Mrs. Rebeca Rivas finally lost her composure. The designer bag slipped from her shoulder, hitting the floor with a dull thud. “This is a setup! That video is doctored! My son is a minor, you can’t use this!”
“Actually,” the principal replied calmly, “your son is eighteen. He stayed back a year, remember? And since he is an adult, and this video suggests a conspiracy to commit a crime against a minor—Valeria—the law is very clear.”
Mateo looked like he was about to vomit. The “Golden Boy” of the soccer team was gone. In his place was a terrified boy whose privilege had finally hit a wall it couldn’t climb over.
The Mystery Messenger
“Who sent the message, Valeria?” my mother asked, her voice trembling as she grabbed my phone.
I couldn’t speak. I just pointed to the screen. My mother read the text aloud: “Your baby was not the first.”
The room went still again. Aunt Patricia’s face turned from pale to a sickly grey.
Suddenly, the door to the office opened again. A girl walked in. She was a senior, someone I barely knew—Lucia, the quiet girl who sat in the back of the library. She was holding a stack of old journals.
“I recorded it,” Lucia said, her voice steady despite the tears in her eyes. “I’ve been following Mrs. Rivas for two years.”
