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screw him.”
    “I don’t like him, either,” says Summer. “So, yes. Screw him.”
    I laugh. Troy laughs. And then we’re all laughing.
    They’re right. Screw him.

Chapter Eleven
    P.E.D.O.P.H.I.L.E.
    The word stares back at me from the page where I’ve written it. We’re in math and meant to be working on a geometry problem, but I can’t focus.
    “Jed.”
    I start at the sound of my name and look up to see Mrs. Archer standing next to me, peering over the top of her gold half-rimmed glasses, her arms folded in front of her.
    “Yes.” I move my hand so it covers my doodling of the word “pedophile.” If she sees it, she might think I’m condoning what Dad did and then send me to the counselor, who’ll want to sit me down and talk it all through quicker than you can say lock him up .
    “Principal Gates wants to see you in his office. Take your books, you could be a long time.”
    I let out a long sigh. Being summoned to his office is hardly a surprise, after I disappeared yesterday. I bet Foster laid it on thick and made out like everything was my fault. I glance across to where Foster’s sitting with a smug expression on his face. He flips me the bird. Yeah, he definitely dropped me in it with the principal. But who the hell cares? What can he do to me that’s gonna make the slightest impact on my life?
    Nothing.
    I grab my books and head out of the class, stopping at my locker to leave them there. We’ve got math homework tonight, but I don’t intend to do it, so no point in taking the books home.
    “The principal will see you shortly,” Miss Smith, his assistant, says as I walk into her office before I have a chance to say anything. “Sit over there,” she says, nodding to the chairs against the wall before going back to collating sheets of paper on her desk.
    I sit and wait. And wait. And wait. Checking my phone for the tenth time, I decide that I’ll give it one minute more, which will take it up to fifteen minutes since I sat down. Miss Smith left her desk a few minutes ago so, if I run, she won’t try to stop me.
    Counting down the seconds, I’m just about to stand when the principal’s door opens and he strides out.
    “Jed, come on through.”
    Following him into his office, I’m impressed by how tidy it is. I’d forgotten. You can count the number of times I’ve been in his office on one hand. Despite my recent behavior, I’m not one of those kids who are always being sent to him. I used to be a model student. Well, not a total nerd. I just didn’t get into trouble. He gestures for me to sit on one of the four easy chairs which surround a low coffee table and he sits opposite.
    “You were meant to see me yesterday with Darren Foster. What happened?”
    “He asked for it,” I mutter, slouching in the chair, resting my hands in my lap.
    “I’m not referring to the fight. But that doesn’t mean I’m condoning it, even though I know how difficult Darren can be. I’m talking about where you went, instead of coming to see me.”
    “Home. I went home.” I strum my fingers on my leg and focus on the blue flecked carpet.
    “Jed,” he says, clasping his hands together and leaning in toward me in the classic I’m here to help pose.
    Really, sir? Here to help? And how much help can you offer the son of a pedophile, whose life, next week, is once again going to be in the spotlight?
    “I realize things are tough, especially with the trial coming up,” he continues, in that soft, kind tone. “Couldn’t be tougher. But you need to keep it together. Is there anything we can do?”
    “There’s nothing anyone can do,” I mutter.
    I hate all this do-gooding crap. He can’t change anything. He can’t make it all go away. So what’s the point?
    “Try to distance yourself from it and concentrate on yourself and your future,” he continues, totally ignoring what I just said. “We want to help you, but we can’t if you’re not prepared to help yourself.”
    Christ, could he come