1642734778_punk-57-pdf

“It’s nothing.” He tries to replace the board. “It’s not what I’m looking
for.”
But I force my way in and rip the stack out of his hand.
Shooting him a joking little scowl, I turn the cards over and look at
them.
My chest caves. Oh, my God.
They’re not cards. They’re pictures. Four by sixes by the looks of it, and
I stare at each image, shuffling the cards one after another, my stomach
churning.
Lindsey Beck, a senior who graduated last year.
Fara Corelli, a senior in my class this year.
Abigail Dunst, another senior.
Sylvie Lanquist, a junior.
Georgia York. J.D.’s older sister. He probably doesn’t have any idea
about that.
Girl after girl, naked and in a variety of different poses. Some of them
are selfies, some of them taken by someone else, and in one of them, Trey
has a girl straddling him. His face holds a sleazy smile.
Disgusted, I curl my fingers around the pictures.
Brandy Matthews is naked and on her hands and knees, the camera
catching the side of her face as Trey, I would assume, kneels behind her and
takes the picture.
My heart races, and I feel like it’s going to jump out of my chest. I
shuffle the next card and see Sylvie, her mouth open and…
I drop my hands, looking away. Gross.
My God. What’s wrong with him? Who takes pictures of that many
women—girls—committing sexual acts? Did they know he was doing it to