One of Us Is Lying

Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentseitheraretheproductofthe
author’simaginationorareusedfictitiously.Anyresemblancetoactualpersons,livingor
dead,events,orlocalesisentirelycoincidental.
Textcopyright©2017byKarenM.McManus
Coverphotographs©2017byHeroImages/GettyImages,Ollyy/Shutterstock,Henrik
Sorenson/GettyImages,CameronMcNee/GalleryStock
Allrightsreserved.PublishedintheUnitedStatesbyDelacortePress,animprintofRandom
HouseChildren’sBooks,adivisionofPenguinRandomHouseLLC,NewYork.
DelacortePressisaregisteredtrademarkandthecolophonisatrademarkofPenguinRandom
HouseLLC.
VisitusontheWeb!randomhouseteens.com
Educatorsandlibrarians,foravarietyofteachingtools,visitusatRHTeachersLibrarians.com
LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-PublicationData
Names:McManus,KarenM.,author.
Title:Oneofusislying/KarenM.McManus.
Description:Firstedition.|NewYork:DelacortePress,[2017]|Summary:“Whenthecreator
ofahighschoolgossipappmysteriouslydiesinfrontoffourhigh-profilestudentsallfour
becomesuspects.It’suptothemtosolvethecase”—Providedbypublisher.
Identifiers:LCCN2016032495|ISBN978-1-5247-1468-0(hc)|ISBN978-1-5247-1469-7(glb)
|ISBN978-1-5247-1470-3(ebook)|ISBN978-1-5247-6472-2(intl.tr.pbk.)
Subjects:|CYAC:Mysteryanddetectivestories.|Murder—Fiction.|Highschools—Fiction.|
Schools—Fiction.
Classification:LCCPZ7.1.M4637On2017|DDC[Fic]—dc23
EbookISBN 9781524714703
RandomHouseChildren’sBookssupportstheFirstAmendmentandcelebratestherightto
read.
v4.1
ep

Contents
Cover
TitlePage
Copyright
Dedication
PartOne:SimonSays
ChapterOne
ChapterTwo
ChapterThree
ChapterFour
ChapterFive
ChapterSix
ChapterSeven
ChapterEight
ChapterNine
PartTwo:Hide-and-Seek
ChapterTen
ChapterEleven
ChapterTwelve
ChapterThirteen
ChapterFourteen
ChapterFifteen
ChapterSixteen
ChapterSeventeen
ChapterEighteen
PartThree:TruthorDare

ChapterNineteen
ChapterTwenty
ChapterTwenty-one
ChapterTwenty-two
ChapterTwenty-three
ChapterTwenty-four
ChapterTwenty-five
ChapterTwenty-six
ChapterTwenty-seven
ChapterTwenty-eight
ChapterTwenty-nine
ChapterThirty
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
AbouttheAuthor

ForJack,whoalwaysmakesmelaugh

Bronwyn

Monday,September24,2:55p.m.

Asextape.Apregnancyscare.Twocheatingscandals.Andthat’sjust

this week’s update. If all you knew of Bayview High was Simon

Kelleher’s gossip app, you’d wonder how anyone found time to go to

class.

“Oldnews,Bronwyn,”saysavoiceovermyshoulder.“Waittillyou

seetomorrow’spost.”

Damn.IhategettingcaughtreadingAboutThat,especiallybyits

creator.Ilowermyphoneandslammylockershut.“Whoselivesare

youruiningnext,Simon?”

Simon falls into step beside me as I move against the flow of

students heading for the exit. “It’s a public service,” he says with a

dismissivewave.“YoututorReggieCrawley,don’tyou?Wouldn’tyou

ratherknowhehasacamerainhisbedroom?”

Idon’tbotheranswering.Megettinganywherenearthebedroom

ofperpetualstonerReggieCrawleyisaboutaslikelyasSimongrowing

aconscience.

“Anyway, they bring it on themselves. If people didn’t lie and

cheat, I’d be out of business.” Simon’s cold blue eyes take in my

lengtheningstrides.“Whereareyourushingoffto?Coveringyourself

inextracurricularglory?”

I wish. As if to taunt me, an alert crosses my phone: Mathlete

practice, 3 p.m., Epoch Coffee. Followed by a text from one of my

teammates:Evan’shere.

Ofcourseheis.ThecuteMathlete—lessofanoxymoronthanyou

mightthink—seemstoonlyevershowupwhenIcan’t.

“Notexactly,”Isay.Asageneralrule,andespeciallylately,Itryto

give Simon as little information as possible. We push through green

metaldoorstothebackstairwell,adividinglinebetweenthedinginess

oftheoriginalBayviewHighanditsbright,airynewwing.Everyyear

more wealthy families get priced out of San Diego and come fifteen

mileseasttoBayview,expectingthattheirtaxdollarswillbuythema

nicerschoolexperiencethanpopcornceilingsandscarredlinoleum.

Simon’sstillonmyheelswhenIreachMr.Avery’slabonthethird

floor,andIhalfturnwithmyarmscrossed.“Don’tyouhavesomeplace

tobe?”

“Yeah.Detention,”Simonsays,andwaitsformetokeepwalking.

WhenIgrasptheknobinstead,heburstsoutlaughing.“You’rekidding

me.Youtoo?What’syourcrime?”

“I’mwrongfullyaccused,”Imutter,andyankthedooropen.Three

otherstudentsarealreadyseated,andIpausetotakethemin.Notthe

groupIwouldhavepredicted.Exceptone.

NateMacauleytipshischairbackandsmirksatme.“Youmakea

wrongturn?Thisisdetention,notstudentcouncil.”

Heshouldknow.Nate’sbeenintroublesincefifthgrade,whichis

rightaroundthetimewelastspoke.The gossip mill tells me he’s on

probationwithBayview’sfinestfor…something.ItmightbeaDUI;it

mightbedrugdealing.He’sanotorioussupplier,butmyknowledgeis

purelytheoretical.

“Save the commentary.” Mr. Avery checks something off on a

clipboard and closes the door behind Simon. High arched windows

lining the back wall send triangles of afternoon sun splashing across

the floor, and faint sounds of football practice float from the field

behindtheparkinglotbelow.

I take a seat as Cooper Clay, who’s palming a crumpled piece of

paperlikeabaseball,whispers“Headsup,Addy”andtossesittoward

thegirlacrossfromhim.AddyPrentissblinks,smilesuncertainly,and

letstheballdroptothefloor.

Theclassroomclockinchestowardthree,andIfollowitsprogress

withahelplessfeelingofinjustice.Ishouldn’tevenbehere.Ishouldbe

atEpochCoffee,flirtingawkwardlywithEvanNeimanoverdifferential

equations.

Mr. Avery is a give-detention-first, ask-questions-never kind of

guy,butmaybethere’sstilltimetochangehismind.Iclearmythroat

andstarttoraisemyhanduntilInoticeNate’ssmirkbroadening.“Mr.

Avery,thatwasn’tmyphoneyou found.Idon’tknowhow itgotinto

my bag. This is mine,” I say, brandishing my iPhone in its melon-

stripedcase.

Honestly,you’dhavetobecluelesstobringaphonetoMr.Avery’s

lab.Hehasastrictno-phonepolicyandspendsthefirsttenminutesof

everyclassrootingthroughbackpackslikehe’sheadofairlinesecurity

andwe’reallonthewatchlist.Myphonewasinmylocker,likealways.

“You too?” Addy turns to me so quickly, her blond shampoo-ad

hair swirls around her shoulders. She must have been surgically

removedfromherboyfriendinorderto show up alone. “That wasn’t

myphoneeither.”

