Authors Note:

So!

How did we all like last chapter? I hope I managed to shock you with it! It had actually been the intended twist from the very start of this story - this wasn't some twist I threw in at the last minute for the sake of it - every chapter and incident described previously was thought about long and hard, to make sure it's something that can be explained in the upcoming 'Jade' chapters.

Also, just to clarify - Jade and Beck are the only ones in on it. All the others, Cat, Robbie, Andre, Sikowitz, Shawn, Sinjin, Papa West etc. are all dancing along to the merry tune those two are playing.

Come on - did you really expect me to write Jade West as the helpless victim?

This second act is called 'But God Shields His Eyes'. The first half is called 'They Say The Devil Never Blinks'. I won't be adding in new tags relating to the the second act, simply to keep any future readers in suspense ;)

Let me know what you think!

(Also, the game Jade played while at Page Academy, is based off of the movie/game 'Cry Wolf'.)

When I was at Page Academy, there was a game that used to get secretly played. Once a month, there would be a 'party' with a select group of students, invite only. It was almost always the same group of students, a mix of 7th and 8th graders (6th graders weren't cool enough to be invited). The 'party' was always held after 9pm in the school – the location within the school changed, normally hopping from classroom to classroom each month – never the science labs though, because they were always locked up super tightly.

And then, once everyone had arrived, normally between 15 to 25 people, we played the game. The 8th graders called it 'Cry Wolf'. The basic rules were that one person was the 'Shepherd' - normally Cal Leechman, an 8th grader who's older sister had started the game a few years prior, swiping the keys from the janitor without him noticing. Cal's sister had passed the keys on to Cal's older brother, and then the brother had passed them onto Cal. Cal's sister was the one who started the game afterall, so it was only fair that he kept up the tradition of being the 'Shepherd', like his siblings before him (he arranged it every month too. On the rare occasions Cal couldn't make it, Ryder was the shepherd (and also the only reason I was invited every month. Because otherwise, they would have probably been to scared to ask me; after a few months I had a 'reputation' around the school of having 'Anger management problems'. Cat was never invited because as much as it pained me, she'd be mocked by the other kids. I wouldn't allow it to happen, obviously, but she'd get upset. Plus the school at night freaked her out)). The shepherd would collect the pot from the students – kind of like an entrance fee; each student put in $10 to the pot.

All the students – or the shepherds 'flock' of sheep – would close their eyes and Cal would pick one 'sheep' to actually be the wolf. The wolf was marked with a purple pen on their upper stomach, just a straight line. And then, the game really began. The aim for the sheep was to find out who the wolf was by accusing a fellow student. They would give their reasoning behind thinking it was that specific student, often by making nonsensical arguments in the first few rounds, mostly fueled by funny grudges, until it got down to the last 8, which was when things would normally pick up and become a little more intense, with accusations and even more personal grudges coming in to play. Of course, the accused got a chance for a rebuttle. Once the 'sheep' had heard both arguments, they'd vote – either for the accused or the accuser. Whoever got the most votes had to show their upper stomach to show if they had the mark and then leave the school and head home or to wherever the group had planned to meet up after the game. If they weren't the wolf, the game continued. If they were, the sheep won and the pot was split evenly between all of the sheep that were left. If at the end of the game, there was only one sheep and the wolf left, the wolf would win automatically and keep the pot to themselves.

It was a silly but fun game. One I really enjoyed – and was really good at. If I was the wolf, I always won the game. And if I was a sheep, I was always one of the last sheep left. It taught me one very important lesson, the bare bones rules of the game.

Avoid suspicion. Manipulate your friends. Eliminate your enemies.

So really...Ryder should never have been surprised this whole thing ended like it did. But then again, he never really understood the game like me. He never took away the lessons I did.

Maybe if he had, he wouldn't have died with that stupid shocked look on his face as I drove that knife through his neck. Maybe he would have seen it coming. Or maybe he would have known better than to trust me. But he must have forgotten that when I was the wolf...

I always won.

