Chapter 12 LincolnLess
The final truth struck Girl Jordans like a lightning bolt on a clear day. She'd assumed Christina's accusation was just a twisted attempt to hurt Lincoln, but the reality was far worse. Her former friend wasn't just lying—she was the actual offender.
"How… how are you not in jail?" Girl Jordan finally managed to ask.
Christina looked down, her hands fidgeting in her lap. "I know," she whispered, "When I told everyone here, they were just as shocked as you are. Lynn even… well, let's just say she made sure I got what I deserved."
Lynn, sitting nearby, didn't say a word. She just wiped her nose with the back of her hand, her expression unreadable but her body language screaming, "Yeah, I did."
"And now that you know the truth, you can help us. We need to bring back the Lincoln we all know and love."
The weight of the revelation was too much for Girl Jordan to answer. She bolted upright, her chair scraping loudly against the floor as she staggered back. Her hands gripped her knees, her chest heaving as though she'd just sprinted a mile. Her face, once full of color, now looked ghostly pale.
Christina moved toward her, her hand reaching out cautiously. "Jordan, let's just talk—"
"DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH ME!" Girl Jordan's voice was a blade, slicing through the air with precision. She slapped Christina's hand away, the sharp crack drawing every eye in the café.
She leveled a finger at Christina, "You destroyed an innocent boy's life. In every way imaginable. You want my help, but after hearing the truth, I don't even know how."
Unease rippled through the Loud sisters, their expressions tightening like coiled springs. Lucy, standing up with urgency murmured. "Jordan, please—We're tangled in this too. You unraveled his walls once—surely you can stitch him back?"
"Did you even listen? I don't know how to fix this. I don't even get why he trusted me in the first place—he had every reason not to." Her hands flew up in frustration. "Me, Christina, his sisters… we all let him down. Why would he trust any of us now?"
The million-dollar question was laid out as the group wrestled with their own doubts. Lynn Jr. went face to face with her, closing the gap between them. She locked eyes with Girl Jordan, her voice steady but firm.
"Then tell him yourself." she said bluntly "Like it or not, you're the only one he'll talk to. You know what happened now, and we're counting on you to bring our brother back."
The braided girl bit back her retort, exhausting of being wrong. "Fine," she spat, the word brittle as glass. "But this dance follows my steps. And when I drag him into the light, you'll listen—no interruptions, no grandstanding."
Without waiting for rebuttals, she strode from the café, leaving the Burnt Bean steeped in unresolved fury.
Since then, Girl Jordan had used the past couple of days to cool off and reflect. She'd spent hours turning over how to approach Lincoln, knowing the conversation ahead would be delicate. Despite their good terms, the problem of what needed to be said demanded the right timing, the right setting. But fatigue had worn her down, and the search for the perfect opportunity felt like chasing shadows. So, she decided to cut through the uncertainty and face it head-on.
She stood on the porch of the Loud House, her finger pressing the doorbell. The chime echoed through the house, and after a brief pause, the door creaked open. Lincoln stood there, his expression a mix of surprise and curiosity.
Without waiting for an invitation, Girl Jordan stepped inside, brushing past him. Then, without warning, she wrapped her arms around him in a tight, lingering hug. It lasted a full minute, her grip firm yet tender, before she finally pulled back, her eyes locking onto his.
"We need to talk."
Those cliche words weren't something to be messed with. He nodded silently and led her to his room. His bedroom door creaked open, revealing a space stripped bare. Walls once vibrant with posters of heroes and galaxies now gaped like blank canvases. Shelves stood empty, comics and collectibles boxed away. The room felt hollow, as if the vibrant personality that once filled it had vanished along with its decorations.
After a quick glance around the barren room, Girl Jordan gently tugged Lincoln's arm, guiding him to sit beside her on the bed. She began recounting the meeting with Christina, Clyde, and some of his sisters, explaining everything they had kept hidden. Though Lincoln was hurt by their secrecy, he couldn't help but acknowledge the reasons behind it.
She pressed on, explaining Christina's confession about what truly happened in the boys' locker room and why she'd come to him now. "So Lincoln, I need to know. Out of everyone, why did you give me a second chance?"
Lincoln's gaze drifted downward, his eyes hooded as if shielding himself from the question. After a beat, he reached for his whiteboard, the marker scratching against its surface as he wrote. He held it up for her to read: "Because you're here, being honest like the best friend you are, it's time to talk about everything." The simplicity of his answer tugged her heart strings, drawing her closer as she prepared to hear his side of the story."
The day after Christina's assault, Lincoln walked the school halls with a facade of carefree confidence. Beneath the surface, the encounter still gnawed at him, but he buried it under a mask of cheerfulness. He drummed his fingers against lockers, exchanged a salute with Andrew, fist-bumped Artie, and high-fived Boy Jordan.
