Chapter 4 The Crack

"Ivy. What is she talking about?"

Beck's voice was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that comes before an explosion.

I stood frozen in his doorway, the drawing of our three figures still clutched in my hand. The text message glowed on his phone like a warning sign.

Ask your babysitter about the confession page.

My heart hammered so hard I thought he could hear it.

"I don't—" I started.

"Don't lie to me." His jaw tightened. "Not you. Not after everything."

I couldn't breathe. The hallway felt like it was closing in. Beck's eyes bored into mine—searching, demanding, hoping I would give him a reason to trust me.

And I had nothing.

Because the truth would destroy us. A lie would destroy us slower. Either way, I was losing him.

"I run the confession page," I whispered.

Beck went completely still.

"I'm the admin. I approve every post." The words tumbled out, half-truths wrapped in confession. "Someone submitted something about you. About your family. I didn't write it. But I approved it. By accident. I was exhausted and I clicked the wrong button and—"

"You approved it." His voice was flat. Empty.

"Yes."

"That post ruined my mother's reputation at work. Leo got bullied. I lost my shot at an early scholarship." He took a step back, putting distance between us. "And you've been sitting on my couch. Drawing with my brother. Pretending to care."

"I do care!" Tears burned my eyes. "That's why I'm here. To fix it. To help. I never meant to hurt you, Beck. I swear."

"Swear?" He laughed, but there was no humor. "You've been lying to my face."

"I know." I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. "I know, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Behind us, Leo appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. His whiteboard was in his hands. On it, he'd written one word: "Ivy?"

Beck looked at his brother. Then back at me.

"Get out," he said quietly.

"Beck, please—"

"Get out before I say something I can't take back."

I didn't move. I couldn't. My legs had turned to concrete.

"Leo needs me," I said, desperate. "You know I'm the only one besides your mom who can reach him."

"That's not true."

"It is, and you know it." I pointed at the whiteboard. "He wrote my name. He's never done that for anyone else. Don't punish him for what I did."

Beck's face twisted. He was fighting himself—I could see it. The part of him that wanted to protect Leo wrestling with the part that wanted to destroy me.

"You don't get to use my brother as a shield," he said through gritted teeth.

"I'm not. I'm asking you to think about him. Not me. Him."

Leo took a step forward. He held up the whiteboard again. This time, two words: "Ivy stay."

Beck closed his eyes. His hands were shaking.

"One week," he said finally. "You can come back for one week. While I figure out what to do. But you stay away from me. You watch Leo, and then you leave. No talking. No drawing together. No—" His voice cracked. "No nothing."

I nodded, tears streaming down my face. "Okay."

"And Ivy?" He opened his eyes. They were red. "If I find out there's more you're hiding, I will make sure everyone knows what you did. Not just the post. Everything."

He didn't know about Maren. About the blackmail. About the fact that I was still protecting him by refusing to post about his father.

And I couldn't tell him. Not yet.

"One week," I repeated.

Beck turned and walked into his bedroom. The door slammed.

Leo looked at me, then at the closed door. He wrote on his whiteboard again.

"He's sad."

"I know, buddy," I whispered. "I know."

I sat with Leo for four hours that night. Beck never came out of his room. We drew together—wolves, galaxies, a house with a big sun. Leo even smiled once, a small, crooked thing that made my heart ache.

At midnight, I tucked him into bed. He grabbed my sleeve before I could leave.

His whiteboard: "Come back tomorrow?"

"I'll be here," I said.

He nodded and closed his eyes.

I walked out of the apartment, past Beck's closed door, and into the cold night air. The bus stop was empty. I sat on the bench and pulled out my phone.

Seventeen messages from Maren.

"Did you tell him?"

"He knows something. I can feel it."

"You're running out of time, fat girl."

"Post the thing about his father. Now."

I typed back: "No. Find another puppet."

Her response came instantly: "You just made a very big mistake."

I didn't answer. I couldn't. My hands were shaking too hard.

The bus arrived. I climbed on and collapsed into a seat by the window. As we pulled away, I looked back at Beck's apartment building. A light was on in his bedroom window.

He was watching me leave.

My phone buzzed again. Not Maren this time. A number I didn't recognize.

"I know about the zine. I know about Leo. I know about your sister. And I know you're hiding something else. Something big. Want to keep your secrets? Meet me tomorrow. Art room. 7 AM. Come alone."

No name. No signature.

But I knew who it was.

Someone new. Someone who wasn't Maren.

Someone who had been watching much longer than I realized.

I didn't sleep that night. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, running through every possible scenario.

The mystery texter knew about Hailey. About my sister's mutism. About the zine I'd just started. About Leo.

This wasn't Maren. Maren didn't know about Hailey.

This was someone else. Someone closer.

At 6:45 AM, I walked into the art room.

Empty.

I waited. 7:00 came. 7:05.

Then the door opened.

Not a student.

Mrs. Patterson, my art teacher, walked in carrying a coffee cup. She looked at me and smiled.

"Ivy. You got my message."

My blood ran cold.

"You?" I whispered.

She set down her coffee and pulled a folder from her bag. Inside were printouts. Screenshots of the confession page admin panel. Photos of me leaving Beck's apartment. A picture of Hailey at her therapy appointment.

"I've been watching you for months," Mrs. Patterson said softly. "You're very talented. Very careful. But not careful enough."

She sat down across from me.

"Here's what's going to happen. You're going to give me control of the confession page. All of it. Passwords, backups, everything. And you're going to keep writing your little zine. But every issue, you'll include one article I write."

"Why?" My voice was barely a whisper.

Mrs. Patterson's smile didn't reach her eyes.

"Because I know what Maren did to you. And I know what you did to Beck. And I know something else, Ivy. Something even you don't know yet."

She slid a photograph across the table.

It was Beck's father. Standing next to Mrs. Patterson. Their arms around each other.

"He's my brother," she said. "And you're going to help me get him out of prison. Or everyone you love pays the price."