Now, I didn't just do this because I'm a psychopath or sociopath or whatever. Because I'm not. I know what I did was, technically, wrong. I just think I have a strong sense of justice. And after what Ryder Daniels did, he deserved it.

Because Ryder Daniels killed Tori Vega.

Now, don't get me wrong; I was in no way Tori Vega's biggest fan. I yoyo-d between being her friend and rival, between tolerating her and actively trying to ruin her life, depending on what kind of day I was having and how much she was batting her big brown eyes at Beck. But she was still someone I called a friend. And if there's one thing people know about me, other than the fact I'm hot and talented; it's that I hate it when other people touch what's mine. And when Tori came to Hollywood Arts, she joined my group of friends, effectively making her mine.

So when Ryder Daniels drugged her drink at a party she'd gone to with Trina, and took her upstairs to one of the empty bedrooms, slid her underwear off from under her little purple dress and raped her while she was barely awake? Then left her alone, like an abandoned piece of trash, stripped of her virginity and dignity along with her underwear?

Well, he messed with something that was mine.

The funny thing is (not 'haha' funny but more 'what the fuck is this sick joke' funny) was that I wouldn't have even found out about this happening if it wasn't for Trina Vega, the talentless trainwreck of Hollywood Arts.

See, not long after Tori cut her wrists in the bathtub after taking an entire bottle of her moms sleeping tablets, I got a call from Trina. Normally, I wouldn't have answered. But after Tori...I couldn't just leave her hanging. So I answered.

And with that phone call, Ryder Daniels's death warrant was signed.

Because Trina, after managing to calm herself down from her sobbing, had asked me to go to the Vega household. Because they had to find Tori something to wear for the funeral, but none of the Vega's could handle even setting foot in Tori's room, to deal with the ghost of the once happy girl that used to sleep and sing and dance and practice in that room, never mind going through her closet that still smelled of the girl.

I kind of know why she called me of all people; I always got the impression that the Vega's were alone in LA, with no family close by. And in the absence of family, surely the next best thing would be Tori's friends. And out of the whole gang, Trina knew I'd probably be the one most able to handle it (Beck could too, I had no doubt. But I understood why Trina had chosen to call me; a girl would be better for this. Less intrusive).

So I went over to the Vega household the next day, with a literal tower of tupperwear that Julia had filled with anything she could find and had spent the night cooking easy to reheat meals. Because in her mind, no one going through what they were should have to worry about cooking.

"Hi Mrs Vega, Mr Vega..." I gave a weak smile when Trina opened the door and let me in, a large tote back hanging off one arm filled with meals, along with another few in my arms. The couple were sat on the uncomfortable sofa we all used to hang out on at least 3 times a week. No more of that anymore. "Uh...Julia, my stepmom? She um...sent these over. It's just meals that are easy to reheat." I wouldn't say I'm an awkward person, but right now, I was. Because how was I supposed to act around the Vegas? They knew me and Tori weren't ever going to win BFFs of the year, that to say our relationship was strained was putting it lightly.

I felt almost fake. What right did I have to be here? This was a grieving family. They shouldn't have to deal with the girl who spent half her time making their daughters life difficult. But I was asked over. I had to remind myself I wasn't intruding. I was here for a reason.

"Thank you Jade. And tell Julia thank you too." Holly stood up from the sofa, her face pale and drawn as she took the offered bag and boxes and placed them in the kitchen. "And...thank you for doing this for us Jade. We just...we can't go in there."

"It's OK Mrs Vega. I understand." I nodded, offering my version of a sympathetic smile (which I knew came out as more of a grimace). "Uh, I was thinking I'd find a few of her favourites and then...bring them down for you to decide on. Is there anything specific I should be on the look out for?"

"Her feather earrings." Trina almost whispered, tugging at the ends of her t-shirt. "The bright blue and orange ones...she...she loved them most."

I had nodded and turned on my heel, power walking upstairs because I really don't deal well with emotional situations, as anyone who even remotely knows me should know, and headed straight for Tori's room.