But as he approached a group of girls, the atmosphere shifted. Their faces twisted into expressions of disgust as he passed, as if his presence was a disdain where he went. Oblivious to the tension crackling around him, he bounded forward, catching the attention of the known trio. "Molls! Rach! Cooks!" he called out, "Hey, you seen Jordan? I wanted to meet up with her after school—just the two of us."
"Oh, you'd love that, wouldn't you?" Molly jabbed, catching Lincoln off guard.
"Uh… yeah, I guess? I mean, I've got something I wanna give her. It's not a big deal or anything."
"Oh, you got some nerve—" Molly proceeded, but her words were abruptly cut off as Cookie clapped a hand over her mouth, muffling whatever sharp retort was coming next.
"Don't mind her, Lincoln," Cookie interjected smoothly, though her grin seemed a little too wide, a little too forced. "Jordan knows about your little surprise. She's just keeping to herself for now. In fact, there's a surprise waiting for you too, just you wait."
Rachel scoffs, annoyed with the interaction. "Let's just get to class already," she said, cutting through the noise.
They moved as a unit, the three girls walking briskly ahead, their steps in sync, leaving Lincoln struggling to match their pace. He sped up, but they only walked faster, their laughter trailing back to him. Eventually, he gave up, slowing down as they disappeared into the class without a backward glance. Weird, he thought, watching them go. It felt deliberate, like they were trying to lose him.
Inside, the atmosphere felt the same. Glances from the girls in class followed him as he navigated the aisles, their stares sharp were unrelenting. He tried to ignore it, but the friction was evident. Then it happened—his foot caught, and he hit the floor hard.
"Oops. Sorry, Linc. Didn't see my leg there." Ronnie Ann's tone was anything but apologetic. A few stifled laughs rippled through the room. Lincoln got up, brushing himself off, his face hot. I'm imagining things, he told himself, though the sinking feeling in his chest said otherwise.
He headed to his seat, passing Christina on the way. She caught his eye, her lips puckering in a quick, mocking kiss. His stomach twisted, yesterday's frustration bubbling up again. He looked away, sinking into his seat, the weight of the morning pressing down on him.
But his irritation faded as soon as he sat behind Girl Jordan. She looked off—not just sad, but depressed. "Jordan, are you okay? You seem really down." he questioned right away.
"Everything's fine, Lincoln. Can you just… see if my braids look okay?" Playing with each other's hair had always been an intimate part of their friendship. For Girl Jordan, it was a comforting habit, something she asked for during both her highs and lows. So Lincoln didn't hesitate, his fingers gently brushing through her braids.
As for everybody else, it was something entirely different. "Ew, Lincoln, stop! Get your filthy hands off her!" said Molly being vocal as ever.
The comment came out of nowhere, and Lincoln had enough. He shot up from his seat, not caring if he was making a scene. "That's it! It's way too early for this crap! I don't have time for this passive-aggressive bullshit!"
Molly just tutted, rolling her eyes. "Tsk, whatever. You're lucky Jordan's still in denial."
"Denial?" Lincoln turned to Girl Jordan, "What's she talking about?"
The voice of his best friend was weak, she barely had enough strength to speak. "Lincoln, just ignore her. Focus on me, okay? All I want is you for myself. Don't ask what's going on or why. Just… please. Do this for me."
The commotion finally drew Mrs. Johnson's attention. She stood at the front of the room, commanding authority. "Enough! Everyone, settle down. Lincoln, sit down. Now."
But Lincoln wasn't backing down. "No. I'm not sitting down until I figure out what's wrong with everybody—especially Jordan."
The tension in the room spiked. Even Stella, the new girl, added her two cents. "Don't play dumb, Lincoln. Why don't you ask Christina yourself?"
Then it clicked. Christina had turned everyone against him. But how? He didn't waste time. He marched straight to Christina, his steps slow and deliberate as he hovered beside her desk. "What did you do?" His words were heavy, each one dripping with venom.
Christina's lips curled into a hidden smirk, taunting him before shrieking. "Get away from me!"
Stella, Penelope, Cookie, and Rachel instantly closed ranks around Christina, forming a protective barrier. Molly and Ronnie Ann shoved Lincoln backward, cornering him near the chalkboard. "Back off, Lincoln!" The latina warned him. "We all saw what you did yesterday. Don't take it out on her just because you got caught." Her anger simmered, shifting to regret. "And to think I… liked you."
Hearing her admit her feelings shook Molly, pouring her emotions out too. "That's why it pains me to say this. You were our friend, Lincoln. We trusted you. We thought you were better than the other guys in this school. But turns out… you're the worst."