“Methree,”Cooperchimesin.HisSouthernaccentmakesitsound

likethray.HeandAddyexchangesurprisedlooks,andIwonderhow

this is news to them when they’re part of the same clique. Maybe

überpopular people have better things to talk about than unfair

detentions.

“Somebodypunkedus!”Simonleansforwardwithhiselbowson

thedesk,looking spring-loadedandready topounceonfresh gossip.

His gaze darts over all four of us, clustered in the middle of the

otherwise empty classroom, before settling on Nate. “Why would

anybodywanttotrapabunchofstudentswithmostlyspotlessrecords

indetention?Seemslikethesortofthingthat,oh,Idon’tknow,aguy

who’shereallthetimemightdoforfun.”

IlookatNate,butcan’tpictureit.Riggingdetentionsoundslike

work,andeverythingaboutNate—fromhismessydarkhairtohisratty

leather jacket—screams Can’t be bothered. Or yawns it, maybe. He

meets my eyes but doesn’t say a word, just tips his chair back even

farther.Anothermillimeterandhe’llfallrightover.

Cooper sits up straighter, a frown crossing his Captain America

face.“Hangon.Ithoughtthiswasjustamix-up,butifthesamething

happenedtoallofus,it’ssomebody’sstupidideaofaprank.AndI’m

missing baseball practice because of it.” He says it like he’s a heart

surgeonbeingdetainedfromalifesavingoperation.

Mr.Averyrollshiseyes.“Savetheconspiracytheoriesforanother

teacher. I’m not buying it. You all know the rules against bringing

phones to class, and you broke them.” He gives Simon an especially

sour glance. Teachers know About That exists, but there’s not much

theycandotostopit.Simononlyusesinitialstoidentifypeopleand

nevertalksopenlyaboutschool.“Nowlistenup.You’rehereuntilfour.

I want each of you to write a five-hundred-word essay on how

technologyisruiningAmericanhighschools.Anyonewhocan’tfollow

therulesgetsanotherdetentiontomorrow.”

“Whatdowewritewith?”Addyasks.“Therearen’tanycomputers

here.”MostclassroomshaveChromebooks,butMr.Avery,wholooks

likeheshouldhaveretiredadecadeago,isaholdout.

Mr. Avery crosses to Addy’s desk and taps the corner of a lined

yellow notepad. We all have one. “Explore the magic of longhand

writing.It’salostart.”

Addy’spretty,heart-shapedfaceisamaskofconfusion.“Buthow

doweknowwhenwe’vereachedfivehundredwords?”

“Count,” Mr. Avery replies. His eyes drop to the phone I’m still

holding.“Andhandthatover,MissRojas.”

“Doesn’tthefactthatyou’reconfiscatingmyphonetwicegiveyou

pause?Whohastwophones?”Iask.Nategrins,soquickIalmostmiss

it.“Seriously,Mr.Avery,somebodywasplayingajokeonus.”

Mr. Avery’s snowy mustache twitches in annoyance, and he

extendshishandwithabeckoningmotion.“Phone,MissRojas.Unless

you want a return visit.” I give it over with a sigh as he looks

disapprovinglyattheothers.“ThephonesItookfromtherestofyou

earlierareinmydesk.You’llgetthembackafterdetention.”Addyand

Cooper exchange amused glances, probably because their actual

phonesaresafeintheirbackpacks.

Mr. Avery tosses my phone into a drawer and sits behind the

teacher’sdesk,openingabookashepreparestoignoreusforthenext

hour. I pull out a pen, tap it against my yellow notepad, and

contemplatetheassignment.DoesMr.Averyreallybelievetechnology

isruiningschools?That’saprettysweepingstatementtomakeovera

few contraband phones. Maybe it’s a trap and he’s looking for us to

contradicthiminsteadofagree.

I glance at Nate,who’sbentoverhisnotepadwritingcomputers

suckoverandoverinblockletters.

It’spossibleI’moverthinkingthis.

Cooper

Monday,September24,3:05p.m.

My hand hurts within minutes. It’s pathetic, I guess, but I can’t

rememberthelasttimeIwroteanythinglonghand.PlusI’musingmy

righthand,whichneverfeelsnaturalno matter how many years I’ve

done it. My father insisted I learn to write right-handed in second

grade after he first saw me pitch. Your left arm’s gold, he told me.

Don’t waste it on crap that don’t matter. Which is anything but

pitchingasfarashe’sconcerned.

That was when he started calling me Cooperstown, like the

baseballhalloffame.Nothinglikeputtingalittlepressureonaneight-

year-old.

Simonreachesforhisbackpackandrootsaround,unzippingevery

section.Hehoistsitontohislapandpeersinside.“Wherethehell’smy

waterbottle?”

“Notalking,Mr.Kelleher,”Mr.Averysayswithoutlookingup.

“Iknow,but—mywaterbottle’smissing.AndI’mthirsty.”

Mr. Avery points toward the sink at the back of the room, its

countercrowdedwithbeakersandpetridishes.“Getyourselfadrink.

Quietly.”

Simongetsupandgrabsacupfromastackonthecounter,filling

itwithwaterfromthetap.Heheadsbacktohisseatandputsthecup

on his desk, but seems distracted by Nate’s methodical writing.

“Dude,” he says, kicking his sneaker against the leg of Nate’s desk.

“Seriously. Did you put those phones in our backpacks to mess with

us?”

NowMr.Averylooksup,frowning.“Isaidquietly,Mr.Kelleher.”

Nateleansbackandcrosseshisarms.“WhywouldIdothat?”

Simonshrugs.“Whydoyoudoanything?Soyou’llhavecompany

forwhateveryourscrew-upofthedaywas?”

“Onemorewordoutofeitherofyouandit’sdetentiontomorrow,”

Mr.Averywarns.

Simon opens his mouth anyway, but beforehecanspeakthere’s

thesoundoftiressquealingandthenthecrashoftwocarshittingeach

other.Addygasps andIbrace myselfagainstmy desklikesomebody

just rear-ended me. Nate, who looks glad for the interruption, is the

firstonhisfeettowardthewindow.“Whogetsintoafenderbenderin

theschoolparkinglot?”heasks.

BronwynlooksatMr.Averylikeshe’saskingforpermission,and

whenhegetsupfromhisdesksheheadsforthewindowaswell.Addy

followsher,andIfinallyunfoldmyselffrommyseat.Mightaswellsee

what’s going on. I lean against the ledge to look outside, and Simon

comesupbesidemewithadisparaginglaughashesurveysthescene

below.

Twocars,anoldredoneandanondescriptgrayone,aresmashed

intoeachotheratarightangle.WeallstareattheminsilenceuntilMr.

Averyletsoutanexasperated sigh. “I’d bettermakesurenoone was

hurt.”HerunshiseyesoverallofusandzeroesinonBronwynasthe

mostresponsibleofthebunch.“MissRojas,keepthisroomcontained

untilIgetback.”

“Okay,”Bronwynsays,castinganervousglancetowardNate.We

stayatthewindow,watchingthescenebelow,butbeforeMr.Averyor

another teacher appears outside, both cars start their engines and

driveoutoftheparkinglot.

“Well, that was anticlimactic,” Simon says. He heads back to his

deskandpicksuphiscup,butinsteadofsittinghewanderstothefront

oftheroomandscanstheperiodictableofelementsposter.Heleans

out into the hallway like he’s about to leave, but then he turns and

raiseshiscuplikehe’stoastingus.“Anyoneelsewantsomewater?”

“Ido,”Addysays,slippingintoherchair.

“Getityourself,princess.”Simonsmirks.Addyrollshereyesand

staysputwhileSimonleansagainstMr.Avery’sdesk.“Literally,huh?

What’ll you do with yourself now that homecoming’s over? Big gap

betweennowandseniorprom.”

