Page 75 of What Goes Around

That got her attention.

“I need to know what they’re doing,” I continued. “What they’re hiding. Where they go when no one’s watching. Emails. Phones. Computers. Everything.”

“You want total access,” she said.

“Yes.”

She tilted her head slightly.

“That includes your sister.”

I didn’t flinch.

“Especially my sister.”

“Why?”

“I’ll explain when I’m ready.” I met her gaze. “Just tell me if it’s possible.”

Amy studied me for a long moment.

“Devices talk when people don’t,” she said softly. “And people are careless about what they trust. Shared plans, saved passwords, habits. The same routines every morning and night. They call it convenience. I call it a map.”

“That’s what I want,” I said softly. “A map.”

Amy was silent for a heartbeat.

Then she gave one short nod.

“…Yes. I’ll help you.”

Chapter 23: Different Body Types

The fallout was immediate.

Five boys were gone before lunch, suspended or expelled, depending on who you asked. Some said they had been taken straight from school to the police station. Others claimed their parents had already hired lawyers. No one really knew, and no one trusted anything official anymore. All anyone did know was that the basketball team had been gutted.

People noticed my appearance, of course, the new clothes, the hair, the way I carried myself, but compared to scandal and criminal rumors, it barely registered.

I had chosen the right day to finally look like myself. No one had the energy to care.

That night, I sat cross-legged on my bed with my laptop balanced against my knees and went back to my real obsession.

Ines Laurent.

I’d already learned the basics: she studied Social Work at UC Berkeley.

Graduated in 1999. Same year as my father.

Then I found a tiny mention in an old campus newspaper, buried between club updates and charity events.

International student, originally from France. On a visa that expired with her degree. So maybe she married my father quickly for a reason.

I sat there staring at the screen, imagining her in some tiny French apartment, packing clothes, closing the door behind her childhood bedroom. Did she plan to return? Did she think she’d marry? Have a child? Die in a place she never meant to belong to?

France… was a dead end. Searching for her in France was like throwing my name into the Atlantic and hoping it washed back with a face.

Laurent was too common.