Lincoln stumbled back, stunned. This wasn't just anger—it was raw, unfiltered hurt. Molly's vulnerability, Ronnie Ann's quiet fury, the girls' unified defense of Christina—it screamed betrayal. Not his, but theirs. Whatever lie Christina had spun, it dug deep. And now they looked at him like he was the monster.
He concluded further on why Girl Jordan looked so broken. Her opinion was the only one that mattered, and he had to set the record straight. He barreled past Ronnie Ann's outstretched arm, through the phalanx of girls clutching Christina like a relic. They tightened their circle as he passed, but he didn't stop. "Jordan, you have to believe me," he said, stopping beside her desk. "Whatever Christina's saying isn't true."
She remained a statue, her gaze welded to the desk's scuffed surface.
Unseen in the periphery, Chandler pulled out his phone, recording the whole scene. While Lincoln, desperately tilted Girl Jordan's chin toward him. "You've known me for years, Jordan. I would never do something like this!"
Tears streaked her cheeks like liquid mercury as she finally spoke. "Lincoln, they video-called me yesterday. They showed me what Christina looked like, and it was… awful. One of her shoulders was bare. She came out of the boys' locker room crying, hysterical. HER UNDERWEAR WAS DANGLING FROM HER FOOT, LINCOLN!" She bellows that last statement. A chorus of gasps erupted from the boys, even Mrs. Johnson's composure shattered.
"I don't want to believe it… part of me still doesn't. The only reason you weren't reported yesterday is because I needed to hear it from you in person." Jordan's voice wavered, her eyes locked onto his. "So look me in the eye and tell me—did you try to rape Christina?"
The color drained from Lincoln's face, leaving him ashen, his snowy hair suddenly the least pale thing about him. A low hum of murmurs spread through the room as the boys, clueless for quite some time, began piecing everything together. It was clear now—the girls had planned this, cornering Lincoln with a devastating accusation when he least expected it.
Clyde was the first to speak up, voicing his opinion. "Is it really true? This is Lincoln we're talking about. He's the most stand-up guy in here."
Penelope didn't want to hear it. She leaned forward, palms flat on the desk. "We saw him, Clyde. Shirt disheveled and zipper down. Then Christina stumbled out of the boy's locker room five minutes later—body a mess and sobbing. You do the math."
Stella, perched on the edge of his table, tilted her head. Her tone was deceptively light, like she was dissecting a bug. "Funny, isn't it? The 'nice guy' act? Textbook. And we all fell for it."
Cookie nodded, her usual cheer replaced by a grim seriousness. "I'd buy this crap from Rusty in a heartbeat. But Lincoln? Makes you wonder who else is faking it."
Rusty's fist slammed the desk, rattling pencils. "Screw you, Cookie! Don't try to lump me in with that creep!" He sighed, needing to agree, "…But you're right. Bolting outta the locker room like he'd lit a fuse. Whatever went down? It wasn't pretty."
It was clear the room was divided whether he was innocent or not. Lincoln stood in the center of it all, scanning the room for an ally. "Clyde?" His voice called his former best friend, begging him to be by his side. But Clyde wouldn't meet his gaze, his hands fidgeting nervously as he stared at the floor.
"Liam?" Lincoln tried again. The farm boy just shook his head, now seeing him as a disgrace.
Zach leaned back in his chair, and commented harshly. "I thought Rusty was full of it for talking trash about you. Turns out I should've listened."
Just like the girls, Artie and Boy Jordan felt betrayed. Meanwhile, Trent and Richie snickered to themselves, clearly relishing Lincoln's downfall.
Before Lincoln could fully grasp their laughter, his gaze swept the room one last time and landed on Chandler, who was recording everything with a smirk. The weight of it hit him like a whipping tree branch—the whole world was against him. It was only a matter of time before the video spread, faster than he could even process.
But there was still one person who hadn't turned her back on him. Without a second thought, he grabbed Girl Jordan's arm and bolted from the classroom, leaving the chaotic mess behind.
Surprisingly, Girl Jordan ran without protest, matching his pace as they darted through the hallways and out of the school. They sped past local spots—Gus' Games and Grubs, Flip's Food & Fuel, and the Aloha Comrade. By the time they stumbled to a halt, sweat slicked their skin, and the sky—once cerulean—had curdled into a brooding gray.
Lincoln lurched forward, desperate to keep moving, but Girl Jordan dug her heels in. "Lincoln, stop." He tugged again, but she yanked her arm free, the sudden motion swinging him around to face her.
He ceased, only to find her pacing like a caged mouse—back and forth, back and forth—her shoes scuffing the asphalt.