Addylooksatmewithout answering. Idon’tblameher.Simon’s

train of thought almost never goes anywhere good when it comes to

ourfriends.Heactslikehe’sabovecaringwhetherhe’spopular,buthe

was pretty smug when he wound up on the junior prom court last

spring. I’m still not sure how he pulled that off, unless he traded

keepingsecretsforvotes.

Simonwasnowheretobefoundonhomecomingcourtlastweek,

though. I was voted king, so maybe I’m next on his list to harass, or

whateverthehellhe’sdoing.

“What’s your point, Simon?” I ask, taking a seat next to Addy.

Addy and I aren’t close, exactly, but I kind of feel protective of her.

She’s been dating my best friend since freshman year, and she’s a

sweetgirl.Alsonotthekindofpersonwhoknowshowtostanduptoa

guylikeSimonwhojustwon’tquit.

“She’saprincessandyou’reajock,”he says.Hethrusts hischin

toward Bronwyn, then at Nate. “And you’re a brain. And you’re a

criminal.You’reallwalkingteen-moviestereotypes.”

“What about you?” Bronwyn asks. She’s been hovering near the

window,butnowgoestoherdeskandperchesontopofit.Shecrosses

her legs and pulls her dark ponytail over one shoulder. Something

aboutheriscuterthisyear.Newglasses,maybe?Longerhair?Allofa

sudden,she’skindofworkingthissexy-nerdthing.

“I’mtheomniscientnarrator,”Simonsays.

Bronwyn’s brows rise above her black frames. “There’s no such

thinginteenmovies.”

“Ah,butBronwyn.”Simonwinksandchugshiswaterinonelong

gulp.“Thereissuchathinginlife.”

He says it like a threat, and I wonder if he’s got something on

Bronwyn for that stupid app of his. I hate that thing. Almost all my

friends have been on it at one point or another, and sometimes it

causes real problems. My buddy Luis and his girlfriend broke up

becauseofsomethingSimonwrote.Thoughitwasatruestoryabout

Luishookingupwithhisgirlfriend’scousin.Butstill.Thatstuffdoesn’t

havetobepublished.Hallwaygossipisbadenough.

AndifI’mbeing honest,I’mprettyfreaked at whatSimoncould

writeaboutmeifheputhismindtoit.

Simon holds his cup up, grimacing. “This tastes like crap.” He

dropsthecup,andIrollmyeyesathisattemptatdrama.Evenwhen

he falls to the floor, I still think he’s messing around. But then the

wheezingstarts.

Bronwyn’s on her feet first, then kneeling beside him. “Simon,”

she says, shaking his shoulder. “Are you okay? What happened? Can

you talk?” Her voice goes from concerned to panicky, and that’s

enough to get me moving. But Nate’s faster, shoving past me and

crouchingnexttoBronwyn.

“A pen,” he says, his eyes scanning Simon’s brick-red face. “You

haveapen?”Simonnodswildly,hishandclawingathisthroat.Igrab

thepenoffmydeskandtrytohandittoNate,thinkinghe’saboutto

doanemergencytracheotomyorsomething.Natejuststaresatmelike

Ihavetwoheads.“Anepinephrinepen,”hesays,searchingforSimon’s

backpack.“He’shavinganallergicreaction.”

Addy stands and wraps her arms around her body, not saying a

word.Bronwynturnstome,faceflushed.“I’mgoingtofindateacher

andcallnine-one-one.Staywithhim,okay?”Shegrabsherphoneout

ofMr.Avery’sdrawerandrunsintothehallway.

I kneel next to Simon. His eyes are bugging out of his head, his

lipsareblue,andhe’smakinghorriblechokingnoises.Natedumpsthe

entirecontentsofSimon’sbackpackonthefloorandscrabblesthrough

themessofbooks,papers,andclothes.“Simon,wheredoyoukeepit?”

he asks, tearing open the small front compartment and yanking out

tworegularpensandasetofkeys.

Simon’s way past talking, though. I put one sweaty palm on his

shoulder,likethat’lldoanygood.“You’reokay,you’regonnabeokay.

We’re gettin’ help.” I can hear my voice slowing, thickening like

molasses.MyaccentalwayscomesouthardwhenI’mstressed.Iturn

toNateandask,“Yousurehe’snotchokin’onsomethin’?”Maybehe

needstheHeimlichmaneuver,notafreakingmedicalpen.

Nate ignores me,tossingSimon’semptybackpackaside.“Fuck!”

heyells,slammingafistonthefloor.“Doyoukeepitonyou,Simon?

Simon!” Simon’s eyes roll back in his head as Nate digs around in

Simon’s pockets. But he doesn’t find anything except a wrinkled

Kleenex.

Sirensblarein thedistanceas Mr.Averyandtwootherteachers

race in with Bronwyn trailing behind them on her phone. “We can’t

find his EpiPen,” Nate says tersely, gesturing to the pile of Simon’s

things.

Mr.AverystaresatSimoninslack-jawedhorrorforasecond,then

turnstome.“Cooper,thenurse’soffice has EpiPens. They should be

labeledinplainsight.Hurry!”

Irunintothehallway,hearingfootstepsbehindmethatfadeasI

quickly reach the back stairwell and yank the door open. I take the

stairsthreeatatimeuntilI’monthefirstfloor,andweavethrougha

fewstragglingstudentsuntilIgettothenurse’soffice.Thedoor’sajar,

butnobody’sthere.

It’s a cramped little space with the exam table up against the

windowsandabiggraystoragecabinetloomingtomyleft.Iscanthe

room, my eyes landing on two wall-mounted white boxes with red

block lettering. One reads EMERGENCY DEFIBRILLATOR, the other

EMERGENCY EPINEPHRINE. I fumble at the latch on the second one and

pullitopen.

There’snothinginside.

Iopentheotherbox,whichhasaplasticdevicewithapictureofa

heart. I’mprettysurethat’snotit,soIstartrummagingthroughthe

graystoragecabinet,pullingoutboxesofbandagesandaspirin.Idon’t

seeanythingthatlookslikeapen.

“Cooper, did you find them?” Ms. Grayson, one of the teachers

who’d entered the lab with Mr. Avery and Bronwyn, barrels into the

room.She’spantinghardandclutchingherside.

I gesture toward the empty wall-mounted box. “They should be

there,right?Butthey’renot.”

“Checkthesupplycabinet,”Ms.Graysonsays,ignoringtheBand-

Aid boxes scattered across the floor that prove I’ve already tried.

Anotherteacherjoinsus,andweteartheofficeapartasthesoundof

sirens gets closer. When we’ve opened the last cabinet, Ms. Grayson

wipesatrickleofsweatfromherforeheadwiththebackofherhand.

“Cooper, let Mr. Avery know we haven’t found anything yet. Mr.

ContosandIwillkeeplooking.”

I get to Mr. Avery’slabthesametimetheparamedicsdo.There

arethreeoftheminnavyuniforms,twopushingalongwhitestretcher,

oneracingaheadtoclearthesmallcrowdthat’sgatheredaroundthe

door.Iwaituntilthey’reallinsideandslipinbehindthem.Mr.Avery’s

slumpednexttothechalkboard,hisyellowdressshirtuntucked.“We

couldn’tfindthepens,”Itellhim.

Herunsashakinghandthroughhisthinwhitehairasoneofthe

paramedicsstabsSimonwithasyringeandtheothertwolifthimonto

thestretcher.“Godhelpthatboy,”hewhispers.Moretohimselfthan

tome,Ithink.