It felt so...weird, being in there. We never hung out in her room much – mostly because she wasn't allowed boys in her room, and since the guys were almost always around too, we didn't hang out up here much. And I wasn't exactly close enough to her to do the whole 'sleepover' shtick, where I'd have slept on a pull out or a sleeping bag on her floor.

It was just as I'd imagined it, just as it was the last time I'd briefly seen it. A light shade of purple on the walls, a plush dark purple carpet. Framed photographs of family and friends and a little motivational poster of a cat hanging off a washing line with 'Hang In There' written below it (why didn't she listen to that cheesy poster?!). I knew that I couldn't look around too much – the Vega's were counting on me to do this for them, and if I kept looking around Tori's room, I knew I'd start getting upset and angry again.

I went straight to her closet and opened it up. Tori wasn't exactly the neatest it seemed – unlike my closet (and thus, Becks), nothing was in order – dresses, jackets and shirts hung up with no real order to them, along with jeans and skirts folded messily and placed on the shelves. With a deep breath, I started with the rail of clothes first, since a dress would probably be the best bet – she had one, I remembered, a pretty chiffon thing that was an aqua blue with black printed stars; high necked with no sleeves. She always looked good in it, and seemed to love it.

I didn't find it on the rail, but a quick glance at the top shelf, above my head, I could see the exact colour of the dress poking out. With a light tug, it came free – and so did a leather bound book. Not exactly graceful to admit it, but it came tumbling down on my head.

That book? Tori's diary.

Should I have read it? No. Of course not. It was an invasion of privacy, the deepest kind of disrespect to a girl who had instantly cemented her place in my life as a rival and friend within moments of meeting her. But am I glad I read it?

Yes.

Because it gave me the chance to get back at that slimy, scum sucking rapist. The diary went into detail about that night – the night of a party that she'd went to with Trina. I don't know why she agreed to go with Trina alone – normally, she'd try and get one of us to go with her too, because she knew Trina had a tendency to ditch her alone. Not that what happened is Trina's fault obviously. God no.

But at that party was Ryder Daniels. And Ryder Daniels apparently had rohypnol with him. And in his disgusting, drunken, frat boy-esq mind...Ryder Daniels decided he wanted revenge. Revenge for that silly little song that embarrassed him so much. So he drugged her drink. Then he took her upstairs to an empty room and raped her while she was almost unconscious. The sick fuck filmed it, for gods sakes.

Tori didn't know who it was – she was so high and out of it, she had no clue who was violating her. But she remembered some things. Some things she noted down. Dark hair. Pale skin. A tattoo of a ring of thorns on his ribs and a scar above his belly button – and that's what gave it away. Because with a quick Slap search, I saw that Ryder had been at that party. And I know his tattoo. I saw it when he got it, he had been so proud of it. And the scar I knew too – he got it when he was a kid, falling out of a tree and a tree branch had scraped his stomach deep.

I kept reading the diary and had to swallow back a sob. The asshole hadn't even used protection. He'd knocked her up. 17 years old and pregnant from a rapist. A rapist who, it turned out, wasn't content with just torturing her with the act. Oh no – he sent her clips from that fucking video, promising to release it online if she told anyone. It'd ruin her life – sure, it'd get taken down but it'd never truly be gone. So she didn't tell anyone. She didn't go to her parents or the police, or even the God damn hospital for a rape kit. She just kept quiet. And when she found out she was pregnant? She went to some shit ass back alley doctor, too scared to go to her own doctor incase her parents found out.

I was so...mad. She should have told us. If she had told us, I'd have known who it was instantly. But even if she had...it wouldn't make a difference, would it?

Sure, I'm biting the hand that feeds me but lets be realistic. Ryder Daniels would never truly get punished for his act. Oh yeah, he'd get a little bit of jail time, maybe loose his place at UCLA. But Daddy Dearest wouldn't let one 'mistake' ruin his sons life – and he had both the money and lawyer skills to make sure of it. Just like, if I'd done something severe, like killed someone, my dad would make sure I pretty much got off scot free.

And that's when it hit me.

Ryder Daniels could rape a girl and not be punished?

Well, fairs fair. I'd just have to kill him.