Abruptly, she stopped, spinning on her heel to engage him. Her finger jabbed toward her chest before taking a deep breath. "I've been by your side since we first met. Everyone avoided you—called you a disease. But not me." The drizzle thickened, with the rain needling their skin. "Sure, my loyalty's been tested this past year. But I stuck by you. And now?" She paused briefly, "I'm tired, Lincoln. I'm tired of being your friend."
A sudden chill crawled down Lincoln's spine, his voice fraying. "Jordan, please—Christina's lying! Let me expla—"
"IT DOESN'T MATTER IF IT'S TRUE!" She stomped her foot, water splashing up her calves. The drizzle had swelled into a pounding rain, soaking them both. "Everyone warned me—being your friend is social suicide. And they're right! No matter how hard you bend over backward for people, they'll still ditch you!" She snorted, raking her eyes over his sodden, pathetic frame. "But me? I don't need to beg for scraps. I screw up, they forgive me. Even now—defending you? They'll still give me a chance to 'prove them wrong.' Know why?"
She closed the distance, jabbing a finger into his chest. "Because you're a LOSER, Lincoln Loud. And losers? They always end up alone."
Silence.
The rain filled the void, its steady patter the only sound in the suffocating stillness. It was over. Lincoln had lost the one thing he'd ever gotten right—the one person who'd stayed. Their promise to never leave each other lay shattered at their feet, drowned in the downpour. The girl who'd once been jealous of anyone who took his attention, who'd cried over him, now looked at him like he was nothing. His deepest fears—his insecurities—had finally clawed their way to the surface. And now, he'd have to face whatever came next… alone.
The two stood drenched beneath the darkening sky, the weight of the moment pressing down like the storm clouds above. Lincoln's will to fight had drained away, leaving his eyes hollow, gray, and distant—mirroring the lifeless heavens. There was nothing left to say, nothing left to do.
He turned and walked away, each step splashing through the puddles, the sound echoing in the quiet. Girl Jordan watched him go, her shadowed gaze unreadable. His footsteps grew softer, fading into the rhythm of the rain, until even that was gone.
Finally, she had what she'd wished for—a world unburdened by Lincoln. She'd chose the easier path. The one without him. A path where she wouldn't have to fight for him, defend him, or carry his burdens. A path where at least she wouldn't be alone.
She tilted her face to the sky, rain streaking down her cheeks like tears. Her eyes mimicking the droplets above. "I'm sorry Lincoln… I couldn't protect you."
A few hours had passed, and Lincoln sat alone in the kitchen, a puddle forming beneath his chair. His soaked clothes clung to his skin, and a trail of wet footprints marked his path through the house. His troubles were far from over—if anything, they were only beginning.
The sound of the front door bursting open breaking the peace. His parents' frantic voices echoed through the house. "Lynn, I've called his phone a dozen times! He's not answering!" Rita said with worry.
"Then call again!" Lynn Sr. shot back, his tone equally urgent. "Principal Huggins said the police are going to get involved. We need to figure this out before it gets worse!"
Their argument cut off abruptly as they noticed the trail of water leading to the kitchen. They found their son slumped at the table, his hair dripping, his eyes vacant.
"Lincoln!" Rita rushed to him cupping his face. "Oh, sweetie, you're freezing!" She began wiping the rain from his cheeks, her touch gentle but excessive. "Lynn, get a towel—quick!"
As Lynn hurried off, Rita knelt beside her son, her voice softening. "It's going to be okay, Lincoln. We'll figure this out. But you need to tell me the truth." She paused, her eyes searching his. "Did you… did you touch that girl?"
Lincoln shook his head, his hands gripping the edge of the table. "No. That's not what happened. I know how it looks, but it's the other way around. She… she forced herself on me."
Rita's face shifted, her brow creasing as her hand rested on his shoulder, "Are you sure that's how it went?"
"Yes!" he confirmed, "She cornered me in the locker room. Started yelling about why I didn't pick her, saying she was the better choice. Then she… she tried to convince me. With her body. I didn't know what to do—I just froze. She kept kissing me, pushed me to the floor, and started taking her clothes off."
He swallowed hard, and his eyes glistened with unshed tears. "She got on top of me, started unzipping my pants… I finally pushed her off. But she kept begging me to choose her, saying she loved me. I told her that wasn't love and I stormed off. That's not love, right, Mom?"
Moments later, Lynn Sr. returned to the kitchen with a towel in hand, where he found Rita massaging her temples, her expression pinched with frustration. "That girl…I knew she was trouble."
