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She shook her head, firm. “No. I just tell them nothing happened, and it ends tonight. He won’t post any more pictures, and I can go on and live my life.”

“But—”

“No buts,” she said. “I’m tired of butts, Jessie. I’m tired of all of this—of wondering who hates me, of being afraid, of my mom crying all the time like this happened to her not me—I need this to be over.”

Her intensity right then, her mind was made up so I backed down. “Okay. If you say so, okay.”

She nodded, encouraging herself. And then while I watched she messaged MysteriousAzzho1e back. I could feel her typing the letters out, I knew what she was saying without seeing the words.

Don’t post any more photos.

I’ll tell the cops to call it off.

It shot off into the ether, another green firefly, and we both waited, tense.

And another green firefly flew in at the speed of light. It pierced my back and Lacey’s hand until it burrowed into her phone and shared its message.

Where had it come from? How could I find out?

I knew what it said before Lacey read it aloud, too.

Good.

She sagged after reading it. “What a nightmare,” she whispered, to herself.

“You think it’s over?”

“It better be. I can’t take much more.” She ran her free hand through her hair. “You ever have that dream where you’rerunning away from something all the time? Like you’re in a desert, and then you’re in a house, and then you’re on the streets, but it doesn’t matter where you go, something’s always chasing you?”

I nodded.

“I feel like I’ve been living that dream, ever since Friday. I’m mad, sad, and pissed off as hell—but mostly I’m exhausted. My mom is just—you don’t even know, Jessie.” She braced her head on her hands and her elbows on her knees. “I thought my old life sucked—now I dream of getting back to it.”

She was so angular, sitting the way she was, from the side. How many times had I been jealous of how thin she was, or how funny? Or of the fact that her mom seemed to care, even if her way of caring was caring waaaaaay too much?

“Are you going to be okay?” I asked.

“Yeah.” She looked over at me. “Are…we going to be okay?”

“Of course.”

“Good.”

Things slid back into place like they were meant to. Me and Lacey, Lacey and me, side-by-side. Except for one thing missing….

“I hate to bring it up, but Sarah thinks you hate her?—”

Lacey groaned. “Oh God. I don’t. I just don’t want to talk to her yet.”

“I don’t blame you. But she’s freaking out a little.”

“How am I supposed to talk to her? ‘Hey, thanks for the party invite to the place where I got raped?’ I just can’t deal with that yet—or her—okay?”

“Yeah. Of course.” I said and went to my knees and gracelessly stood up. “I gotta get back—Allie’s alone, and I’m on thin ice. Are you coming to school tomorrow?”

Lacey stood too. “Maybe. Depends on my mom. She’s being her. You know how it is.”

I did. Ms. Harper was the kind of mom who’d rather buy all your Girl Scout cookies from you rather than risk you going door to door—which Lacey’s room and life thus far was largely a testament too, against Lacey’s heartfelt desires. Ms. Harper must’ve been really shocked when the real world broke rudely in.