Addy’sstandingoffto the sidebyherself,tears rollingdownher

cheeks.Icrossovertoherandputanarmaroundhershouldersasthe

paramedics maneuver Simon’s stretcher into the hallway. “Can you

come along?” one asks Mr. Avery. He nods and follows, leaving the

roomemptyexceptforafewshell-shockedteachersandthefourofus

whostarteddetentionwithSimon.

Barelyfifteenminutesago,bymyguess,butitfeelslikehours.

“Isheokaynow?”Addyasksinastrangledvoice.Bronwynclasps

her phone between herpalmslikeshe’susingittopray.Natestands

with his hands on his hips, staring at the door as more teachers and

studentsstarttricklinginside.

“I’mgonnagooutonalimbandsayno,”hesays.

Addy

Monday,September24,3:25p.m.

Bronwyn,Nate,andCooperarealltalkingtotheteachers,butIcan’t.I

needJake.Ipullmyphoneoutofmybagtotexthimbutmyhandsare

shakingtoobad.SoIcallinstead.

“Baby?” He picks up on the second ring, sounding surprised.

We’re not big callers. None of our friends are. Sometimes when I’m

with Jake and his phone rings, he holds it up and jokes, “What does

‘incomingcall’mean?”It’susuallyhismom.

“Jake”isall Icangetout beforeIstart bawling.Cooper’sarm is

stillaround myshoulders,andit’stheonlythingkeepingmeup.I’m

cryingtoohardtotalk,andCoopertakesthephonefromme.

“Hey, man. ’S Cooper,” he says, his accent thicker than normal.

“Where you at?” He listens for a few seconds. “Can you meet us

outside? There’s been…Somethin’ happened. Addy’s real upset. Naw,

she’sfine,but…SimonKellehergothurtbadindetention.Ambulance

tookhiman’wedunnoifhe’sgon’beokay.”Cooper’swordsmeltinto

oneanotherlikeicecream,andIcanhardlyunderstandhim.

Bronwyn turns to the closest teacher, Ms. Grayson. “Should we

stay?Doyouneedus?”

Ms.Grayson’shandsflutteraroundherthroat.“Goodness,Idon’t

supposeso.Youtoldtheparamedicseverything?Simon…tookadrink

of water and collapsed?” Bronwyn and Cooper both nod. “It’s so

strange.Hehasapeanutallergy,ofcourse,but…you’resurehedidn’t

eatanything?”

Cooper gives me my phone and runs a hand through his neatly

croppedsandyhair.“Idon’tthinkso.Hejustdrankacupofwateran’

fellover.”

“Maybe it was something he had with lunch,” Ms. Grayson says.

“It’spossiblehehadadelayedreaction.”Shelooksaroundtheroom,

hereyessettlingonSimon’sdiscardedcuponthefloor.“Isupposewe

shouldputthisaside,”shesays,brushingpastBronwyntopickitup.

“Somebodymightwanttolookatit.”

“I want to go,” I burst out, swiping at the tears on my cheeks. I

can’tstandbeinginthisroomanothersecond.

“OkayifIhelpher?”Cooperasks,andMs.Graysonnods.“Should

Icomeback?”

“No,that’sallright,Cooper.I’msurethey’llcallyouiftheyneed

you. Go home and try to get back to normal. Simon’s in good hands

now.” She leans in a little closer, her tone softening. “I am so sorry.

Thatmusthavebeenawful.”

She’s mostly looking at Cooper, though. There’s not a female

teacheratBayviewwhocanresisthisall-Americancharm.

Cooperkeepsanarmaroundmeonthewayout.It’snice.Idon’t

have brothers, but if I did, I imagine this is how they’d prop you up

when you felt sick. Jake wouldn’t like most of his friends being this

closetome,butCooper’sfine.He’sagentleman.Ileanintohimaswe

passpostersforlastweek’shomecomingdancethathaven’tbeentaken

downyet.Cooperpushesthefrontdooropen,andthere,thankGod,is

Jake.

I collapse into his arms, and for a second, everything’s okay. I’ll

never forget seeing Jake for the first time, freshman year: he had a

mouth full of braces and hadn’t gotten tall or broad-shouldered yet,

but I took one look at his dimples and summer sky–blue eyes and

knew.Hewastheoneforme.It’sjustabonusheturnedoutbeautiful.

He strokes my hair while Cooper explains in a low voice what

happened.“God,Ads,”Jakesays.“That’sawful.Let’sgetyouhome.”

Cooperleavesonhisown,andI’msuddenlysorryIdidn’tdomore

forhim.Icantellbyhisvoicehe’sasfreakedoutasIam,justhidingit

better.ButCooper’ssogolden,hecanhandleanything.Hisgirlfriend,

Keely, is one of my best friends, and the kind of girl who does

everythingright.She’llknowexactlyhowtohelp.Waybetterthanme.

IsettlemyselfintoJake’scarandwatchthetownblurpastashe

drivesalittletoofast.Iliveonlyamilefromschool,andthedriveis

short, but I’m bracing myself for my mother’s reaction because I’m

positive she’ll have heard. Her communication channels are

mysteriousbutfoolproof,andsureenoughshe’sstandingonourfront

porchasJakepullsintothedriveway.Icanreadhermoodeventhough

theBotoxfrozeherexpressionslongago.

I wait until Jake opens my door to climb out of the car, fitting

myselfunderhisarmlikealways.Myoldersister,Ashton,likestojoke

thatI’moneofthosebarnaclesthatwoulddiewithoutitshost.It’snot

actuallysofunny.

“Adelaide!”Mymother’sconcernistheatrical.Shestretchesouta

handaswemakeourwayupthestepsandstrokesmyfreearm.“Tell

mewhathappened.”

Idon’twantto.EspeciallynotwithMom’sboyfriendlurkinginthe

doorwaybehindher,pretendinghiscuriosityisactualconcern.Justin

istwelveyearsyoungerthanmymother,whichmakeshimfiveyears

youngerthanhersecondhusband,andfifteenyearsyoungerthanmy

dad.Attherateshe’sgoing,she’lldateJakenext.

“It’sfine,”Imutter,duckingpastthem.“I’mfine.”

“Hey,Mrs.Calloway,”Jakesays.Momuseshersecondhusband’s

last name, not my dad’s. “I’m going to take Addy to her room. The

wholethingwasawful.IcantellyouaboutitafterIgethersettled.”It

alwaysamazesmehowJaketalkstomymother,likethey’repeers.

And she lets him get away with it. Likes it. “Of course,” she

simpers.

My mother thinks Jake’s too good for me. She’s been telling me

that since sophomore year when he got super hot and I stayed the

same.Momused toenterAshtonandmeinto beautypageantswhen

we were little, always with the same results for both of us: second

runner-up. Homecoming princess, not queen. Not bad, but not good

enoughtoattractandkeepthekindofmanwhocantakecareofyou

forlife.

I’mnotsureifthat’severbeenstatedasagoaloranything,butit’s

whatwe’resupposedtodo.Mymotherfailed. Ashton’s failing in her

two-year marriage with a husband who’s dropped out of law school

and barely spends any time with her. Something about the Prentiss

girlsdoesn’tstick.

“Sorry,” I murmur to Jake as we head upstairs. “I didn’t handle

this well. You should’ve seen Bronwyn and Cooper. They were great.

AndNate—myGod.IneverthoughtI’dseeNateMacauleytakecharge

thatway.Iwastheonlyonewhowasuseless.”

“Shhh,don’ttalklikethat,”Jakesaysintomyhair.“It’snottrue.”

He says it with a note of finality, because he refuses to see

anything but the best in me. If that ever changed, I honestly don’t

knowwhatI’ddo.

Nate

Monday,September24,4:00p.m.