He stepped over to Lincoln, draping the towel over his son's shoulders and rubbing briskly to dry his hair. Rita looked up, her voice softening as she tried to piece things together. "Lynn, this might be worse than we expected. Christina might actually be the one who tried to rape him."
Lynn Sr. ceased his motion, his hands still gripping the towel. "You're kidding right? You really think anyone's gonna buy that?" His voice was gruff with doubt. "All anyone's gonna see is a boy taking advantage of a girl. Witnesses, that video, the whole school is talking—it's a losing battle. Hell, I'm not even sure I believe it!"
"Lynn!" Rita's scream, and he instantly realizes his mistake. His eyes darted to Lincoln, who sat there, wounded with what little faith his father had. Before Lynn Sr. could say another word, Lincoln bolted upstairs, his footsteps pounding against the stairs.
"Lincoln, that's not what I meant!" Lynn Sr. called after him, his voice echoing through the house. But the only response was the sharp slam of a door.
Rita pulled Lynn Sr. on the shoulder and spun him around. "Didn't you hear what I said! Our son claims he was attacked. That little bitch put her hands on my boy!"
"God dammit!" he shouted, throwing his hands up in frustration. "Don't make me out to be the villain here, Rita! I'm not abandoning my son—not now, not ever. Whether he did it or she did, he's still our kid." He held his tongue, trying to subtle his voice. "If that girl harmed him, we'll be there before she can blink. But you've gotta face it… there's always gonna be that doubt. That little voice asking, 'What if? And we have to ask ourselves… can we still love him the same if he engaged first."
He leaned backsided against the kitchen counter, running a hand over his face. "Rita… our son's life will never be the same. Our lives will never be the same. The best we can do is assume he didn't do it. For his sake—and ours."
Rita's face crumpled, her lips quivering as the waterworks spilled over. With a choked cry, she buried her face in his chest. Lynn Sr. held her tightly, his hand gently rubbing her back in circle motions. "Shh, shh, shh… I know. This is gonna be hard. But we'll figure it out."
Upstairs, Lincoln lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The thin walls offered no escape from the muffled voices below. Every word, every sob, was heard, leaving him to wonder how his parents truly felt.
Right after Lincoln and Girl Jordan left, the school erupted into chaos outside Principal Huggins' office. Meryl, the school secretary, stood in the middle of the crowd, arms raised defensively as she tried to calm the angry students demanding justice.
"Now, y'all just hold on a minute!" she called out, her Southern drawl cutting through the noise. "We're tryin' to get things sorted out proper-like. You can't just go kickin' Lincoln outta school without followin' the rules. Even in a mess like this, there's a right way to do things."
Kat interjected, "How can you say that, Meryl? Aren't you just as upset as we are? I thought you were on our side."
"Aw, sugarplum, that ain't fair—just like what y'all are doin' to Lincoln. Have you even given that boy a chance to explain himself? Last I checked, you girls were all giggles and grins around him."
Emma shouted, "You weren't there, Meryl! None of you adults were!"
Meryl glanced over her shoulder, her voice rising in desperation. "Principal Huggins, do something! They're not gonna settle down if we don't give them answers!"
Principal Huggins, phone pressed to his ear, was frantically trying to contact the right people. "I'm trying, Meryl! The police are on their way, and I'm calling the parents. There are protocols we have to follow!"
"Well, try telling them that, Wilbur!" He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, then straightened up, his expression shifting to one of determination. Gently pushing Meryl aside, he stepped into the doorway and blew his whistle, the sharp sound cutting through the noise.
"Alright, that's enough! I will not let my school be overrun by unruly behavior. I get it—you're upset, and so am I. But regardless of how I feel, we have to follow the rules. Title IX of the Education Amendments of 1972 is a federal law that prohibits discrimination based on sex in any education program. That means this law protects both the victim and the accused until proven guilty."
He paused, his eyes scanning the crowd like a hawk. "Now, for those of you who witnessed what happened and want to help, wait outside my office in an orderly fashion until the police arrive. As for the rest of you, go back to class. And don't even think about lying to me. If I find out anyone's spreading false information just to skip class, I'll make sure you're all severely punished. Any questions?"
The students groaned but eventually dispersed, some heading back to class while others formed a single file line outside the principal's office. Once order was restored, each witness stepped forward to give their statement to Principal Huggins and the two detectives who arrived twenty minutes later.
Detective Stapler was a seasoned veteran with a no-nonsense demeanor. His receding hairline and sharp, piercing eyes gave him an air of authority, while his muscular build and slightly rumpled suit hinted at years of fieldwork. He carried himself like someone who'd seen it all—his voice was calm but firm, and his questions were direct, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.
