lockers, voices overlapping. I turned a corner, headed for homeroom, when Pete caught me, glasses slipping down his nose. “Tim, you hear?” he said, voice quick, edgy. I frowned, adjusted my backpack strap. “Hear what?” I asked, stepping past him.

“Lisa,” he said, following, comic missing from his hands for once. “She’s in the principal’s office, crying. Big scene.” My stomach dropped, cold and fast, like I’d swallowed ice. I stopped, turned to him, gripped my straps tighter. “Crying? Why?” I said, keeping it short. He shrugged, pushed his glasses up. “Dunno, but it’s about you. People are talking.” Whispers from lunch echoed—Tim, Lisa—and my pulse kicked up, thudding in my ears. I nodded, quick, and cut toward the office, sneakers squeaking on the wet tile.

The principal’s door was cracked open, voices slipping out—hers, shaky, loud. I slowed, peeked through the gap. Lisa sat there, pink hair a mess, face wet with tears, hands twisting a tissue. Principal Hayes leaned over his desk, gray suit wrinkled, nodding slow. “He did it,” she sobbed, voice breaking, loud enough to carry. “Tim raped me.” The words hit like a punch, knocking the air out of me. I stepped back, bumped the wall, my backpack thudding soft. She looked up, eyes red but sharp, catching mine through the crack, and her lips twitched—just a flicker—before she buried her face in her hands again, crying louder.