WhenBronwynandIgettotheparkinglotit’snearlyempty,andwe

hesitate once we’re outside the door. I’ve known Bronwyn since

kindergarten, give or take a few middle-school years, but we don’t

exactly hang out. Still, it’s not weird having her next to me. Almost

comfortableafterthatdisasterupstairs.

She looks around like she just woke up. “I didn’t drive,” she

mutters.“Iwassupposedtogeta ride. To EpochCoffee.” Something

aboutthe wayshe saysit soundssignificant, asif there’smoretothe

storyshe’snotsharing.

Ihavebusinesstotransact,butnowprobablyisn’tthetime.“You

wantaride?”

Bronwynfollowsmygazetomymotorcycle.“Seriously?Iwouldn’t

geton thatdeathtrapifyou paidme. Doyou knowthe fatalityrates?

They’renojoke.”Shelooksreadytopulloutaspreadsheetandshow

me.

“Suityourself.”Ishouldleaveherandgohome,butI’mnotready

tofacethatyet.IleanagainstthebuildingandpullaflaskofJimBeam

out of my jacket pocket, unscrewing the top and holding it toward

Bronwyn.“Drink?”

She folds her arms tightly across her chest. “Are you kidding?

That’s your brilliant idea before climbing onto your machine of

destruction?Andonschoolproperty?”

“You’realotoffun,youknowthat?”Idon’tactuallydrinkmuch;

I’dgrabbedtheflaskfrommyfatherthismorningandforgottenabout

it.Butthere’ssomethingsatisfyingaboutannoyingBronwyn.

I’mabouttoputitbackinmypocketwhenBronwynfurrowsher

browandholdsoutherhand.“Whatthehell.”Sheslumpsagainstthe

redbrick wall beside me, inching down until she’s sitting on the

ground. For some reason I flash back to elementary school, when

Bronwyn and I went to the same Catholic school. Before life went

completelytohell.Allthegirlsworeplaiduniformskirts,andshe’sgot

a similar skirt on now that hikes up her thighs as she crosses her

ankles.Theview’snotbad.

Shedrinksforasurprisinglylongtime.“What.Just.Happened?”

I sit next to her and take the flask, putting it on the ground

betweenus.“Ihavenoidea.”

“He looked like he was going to die.” Bronwyn’s hand shakes so

hard when she picks up the flask again that it clatters against the

ground.“Don’tyouthink?”

“Yeah,”IsayasBronwyntakesanotherswigandmakesaface.

“Poor Cooper,” she says. “He sounded like he left Ole Miss

yesterday.Healwaysgetsthatwaywhenhe’snervous.”

“Iwouldn’tknow.Butwhat’s-her-namewasuseless.”

“Addy.” Bronwyn’s shoulder briefly nudges mine. “You should

knowhername.”

“Why?”Ican’tthinkofagoodreason.ThatgirlandIhavebarely

crossedpathsbefore todayandprobablywon’tagain. I’mprettysure

that’sfinewithbothofus.Iknowhertype.Notathoughtinherhead

exceptherboyfriendandwhateverpettypowerplay’shappeningwith

her friends this week. Hot enough, I guess, but other than that she’s

gotnothingtooffer.

“Because we’ve all been through a huge trauma together,”

Bronwynsays,likethatsettlesthings.

“Youhavealotofrules,don’tyou?”

IforgothowtiringBronwynis.Eveningradeschool,theamount

of crap she cared about on a daily basis would wear down a normal

person.Shewasalwaystryingtojointhings,orstartthingsforother

peopletojoin.Thenbeinchargeofallthethingsshejoinedorstarted.

She’snotboring,though.I’llgiveherthat.

We sit in silence, watching the last of the cars leave the parking

lot,whileBronwynsipsoccasionallyfromtheflask.WhenIfinallytake

itfromher,I’msurprisedathowlightitis.IdoubtBronwyn’susedto

hardliquor.Sheseemsmoreawinecoolergirl.Ifthat.

Iputtheflaskbackinmypocketasshepluckslightlyatmysleeve.

“Youknow,Imeantto tell you, backwhenithappened—Iwas really

sorrytohearaboutyourmom,”shesayshaltingly.“Myunclediedina

car accident too, right around the same time. I wanted to say

something to you, but…you and I, you know, we didn’t really…” She

trailsoff,herhandstillrestingonmyarm.

“Talk,”Isay.“It’sfine.Sorryaboutyouruncle.”

“Youmustmissheralot.”

I don’t want to talk about my mother. “Ambulance came pretty

fasttoday,huh?”

Bronwyngetsa little redandpulls her handback,but rolls with

the quick-change conversation. “How did you know what to do? For

Simon?”

I shrug. “Everybody knows he has a peanut allergy. That’s what

youdo.”

“I didn’t know about the pen.” She snorts out a laugh. “Cooper

gave you an actual pen! Like you were going to write him a note or

something.OhmyGod.”Shebangsherheadsohardagainstthewall

she might’ve cracked something. “I should go home. This is

unproductiveatbest.”

“Offerofaridestands.”

Idon’texpecthertotakeit,butshesays“Sure,whynot”andholds

out her hand. She stumbles a little as I help her up. I didn’t think

alcohol could kick in after fifteen minutes, but I might’ve

underestimatedtheBronwynRojaslightweightfactor.Probablyshould

havetakentheflaskawaysooner.

“Wheredoyoulive?”Iask,straddlingtheseatandfittingthekey

intheignition.

“Thorndike Street. A couple miles from here. Past the center of

town, turn left onto Stone Valley Terrace after Starbucks.” The rich

partoftown.Ofcourse.

Idon’tusuallytakeanybodyonmybikeanddon’thaveasecond

helmet,soIgivehermine.ShetakesitandIhavetowillmyselftopull

myeyesawayfrom the bareskinof her thighasshehops on behind

me, tucking her skirt between her legs. She clamps her arms around

mywaisttootightly,butIdon’tsayanything.

“Goslow,okay?”sheasksnervouslyasIstarttheengine.I’dlike

to irritate her more, but I leave the parking lot at half my normal

speed.AndthoughIdidn’tthinkitwaspossible,shesqueezesmeeven

tighter. We ride like that, her helmeted head pressed up against my

back,andI’dbetathousanddollars,ifIhadit,thathereyesareshut

tightuntilwereachherdriveway.

Herhouseisaboutwhatyou’dexpect—ahugeVictorianwithabig

lawnandlotsofcomplicatedtreesandflowers.There’saVolvoSUVin

thedriveway,andmybike—whichyoucouldcallaclassicifyouwere

feelinggenerous—looksasridiculousnexttoitasBronwynmustlook

behindme.Talkaboutthingsthatdon’tgotogether.

Bronwyn climbs off and fumbles at the helmet. I unhook it and

helpherpullitoff,looseningastrandofhairthatcatchesonthestrap.

Shetakesadeepbreathandstraightensherskirt.

“That was terrifying,” she says, then jumps as a phone rings.

“Where’smybackpack?”

“Yourback.”

She shrugs it off and yanks her phone from the front pocket.

“Hello?Yes,Ican….Yes,thisisBronwyn.Didyou—OhGod.Areyou

sure?”Herbackpackslipsoutofherhandandfallsatherfeet.“Thank

youforcalling.”Shelowersthephoneandstaresatme,hereyeswide

andglassy.

“Nate,he’sgone,”shesays.“Simon’sdead.”

Bronwyn

Tuesday,September25,8:50a.m.

Ican’tstopdoingthemathinmyhead.It’seight-fiftya.m.onTuesday,

andtwenty-fourhoursagoSimonwasgoingtohomeroomforthelast

time. Six hours and five minutes from then we were heading to

detention.Anhourlater,hedied.

Seventeenyears,gonejustlikethat.