Beside him stood Detective Oliver, a younger officer with a more polished appearance. His shoulder-length brown hair was neatly tied back, and his sharp features were softened by an empathetic expression. Though less experienced than Stapler, Oliver had a keen intuition and a quiet intensity that made it clear he was quick to learn. He asked his questions with a measured tone, his eyes always scanning for details others might miss.
Together, they made a formidable team—Stapler's grit and Oliver's intuition balancing each other as they began piecing together the story.
One by one, the witnesses sat in the office to share what they'd seen. Ronnie Ann was the first. "I spotted Christina right after it happened. She came out of the locker room in a mess, leaning on the wall like she could barely stand."
Stella followed, "We didn't mean to see it. We were all on our way to check out my Coaster Toaster when we walked in on… that."
Emma: "Lincoln came out first. His clothes were a mess, and his zipper was down."
Chloe: "Her shoulder was bare. She looked… exposed."
Cookie: "She was pale, like she'd seen a ghost or something."
Molly: "Her underwear was on the floor. Right there, in plain sight."
Rachel: "We really thought he was our friend. He was always so kind, so thoughtful. But now it feels like all of that was just… an act. Like he was waiting for the right moment to strike."
Penelope: "I always had a bad feeling about him. Something just didn't sit right. Thank goodness I didn't get stuck with him for the parent-egg project."
Chandler: "I can go on and on about Larry, but I think this video says it all."
More accounts poured in, each witness adding details about the event, Lincoln, and their relationships with him. Soon, it was the Loud siblings' turn—Lucy, Lisa, Lana, and Lola sat together in the waiting chairs, their usual energy replaced by intense anxiety.
Lisa immediately informs them, "Statistically speaking, the likelihood of them manipulating our statements is high. Therefore, the optimal strategy is to say nothing. If they ask questions, respond with, 'I'm not comfortable answering without my parents present.' They will attempt to persuade you, but do not engage. Silence is our most effective defense. For Lincoln's sake, follow this protocol precisely."
The urgency in Lisa's expression was unmistakable—her usual calm, analytical demeanor replaced by a rare intensity that said she wasn't kidding around.
Finally, Lucy needs to say her peace. "Does anyone even know what's going on? People are saying Lincoln did something terrible to Christina."
"It's bad," Lola added, "They're saying Lincoln tried to do… adult stuff with her. You know, touching her… down there. Like Mom always says to tell her if someone does that to us… I'm scared, guys. What if Lincoln really did it?"
Lana scolded her twin, "Cut it out, Lola. This is Lincoln. He wouldn't hurt a girl any more than he'd hurt us. You know that."
"But he's been different lately. Bolder. Maybe all that popularity went to his head. Remember how he tried to do adult stuff with Christina at home? What if this time it's the same thing?"
"Enough!" Lisa said loud, but sternly, cutting through the room like a laser. "There is a critical distinction between then and now. One scenario involved consent; the other involved force. And while I may be the youngest here, I am undeniably the most intellectually equipped to assess this situation. You may not comprehend the nuances, so I am instructing you all to shut up and do what I say!"
She bit her fingernails—a nervous habit none of them had ever seen before. This situation had rattled her so deeply that she'd even raised her voice, something she rarely did too.
As the sisters entered the office, each one of them came out with a look of distraught. The details of what they'd heard had left them visibly shaken, but they'd followed Lisa's instructions, keeping their mouths shut no matter how much they wanted to speak.
When it was her turn, Lisa walked in, her mind already working overtime. She needed to gather every detail, every piece of information that could help Lincoln. She sat down in the chair, her back straight and her composure sharp, locking onto the two men who held her brother's future in their hands.
Detective Stapler had an intimidating presence, and Lisa could sense it immediately. He introduced himself with a polite but no-nonsense tone. "Hello, Lisa. I'm Detective Stapler, and this is my partner, Detective Oliver." The other man gave a curt nod. "Before we begin, I want you to know you're not in trouble. We're just here to ask a few questions. Your sisters were… less willing to cooperate. Let's hope you're different."
"Very well, Detective. I'm prepared to answer your questions. I'm quite curious myself."
"Fair enough. Let's get straight to it. First, has your brother's behavior changed recently? Anything out of the ordinary that might explain why this happened?"
Lisa knew she had to choose her words carefully. She needed to paint Lincoln in the best possible light. "Yes, in fact, he's changed for the better. I won't deny the past few months have been stressful for him, but my brother is resilient. He always finds a way to solve his problems on his own. As for whether he'd ever hurt that girl… I highly doubt it."
Stapler raised an eyebrow. "Really? Explain."
"For one, while I don't know the full extent of their relationship, they've been quite close—even intimate, at times. My older sister Luna mentioned they kissed at a concert they all attended. They were holding each other like a married couple."
