By the time the soda stopped dripping from my daughter’s hair, the school had already made its choice: Chloe Vance was a mistake to protect, and Lily Mercer was a mess to clean up.

By noon, the rain had returned, but this time it was a warm, clearing shower that washed the last of the winter grime from the streets of Riverton.

The school board of Riverton Preparatory Academy held an emergency meeting in the main library. It was supposed to be private, but Dave had managed to redirect the school's internal video stream to the public student forum. Within ten minutes, over four hundred students and parents were watching the live feed from their phones.

Principal Arthur Denham sat at the center of the table, his eyes red, his hands trembling as he held a white sheet of paper.

"In light of recent... recent developments," Denham said, his voice cracking with a pathetic, whimpering sound, "I have submitted my formal resignation to the Board of Trustees, effective immediately. I want to apologize to the student body, to the parents, and... and to the Mercer family."

He didn't look at the camera. He looked down at his hands, his career, his reputation, and his daughter’s future college tuition all turning to ash in his mouth.

Beside him sat Chloe Vance.

She was sixteen, but today she looked like a small, frightened child who had finally realized that her parents’ money couldn't buy her way out of this room. She wore her school uniform, her shoulders slumped, her long blond hair falling over her face to hide her tears.

Her mother, Evelyn, sat next to her, her hand resting on Chloe's arm, but her face was cold and distant. She was already planning her divorce; she didn't have time to worry about her daughter's social standing anymore.

"Chloe," the board president said, a stern woman with gray hair who had spent the last twelve hours reading the angry emails from hundreds of Riverton Prep parents. "Do you have something to say?"

Chloe looked up, her eyes rimmed with red, her lips trembling. She looked directly at the camera—directly at Lily, who was watching from the screen of my phone in our kitchen.

"I'm... I'm sorry," Chloe whispered, a single tear running down her cheek. "I lied. Lily didn't try to hit me. I poured the soda on her because... because I was angry that she was better than me at math. I was angry that everyone liked her even though... even though she didn't have money. I'm sorry, Lily. I'm sorry to everyone."

Lily sat at the kitchen table, her eyes locked on the screen. She didn't smile. She didn't laugh. She just let out a long, slow breath that had been trapped in her chest for ninety-two days.

She looked up at me, her face pale but peaceful.