I slide down into my chair in the back corner of homeroom,

feelingtwenty-fiveheadsswivelmywayas I sit. Even without About

Thattoprovideanupdate,newsofSimon’sdeathwaseverywhereby

dinnertimelastnight.IgotmultipletextsfromeveryoneI’veevergiven

myphonenumberto.

“Youallright?”MyfriendYumikoreachesoverandsqueezesmy

hand. I nod, but the gesture makes the pounding in my head even

worse. Turns out half a flask of bourbon on an empty stomach is a

terrible idea. Luckily both my parents were still at work when Nate

dropped me off, and my sister, Maeve, poured enough black coffee

down my throat that I was semicoherent by the time they got home.

Anylingeringeffectstheychalkeduptotrauma.

The first bell rings, but the speaker crackle that usually signals

morning announcements never comes. Instead, our homeroom

teacher,Mrs.Park,clearsherthroatandgetsupfrombehindherdesk.

She’sclutchingasheetofpaperthattremblesinherhandasshestarts

to read. “The following is an official announcement from Bayview

High’sadministration.I’msosorrytohavetosharethisterriblenews.

Yesterdayafternoononeofyourclassmates,SimonKelleher,suffereda

massive allergic reaction. Medical help was called immediately and

arrived quickly, but unfortunately, it was too late to help Simon. He

diedatthehospitalshortlyafterarrival.”

Alowwhisperingbuzzrunsthroughtheroomassomebodychokes

outasob.Halftheclassalreadyhastheirphonesout.Rulesbedamned

today, I guess. Before I can stop myself, I pull my phone from my

backpackandswipetoAboutThat.Ihalfexpectanotificationforthe

juicynewupdateSimonbraggedaboutbeforedetentionyesterday,but

ofcoursethere’snothingexceptlastweek’snews.

Ourfavoritestonerdrummer’stryinghishandatfilm.RC’sinstalledacamera

inthelightfixtureinhisbedroom,andhe’sbeenholdingpremieresforall

hisfriends.You’vebeenwarned,girls.(ToolateforKL,though.)

Everyone’sseentheflirtingbetweenmanicpixiedreamgirlTCandnew

richboyGR,butwhoknewitmightbesomethingmore?Apparentlynother

boyfriend,whosatobliviousinthebleachersatSaturday’sgamewhileT&Ggot

hotandheavyrightunderneathhim.Sorry,JD.Alwaysthelasttoknow.

ThethingwithAboutThatwas…youcouldprettymuchguarantee

every word was true. Simon built it sophomore year, after he spent

spring break at some expensive coding camp in Silicon Valley, and

nobodyexcepthimwasallowedtopostthere.Hehadsourcesallover

school,andhewaschoosyandcarefulaboutwhathereported.People

usuallydenieditorignoredit,buthewasneverwrong.

I’d never been featured; I’m too squeaky-clean for that. There’s

onlyonethingSimonmighthavewrittenaboutme,butitwouldhave

beenalmostimpossibleforhimtofindout.

NowIguessheneverwill.

Mrs.Parkisstilltalking.“Therewillbegriefcounselingprovided

in the auditorium all day. You may leave class any time you feel the

needtospeakwithsomeoneaboutthistragedy.Theschoolisplanning

amemorialserviceforSimonafterSaturday’sfootballgame,andwe’ll

providethosedetailsassoonasthey’reavailable.We’llalsobesureto

keepyouuptodateonhisfamily’sarrangementsonceweknowthem.”

Thebellringsandweall get uptoleave,but Mrs.Parkcallsmy

namebeforeI’veevencollectedmybackpack.“Bronwyn,canyouhold

backamoment?”

Yumiko shoots me a sympathetic look as she stands, tucking a

strandofherchoppyblackhairbehindherear.“KateandI’llwaitfor

youinthehallway,okay?”

I nod and grab my bag. Mrs. Park is still dangling the

announcement from one hand as I approach her desk. “Bronwyn,

PrincipalGuptawantsallofyouwhowereintheroomwithSimonto

receiveone-on-onecounselingtoday.She’saskedmetoletyouknow

thatyou’rescheduledforeleveno’clockinMr.O’Farrell’soffice.”

Mr.O’Farrellismyguidancecounselor,andI’mveryfamiliarwith

his office. I’ve spent a lot of time there over the past six months,

strategizing college admissions. “Is Mr. O’Farrell doing the

counseling?”Iask.Iguessthatwouldn’tbesobad.

Mrs.Park’sforeheadcreases.“Oh,no.Theschool’sbringingin a

professional.”

Great. I’d spent half the night trying to convince my parents I

didn’t need to see anybody. They’ll be thrilled it was forced on me

anyway.“Okay,”Isay,andwaitincaseshehasanythingelsetotellme,

butshejustpatsmyarmawkwardly.

As promised, Kate and Yumiko are hovering outside the door.

Theyflankmeaswewalktofirst-periodcalculus,likethey’reshielding

me from intrusive paparazzi. Yumiko steps aside, though, when she

seesEvanNeimanwaitingoutsideourclassroomdoor.

“Bronwyn, hey.” Evan’s wearing one of his usual monogrammed

poloshirtswithEWNembroideredinscriptabovehisheart.I’vealways

wondered what the W stands for. Walter? Wendell? William? I hope

forhissakeit’sWilliam.“Didyougetmytextlastnight?”

Idid.Needanything?Wantsomecompany?Sincethat’stheonly

timeEvanNeimanhasevertextedme,mycynicalsidedecidedhewas

angling for a front-row seat to the most shocking thing that’s ever

happenedatBayview.“Idid,thanks.Iwasreallytired,though.”

“Well, if you ever feel like talking, let me know.” Evan glances

around the emptying hallway. He’s a stickler for punctuality. “We

shouldprobablygetinside,huh?”

Yumikogrinsatmeaswetakeourseatsandwhispers,“Evankept

askingwhereyouwereatMathletepracticeyesterday.”

IwishIcouldmatchherenthusiasm,butatsomepointbetween

detention and calculus I lost all interest in Evan Neiman. Maybe it’s

posttraumatic stress from the Simon situation, but right now I can’t

remember what attracted me in the first place. Not that I was ever

headoverheels.MostlyIthoughtEvanandIhadpotentialtobeasolid

couple until graduation, at which point we’d break up amicably and

headtoourdifferentcolleges.WhichIrealizeisprettyuninspiring,but

soishighschooldating.Forme,anyway.

Isitthroughcalculus,mymindfar,farawayfrommath,andthen

suddenly it’s over and I’m walking to AP English with Kate and

Yumiko.Myhead’sstillsofullofwhathappenedyesterdaythatwhen

wepassNateinthehallwayitseemsperfectlynaturaltocallout,“Hi,

Nate.”Istop,surprisingusboth,andhedoestoo.

“Hey,”hereplies.Hisdarkhairismoredisheveledthanever,and

I’mprettysurehe’swearingthesameT-shirtasyesterday.Somehow,

though, it works on him. A little too well. Everything from his tall,

rangybuildtohisangularcheekbonesandwide-set,dark-fringedeyes

ismakingmelosemytrainofthought.

Kate and Yumiko are staring at him too, but in a different way.

Morelikehe’s anunpredictablezooanimalina flimsycage.Hallway

conversations with Nate Macauley aren’t exactly part of our routine.

“Haveyouhadyourcounselingsessionyet?”Iask.

Hisfaceisatotalblank.“Mywhat?”

“Grief counseling. Because of Simon. Didn’t your homeroom

teachertellyou?”

“I just got here,” he says, and my eyes widen. I never expected

Natetowinanyattendanceawards,butit’salmostteno’clock.

“Oh.Well,allofuswhoweretherearesupposedtohaveone-on-

onesessions.Mine’sateleven.”