Detective Oliver now chimes in. "Intimate? Kissing? Are you saying the two of them were in a relationship?"
"By my assumption, you haven't asked all the right questions, or perhaps some of your witnesses haven't told the full story. Allow me to elaborate. My brother was caught in a love triangle between two girls—Christina and Jordan, or Girl Jordan, as they call her. Lincoln isn't exactly skilled when it comes to handling matters of the heart. He was trying to balance both of them, but he couldn't decide who to be with."
"So this Jordan girl—has Lincoln ever been in a relationship with her? Has he ever been physical with her, like he was with Christina?"
"Not that I recall. In fact, we were surprised he was even friends with her. We thought she was just a kind classmate, but apparently, their relationship runs deeper than we realized. There are parts of their connection we don't fully understand. All I can say is, they're very close—but not to the level of boyfriend and girlfriend. Though my brother never admitted it, there were clear signs he really liked her."
Detective Stapler nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Is it possible he was playing them both? We've heard from other students how disappointed they are in him—especially some of the girls who saw him as charismatic and charming. Do you agree?"
"If you're suggesting my brother is some kind of manipulative womanizer, then you're completely wrong. Yes, he's charismatic and charming, but that comes from his kind and attentive nature. Those girls are upset because they liked him—and now they feel let down by all of this."
Lisa leveled a cool, calculating stare at the detectives. "My brother is not a predator, no matter how it might appear. So I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and explain something that could either destroy him further or clear his name. This girl claims Lincoln attacked her, but she's been to our house before. My parents actually caught them in the act once. If they hadn't intervened, things would've gone much further. Now, consider this—why would a girl cry rape when she was willing before? Perhaps you're right. Maybe Lincoln is a ladies' man. Maybe he lost interest and moved on, and now she's lying out of spite."
She tilted her head slightly, her glasses catching the light as her gaze sharpened. "Does that help, Detectives? Because regardless, I'm done answering questions."
The two detectives exchanged a look, then turned back to Lisa. "Yes, it does," Detective Oliver said, his tone polite but firm. "Thank you for your cooperation, Lisa. You may leave now."
As the door clicked shut behind her, Principal Huggins shrugged. "Told you to be careful with her." The detectives nodded, then gestured for him to step out of the office so they could talk privately.
Once alone, Oliver turned to Stapler. "Alright, Eli. What's your take? Is the kid innocent in all this?"
"You know me—I go where the evidence leads. Right now, it's pointing to yes. But we need to hear from Christina, and she's not talking. She's too shaken up, and her dad's too angry to let us near her."
Oliver rubbed his chin, his brow furrowed. "Looks like we need more statements and evidence, Eli. And the way I see it, neither side is completely innocent. Maybe Lisa's onto something."
"Don't forget, Ben—family will do whatever it takes to protect their own. Huggins already informed the boy's parents, and they're out there searching for him. From what we've gathered, he took off with that other girl, Jordan."
Oliver sighed, shaking his head. "He could be pressuring her to back up his story—trying to cover his tracks. We need to find them and question both of them ASAP."
"Agreed. For now, we're done here."
It didn't take long for the video Chandler posted to spread beyond Royal Woods Elementary. By the time school let out, nearly all of his sisters were ready to take action.
"Lincoln! What the hell did you do?!" Lori's voice screeched as she slammed the front door open, her face red with fury.
Upstairs, Lincoln was buried under a blanket in his room, the fabric pulled tight over his head like a fortress. He could hear the stampede of footsteps as his sisters stormed the house, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of anger and disbelief. However, Lynn Sr. and Rita were ready, standing firm at the entrance to their son's room, where the girls now faced them in a tense, unmoving standoff.
"Move, Mom! Dad, let us through! "You have no idea how badly he messed up!" Lynn Jr. barked, her athletic build making her the natural leader of the charge. She shoved forward, trying to bulldoze past her parents, but both of them held firm.
Lynn Sr. was the first to voice his concerns. "That's enough, girls! Don't even think about laying a finger on him! Your brother's been through enough, and we don't even know if he did it or not!"
Luan argued, "Maybe so, but what about us? Our family name is ruined! Everyone's looking at us like we're criminals. You really think we can just go out in public after this?"
"Luan, Dad's right." Luna rebutted. "But I need to see him. There's no way our little bro's a monster. I mean, he was all lovey-dovey with that girl at the SMOOCH concert. So it doesn't add up—why would he hurt her?" Her voice wavered, her denial barely masking her fear.
Next was Lori to add her opinion. "Look, I agree with both of you. I don't want to believe it either. But let's not pretend Lincoln's completely innocent. He's been playing with fire, leading those girls on, and now we're all getting burned. I'm up for a Fairway scholarship, and this scandal could ruin my chances!"
