Chapter 4 - The Account Called Scoreboard
By six that evening, half the school had seen the cafeteria video.
Emma knew because her phone would not stop vibrating.
Some messages were apologetic.
Some were supportive.
Some called her brave.
Others called her a liar.
One message simply read:
YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED QUIET.
Emma showed it to her mother.
Claire took a screenshot.
“Don’t answer.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Good.”
They were sitting at their kitchen table while Lucy slept upstairs.
Their house was small, noisy when the furnace kicked on, and nothing like the immaculate Reed home Emma had seen in Madison’s social-media posts.
Emma had never cared before.
That night, every difference felt weaponized.
Claire set her phone down.
“Detective Vega said they’re going to request preservation orders for the relevant accounts.”
Emma stared at the cereal bowl she hadn’t touched.
“Madison’s mother will fight everything.”
“She can fight.”
“What if the phone is too damaged?”
“Then they use what they have.”
“What if it isn’t enough?”
Claire studied her daughter.
“Why do you keep asking that?”
Emma looked away.
Because she knew how easily a crowd changed direction.
At noon, everyone had laughed at her.
By three, many of those same students were reposting clips with captions like Justice for Emma and Lucy.
She didn’t trust either version of them.
“I watched Maya’s video,” Emma said.
Claire frowned.
“What video?”
“Last semester. The one where she had the panic attack.”
Silence.
“I didn’t post it.”
“That isn’t what you said.”
“I laughed.”
Emma’s throat tightened.
“Madison was making jokes. Everybody was.”
Claire didn’t immediately comfort her.
Emma was grateful for that.
Finally her mother asked, “How do you feel about it now?”
“Disgusted.”
“Good.”
Emma looked up.
“Good?”
“It means you know better.”
“I should’ve known then.”
“Yes.”
The answer hurt.
But it was true.
Claire reached across the table.
“You cannot change who you were in that hallway. You can decide who you are tomorrow.”
Emma’s phone buzzed again.
This time it was a message from an unfamiliar number.
You don’t know the whole story.
Another followed.
Madison didn’t start Scoreboard.
Emma stared.
Claire read it over her shoulder.
“Don’t respond.”
A third message appeared.
Ask Zoe Ramirez about September 14.
Emma knew Zoe.
Everyone did.
She was a senior, student photographer, quiet enough that people forgot she was in the room until yearbook photos appeared.
Emma typed nothing.
Instead, she took screenshots.
The number sent one final message.
If Madison falls alone, the rest will walk away.
Claire called Detective Vega.
The detective told them to preserve the messages and send copies.
“Do you know Zoe Ramirez?” Vega asked.
“Yes.”
“Don’t contact her tonight.”
Emma frowned.
“Why?”
“Because if she’s involved, I don’t want anyone coordinating stories. If she’s a victim, I don’t want her frightened by unexpected contact.”
That made sense.
It also meant waiting.
Emma hated waiting.
The next morning, Westbridge felt different.
There were two district administrators in the lobby.
Teachers stood in hallways longer than usual.
Students lowered their voices whenever Emma passed.
Madison, Tessa, and Brooke were absent.
Lucy stayed home.
Before first period, Principal Howard announced that the district was investigating “serious allegations involving student conduct” and that retaliation would result in immediate disciplinary action.
He didn’t name anyone.
He didn’t have to.
At lunch, Emma avoided the cafeteria and went to the library.
She found Zoe in the back corner editing photographs on a school computer.
Zoe looked up.
“You’re not supposed to talk to me.”
Emma stopped.
“How did you know I would?”
“Because somebody sent you my name.”
Emma’s pulse quickened.
“You sent those messages?”
“No.”
“Who did?”
“I don’t know.”
Zoe closed the laptop.
She had short black hair, silver-rimmed glasses, and the exhausted expression of someone who had been expecting this day for months.
“What happened September fourteenth?” Emma asked.
Zoe looked toward the librarian’s desk.
“Sit.”
Emma sat.
Zoe spoke quietly.
“That was the first time Scoreboard collected money.”
Emma stared.
“For what?”
“To stop a video from being posted.”
“Whose video?”
“Mine.”
Emma said nothing.
Zoe rubbed her thumb along the edge of the desk.
“I had been caught kissing someone behind the auditorium.”
Emma waited.
“It wasn’t scandalous. Except the person was a girl, and Zoe’s parents were strict.” She corrected herself with a bitter laugh. “My parents. Sorry.”
Emma understood.
“They blackmailed you.”
“Madison didn’t send the first demand.”
“Who did?”
“I never knew.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred dollars in gift cards.”
Emma felt sick.
“Did you pay?”
“Yes.”
“Did Madison know?”
Zoe’s eyes hardened.
“She delivered the cards.”
Emma leaned forward.
“Then she was involved.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell the school?”
“I did.”
Emma froze.
“What?”
“I told Vice Principal Vance.”
The athletic director also served as assistant principal for student activities.
“What happened?”
“He said without proof it was gossip.”
“You had the messages.”
“I showed him.”
Emma’s stomach dropped.
“And?”
“He took screenshots.”
“Then there is proof.”
Zoe looked directly at her.
“There was.”
“What do you mean?”
“Two days later he called me back.”
She opened her laptop, clicked through a folder, and showed Emma a photograph.
It was a picture of Vance’s office taken through the partly open door.
On his computer screen was the district security system.
A deletion confirmation box was visible.
Emma zoomed in.
The file name contained a date.
September 14.
“What was he deleting?” Emma whispered.
Zoe swallowed.
“The hallway footage showing Madison taking the gift cards from me.”
Emma stared at the photograph.
“Why would he protect her?”
“I don’t know.”
A voice came from behind them.
“I do.”
Emma turned.
Principal Howard was standing at the end of the aisle.
May you like
And from the look on his face, whatever he was about to say was going to make the school’s problem much bigger.
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