“JesusChrist,”Natemutters,rakingahandthroughhishair.

Thegesturepullsmyeyestohisarm,wheretheyremainuntilKate

clearsherthroat.MyfaceheatsasIsnapbacktoattention,toolateto

Yumiko bends her head toward mine as soon as we’re out of

earshot.“Helooks like hejustrolled out ofbed,”shewhispers.“And

notalone.”

“I hope you doused yourself in Lysol after getting off his

motorcycle,”Kateadds.“He’satotalman-whore.”

Iglareat her.“Yourealize it’ssexisttosay man-whore,right?If

youhavetousethetermyoushouldatleastbegender-neutralabout

it.”

“Whatever,”Katesaysdismissively.“Pointis,he’sawalkingSTD.”

Idon’tanswer.That’sNate’sreputation,sure,butwedon’treally

knowanythingabouthim.Ialmosttellherhowcarefullyhedroveme

homeyesterday,exceptI’mnotsurewhatpointI’dbetryingtomake.

After English I head for Mr. O’Farrell’s office, and he waves me

inside when I knock on his open door. “Have a seat, Bronwyn. Dr.

Resnickisrunninga little late,butshe’llbe here shortly.” Isitdown

acrossfromhim andspymy namescrawledacross themanilafolder

placed neatly in the middle of his desk. I move to pick it up, then

hesitate,notsureifit’sconfidential,buthepushesittowardme.“Your

recommendationfrom theModelUNorganizer.Inplentyoftimefor

Yale’searly-actiondeadline.”

Iexhale,lettingoutasmallsighofrelief.“Oh,thanks!”Isay,and

pickupthefolder.It’sthelastoneI’vebeenwaitingfor.Yale’safamily

tradition—mygrandfatherwasavisitingscholarthereandmovedhis

wholefamilyfromColombiatoNewHavenwhenhegottenure.Allhis

kids, including my dad, went to undergrad there, and it’s where my

parentsmet.Theyalwayssayourfamilywouldn’texistifitweren’tfor

Yale.

“You’re very welcome.” Mr. O’Farrell leans back and adjusts his

glasses. “Were your ears burning earlier? Mr. Camino stopped by to

ask if you’d be interested in tutoring for chemistry this semester. A

bunchofbrightjuniorsarestrugglingthewayyoudidlastyear.They’d

lovetolearnstrategiesfromsomeonewhoendedupacingthecourse.”

IhavetoswallowacoupleoftimesbeforeIcananswer.“Iwould,”

I say, as brightly as I can manage, “but I might be overcommitted

already.”Mysmilestretchestootightlyovermyteeth.

“Noworries.Youhavealotonyourplate.”

Chemistrywas theonlyclassI’deverstruggledwith,somuchso

thatIhadaDaverageatmidterm.WitheveryquizIbombed,Icould

feel the Ivy League slipping out of reach. Even Mr. O’Farrell started

gentlysuggestingthatanytop-tierschoolwoulddo.

SoIbroughtmygradesup,andgotan Abytheendoftheyear.

But I’m pretty sure nobody wants me sharing my strategies with the

otherstudents.

Cooper

Thursday,September27,12:45p.m.

“WillIseeyoutonight?”

Keelytakesmyhandaswewalktoourlockersafterlunch,looking

up at me with huge dark eyes. Her mom is Swedish and her dad’s

Filipino, and the combination makes Keely the most beautiful girl in

school by a lot. I haven’t seen her much this week between baseball

andfamilystuff,andIcantellshe’sgettingantsy.Keely’snotaclinger,

exactly,butsheneedsregularcoupletime.

“Notsure,”Isay.“I’mprettybehindonhomework.”

Her perfect lips curve down and I can tell she’s about to protest

when a voice floats over the loudspeaker. “Attention, please. Would

CooperClay,NateMacauley,AdelaidePrentiss,andBronwynRojas

please report to the main office. Cooper Clay, Nate Macauley,

AdelaidePrentiss,andBronwynRojastothemainoffice.”

Keely looks around like she’s expecting an explanation. “What’s

thatabout?SomethingtodowithSimon?”

“I guess.” I shrug. I already answered questions from Principal

Guptaacoupleofdaysagoaboutwhathappenedduringdetention,but

maybe she’s gearing up for another round. My father says Simon’s

parents are pretty connected around town, and the school should be

worriedaboutalawsuitifitturnsouttheywerenegligentinanyway.

“Bettergo.I’lltalktoyoulater,okay?”IgiveKeelyaquickkissonthe

cheek,shouldermybackpack,andheaddownthehall.

When I get to the principal’s office, the receptionist points me

toward a small conference room that’s already crowded with people:

PrincipalGupta,Addy,Bronwyn,Nate,andapoliceofficer.Mythroat

getsalittledryasItakethelastemptychair.

“Cooper,good.Nowwecangetstarted.”PrincipalGuptafoldsher

handsinfrontofherandlooksaroundthetable.“I’dliketointroduce

Officer Hank Budapest with the Bayview Police Department. He has

somequestionsaboutwhatyouwitnessedonMonday.”

OfficerBudapestshakeseachofourhandsinturn.He’syoungbut

already balding, with sandy hair and freckles. Not very intimidating,

authority-wise. “Nice to meet you all. This shouldn’t take long, but

afterspeakingwiththeKelleherfamilywewanttotakeacloserlookat

Simon’sdeath.Autopsyresultscamebackthismorning,and—”

“Already?” Bronwyn interrupts, earning a look from Principal

Guptathatshedoesn’tnotice.“Don’tthoseusuallytakelonger?”

“Preliminaryresultscanbeavailablewithinacoupledays,”Officer

Budapestsays.“Thesewerefairlyconclusive,showingthatSimondied

from a large dose of peanut oil ingested shortly before death. Which

hisparentsfoundstrange,consideringhowcarefulhealwayswaswith

hisfoodanddrink.AllofyoutoldPrincipalGuptathatSimondranka

cupofwaterjustbeforehecollapsed,isthatright?”

We all nod, and Officer Budapest continues, “The cup contained

tracesofpeanutoil,soitseemsclearSimondiedfromthatdrink.What

we’retryingtofigureoutnowishowpeanutoilcouldhavegotteninto

hiscup.”

Nobody speaks. Addy meets my eyes and then cuts hers away, a

small frown creasing her forehead. “Does anyone remember where

Simon got the cup from?” OfficerBudapestprompts,poisinghispen

overablanknotebookinfrontofhim.

“I wasn’t paying attention,” Bronwyn says. “I was writing my

assignment.”

“Me too,” Addy says, although I could’ve sworn she hadn’t even

started.Natestretchesandstaresattheceiling.

“Iremember,”Ivolunteer.“Hegotthecupfromastacknexttothe

sink.”

“Wasthestackupsidedown,orright-sideup?”

“Upsidedown,”Isay.“Simonpulledthetoponeoff.”

“Didyounoticeanyliquidleavethecupwhenhedidthat?Didhe

shakeit?”

Ithinkback.“No.Hejustfilleditwithwater.”

“Andthenhedrankit?”

“Yeah,”Isay,butBronwyncorrectsme.

“No,” she says. “Not right away. He talked for a while.

Remember?” She turns to Nate. “He asked you if you put the cell

phones in our backpacks. The ones that got us in trouble with Mr.

Avery.”

“The cell phones. Right.” Officer Budapest scratches something

downinhisnotebook.Hedoesn’tsayitlikeaquestion,butBronwyn

explainsanyway.

“Somebodyplayedaprankonus,”shesays.“It’swhywewerein

detention.Mr.Averyfoundphonesinourbackpacksthatdidn’tbelong

to us.” She turns to Principal Gupta with an injured expression. “It

reallywasn’tfair.I’vebeenmeaningtoask,isthatsomethingthatgoes

onyourpermanentrecord?”