Again, each sister was shouting over the other, until Rita had something to say.
"Alright, Alright we get it… You've all made your point, so now it's my turn. Starting tomorrow, everyone gets a few days off from school—we're sorting this out as a family. We'll talk to Lincoln once everyone's cooled off and thinking clearly. That's fair to all of you, and it's fair to him."
She waited, sweeping over her daughters for defiance. "But if any of you can't keep it together, you'll be packing your bags for Aunt Ruth's. And I don't mean for a visit—I mean permanently. Do I make myself clear?"
The idea of being sent to Aunt Ruth's might have been funny under different circumstances, but the look in their mother's eyes made it clear she wasn't joking. If they didn't calm down, they'd be gone—temporarily disowned.
But then Leni pushed past her sisters, challenging her mother's authority. She stands face to face with her and Rita warns her, "I'm not playing around, Leni. Go to your room."
"N-no!" Leni's voice cracked, her words stumbling out in a rush. "I don't care about rules right now! This isn't about me or any of us—it's about Lincoln! He's… he's scared, Mom. I can feel it. I may not be as smart as Lisa, but I know enough to see that he might be gone from us for a long time! What if… what if we never see him again?"
The reality of losing Lincoln—not just to the accusations, but to the ensuing fallout—struck with a profound clarity. A sudden epiphany swept over the family, calming their anger in an instant, only to replace it with a terrifying and lingering fear.
"P-please, Mom. Let me through. I just… I just want to hug my brother. It might be the last chance I get."
Almost as if summoned, Lincoln burst out of his room and collided with Leni, burying his face into her stomach. The impact made her stagger, and his small hands clung desperately to her teal dress, streaking it with snot and tears. Between sobs, his muffled voice broke through. "I am scared, Leni,' he confessed. 'I'm afraid I won't see you again. They're going to take me away."
Out of instinct her arms wrapped around him, tight and unyielding, her own tears spilling over. "Shhh… I've got you, Linky. I'm not going anywhere." She rocked him gently, her cheek pressed to the top of his head, as if she could shield him from the world with her embrace alone.
The sight of Lincoln's raw fear softened the hearts of her sisters. Lori's demanding tone shifted, the need to protect him outweighed her future. She extended her hand reaching for Lincoln's shoulder.
But as soon as her fingers brushed him, he violently flinched. "Get away from me!" he screamed, "I don't trust any of you! Just go away!"
The sisters recoiled as if struck, with Lori, dropping her hand to the side. "Please… all I want is Leni."
The second eldest tightened her hold on him, her gaze sweeping over her sisters. "I've got this," she implored, "Just… just go."
They didn't argue… leaving the scene with hurt and guilt. Little by little, they turned and shuffled to their rooms, their presence disappearing in the scene. But Lori lingered the longest, her jaw trembling as she stared at the brother who now saw her as a stranger. Then, with a shuddering breath, she turned and walked away, her shoulders slumped in defeat.
As for Lynn Sr. and Rita, they felt a small sense of relief that Lincoln was opening up once again. The thought of assuming the same pretense like their daughters didn't sit easy with them, and they were determined to do better next time. To distract themselves, they turned their attention to Lily, who had woken up fussing from all the commotion. Her tiny cries filled the room, giving them something to focus on while they contemplated their mistakes.
With her only sister by his side, Leni sat cross-legged on Lincoln's bed, humming a soft, soothing tune. His head rested in her lap, his small hands still clutching the fabric of her dress as if it were the last thread tethering him to a crumbling sanctuary. In her presence, he found the one solace his troubled heart could cling to, fragile and fleeting as it was.
Well, there you have it, everyone. I wanted to include so much more in this chapter, but there was simply too much to unpack to fit it all into one without losing its impact. Yet, somehow, I still feel like I failed at that. When you're dealing with multiple scenes and crucial details, cramming everything into a single chapter can dilute the emotional weight of the story. Yes, I could have expanded on Christina and her father's dynamic, or delved deeper into the sisters' reactions when they discovered the truth. But honestly, covering each sister's perspective—whether it's the elementary school sisters, Lynn, or the high school sisters—felt like it would become repetitive if I tried to tackle it all at once.
That's why I decided to save those moments for later chapters (maybe). For me, each chapter needs to focus on a specific theme or issue, something that drives the narrative forward while standing on its own. I know some of you might notice the shifting topics, but they all tie back to the same core subject. Which is also repetitive story telling. And even though this chapter might feel like a filler to some, it still moves the story forward, even if just a little. It lays the groundwork for what's to come, especially in how Christina's lie begins to unravel and take shape.