ROUGH DRAFT of Loser || WlW

Thirteen

"I want to press charges, goddamnit!" The bags under my dad's eyes are puffy and dark and his shirt hangs in places it didn't before. "That Trevor fucker can't keep hurting my children!"

I stifle a giggle. Cussing sounds so foreign coming from his mouth. "We're both okay, Dad," I say, tapping my pencil against the desk. I was in the middle of doing homework when my dad heard that Zachary and I got into a fight at school.

"Plus, I fractured his nose," Zachary adds. "If you tried to press charges, it would get flipped on me."

"It was self-defense." Dad slaps the back of one hand into the palm of the other for emphasis. "Besides..." He's droning on about Trevor's family having too much power in this town when my phone buzzes.

It's Brittany again. I need your help.

Can't right now.

I flip my phone closed and toss it on the bed.

"Dad, I have to do my homework." I stand and hug him. "Everything's okay."

He makes a dissatisfied dad noise and follows Zachary into the living room.

I take a seat at my desk, forcing myself back to the overdue Chemistry homework I have. It's the fifth time I've told Brittany I can't talk to her today. The news got out that the police took me in for questioning and she's been messaging me since. I can't keep playing detective with her. I need the police to figure out what's going on with this case and clear my name. Snooping around Claire's friends is just going to make me look guiltier.

My heart sinks when I think about it. It's been over three weeks since I last saw her. I know Brittany needed a friend as much as I did. As much as I do.

I'm halfway through balancing my sixth chemical equation when there's a knock on the door. I let out a half grunt, half sigh as I push away from my desk. All my answers are probably wrong anyway. I stick my pencil behind my ear and make my way to the front door. A glance out the window shows Brittany staring back. Her Louis Vuitton is dangling over her arm and her sunglasses are bigger than I remember.

She catches me peeking from behind the curtains. "Open the door, Jordan."

I do, fumbling with the janky lock for a second too long. She pushes the door open as the lock clicks into place.

"What the fuck, Brittany."

She pulls her sunglasses off and stares at me, her lips pursed.

"What are you doing at my house?"

My tone is sharp. I've never had someone from Jefferson High inside of my home. Not even Allison. Brittany's outfit costs more than all the furniture we have combined.

"Not sure why you're the angry one," she says, flipping her hair off her shoulders. "I'm the one who got ghosted for three weeks."

"I didn't ghost you. I responded to all of your messages."

She rolls her eyes. "Those weren't responses." She nods toward the door with her chin. "Come on. I need your help searching Claire's room."

I don't move. "Brittany, I can't." My heart pounds against my chest.

Her eyebrows move together as she pulls her purse higher on her shoulder.

"This isn't getting us anywhere." I sigh. "And the police seriously think I killed your sister. I don't think snooping around her life is going to clear my name."

Brittany's eyes flick over my shoulder. I turn and catch a glimpse of my dad walking to the bathroom. I wonder if Brittany is afraid of my family. Afraid of poor people.