Naterollshiseyes.“Itwasn’tme.Someonestuck aphonein my

backpacktoo.”

Principal Gupta furrows her brow. “This is the first I’m hearing

aboutthis.”

Ishrugwhenshemeetsmyeyes.Thosephoneswerethelastthing

onmymindthesepastfewdays.

Officer Budapest doesn’t look surprised. “Mr. Avery mentioned

thatwhenImetwithhimearlier.Hesaidnoneofthekidseverclaimed

thephones,sohethoughtitmust’vebeenaprankafterall.”Heslides

hispenbetweenhisindexandmiddlefingerandtapsitrhythmically

againstthetable.“IsthatthesortofjokeSimonmighthaveplayedon

youall?”

“Idon’tseewhy,”Addysays.“Therewasaphoneinhisbackpack

too.Besides,Ibarelyknewhim.”

“Youwereonjuniorpromcourtwithhim,” Bronwyn pointsout.

Addyblinks,likeshe’sonlyjustrememberingthat’strue.

“AnyofyoukidseverhavetroublewithSimon?”OfficerBudapest

asks. “I’ve heard about the app he made—About That, right?” He’s

lookingatme,soInod.“Youguyseverbeenonit?”

EveryoneshakestheirheadexceptNate.“Lotsoftimes,”hesays.

“Whatfor?”OfficerBudapestasks.

Nate smirks. “Stupid shit—” he starts, but Principal Gupta cuts

himoff.

“Language,Mr.Macauley.”

“Stupidstuff,”Nateamends.“Hookingup,mostly.”

“Didthatbotheryou?Beinggossipedabout?”

“Notreally.”Helookslikehemeansit.Iguessbeingonagossip

appisn’tabigdealcomparedtogettingarrested.Ifthat’strue.Simon

neverpostedit,sonobodyseemstoknowexactlywhatNate’sdealis.

Kindapathetic,howSimonwasourmosttrustednewssource.

OfficerBudapestlooksattherestofus.“Butnotyouthree?”We

all shake our heads again. “Did you ever worry about ending up on

Simon’sapp?Feellikeyouhadsomethinghangingoveryourheads,or

anythinglikethat?”

“Not me,” I say, but my voice isn’t as confident as I would have

liked. I glance away from Officer Budapest and catch Addy and

Bronwynlookinglikepolaropposites:Addy’sgonepaleasaghost,and

Bronwyn’sflushedbrickred.Natewatchesthemforafewseconds,tilts

hischairback,andlooksatOfficerBudapest.

“Everybody’sgotsecrets,”hesays.“Right?”

—

Myworkoutroutinegoeslongthatnight,butmydadmakeseveryone

wait till I’m done so we can eat dinner together. My brother, Lucas,

clutches his stomach and staggers to the table with a long-suffering

lookwhenwefinallysitdownatseven.

Thetopicofconversation’sthesameasit’sbeenallweek:Simon.

“Youhadtofigurethepolice’dgetinvolvedatsomepoint,”Popsays,

spooning a small mountain of mashed potatoes onto his plate.

“Something’s not right about how that boy died.” He snorts. “Peanut

oil in the water system, maybe? Lawyers are gonna have a field day

withthat.”

“Were his eyes bugging out of his head like this?” asks Lucas,

making a face. He’s twelve, and Simon’s death is nothing but video-

gamegoretohim.

MygrandmotherreachesoverandswatsLucasonthebackofhis

hand.Nonny’sbarelyfivefeettallwithaheadfulloftightwhitecurls,

but she means business. “Hush your mouth unless you can speak of

thatpooryoungmanwithrespect.”

Nonny’slivedwithussincewemovedherefromMississippifive

yearsago.Itsurprisedmethenthatshecamealong;ourgrandfather

hadbeendeadforyears,butshehadplentyoffriendsandclubsthat

keptherbusy.Nowthatwe’velivedhereforawhile,Igetit.Ourbasic

colonial costs three times what our house in Mississippi did, and

there’snowaywecouldafforditwithoutNonny’smoney.Butyoucan

playbaseballyear-roundinBayview,andit’sgotoneofthebesthigh

schoolprogramsinthecountry.Atsomepoint,PopexpectsI’llmake

thisgiganticmortgageandthejobhehatesworthwhile.

Imight.Aftermyfastballimprovedbyfivemilesanhouroverthe

summer,IendedupfourthonESPN’s predictionsfortheJuneMLB

draft next year. I’m getting scouted by a lot of colleges too, and

wouldn’t mind heading there first. But baseball’s not the same as

footballorbasketball.Ifaguycanheadfortheminorsrightoutofhigh

school,heusuallydoes.

Pop points at me with his knife. “You got a showcase game

Saturday.Don’tforget.”

AsifIcould.Theschedule’spostedaroundthewholehouse.

“Kevin, maybe one weekend off?” my mother murmurs, but her

heart’snotinit.Sheknowsit’salosingbattle.

“Best thing Cooperstown can do is business as usual,” Pop says.

“Slackingoffwon’tbringthatboyback.Godresthissoul.”

Nonny’ssmall,brighteyessettleonme.“Ihopeyourealizenone

ofyoukidscould’vedoneanythingforSimon,Cooper.Thepolicehave

todottheiri’sandcrosstheirt’s,that’sall.”

I don’t know about that. Officer Budapest kept asking me about

themissingEpiPensandhowlongIwasbymyselfinthenurse’soffice.

Almost like he thought I might’ve done something with them before

Ms.Graysongotthere.Buthedidn’tcomeoutandsayit.Ifhethinks

someonemessedwithSimon,I’mnotsurewhyheisn’tlookingatNate.

If anybody asked me—which they didn’t—I’d wonder how a guy like

NateevenknewaboutEpiPensinthefirstplace.

We’vejustfinishedclearingthetablewhenthedoorbellrings,and

Lucassprintsforthedoor,hollering,“I’llgetit!”Afewsecondslaterhe

yellsagain.“It’sKeely!”

Nonnyrisestoherfeetwithdifficulty,usingtheskull-toppedcane

Lucas picked out last year when she faced up to the fact that she

couldn’twalkonherownanymore.“Thoughtyousaidyoutwodidn’t

haveplanstonight,Cooper.”

“We didn’t,” I mutter as Keely enters the kitchen with a smile,

wrappingherarmsaroundmyneckinatighthug.

“Howareyou?”shemurmursinmyear,hersoftlipsbrushingmy

cheek.“I’vebeenthinkingaboutyouallday.”

“Okay,”Isay.Shepullsbackandreachesintoherpocket,briefly

flashing a cellophane packet and a smile. Red Vines, which are

definitelynotpartofmynutritionalregimen,butmyfavoritecandyin

the world. The girl gets me. And my parents, who require a few

minutesofpoliteconversationbeforetheyheadoutfortheirbowling

league.

Myphonechimes,andIpullitoutofmypocket.Hey,handsome.

I duck my head to hide the grin that’s suddenly tugging at my

mouth,andtextback:Hey.

CanIseeyoutonight?

Badtime.Callyoulater?

OKmissyou.

Keely’stalkingtomymother,hereyesbrightwithinterest.She’s

notfakingit.Keelyisn’tonlybeautiful;she’swhatNonnycalls“sugar

all the way through.” A genuinely sweet girl. Every guy at Bayview

wisheshewereme.

Missyoutoo.

Addy

Thursday,September27,7:30p.m.

I should be doing homework before Jake stops by, but instead I’m

sittingatthevanityinmybedroom,pressingfingerstotheskinatmy

hairline.Thetendernessonmylefttemplefeelsasthoughit’sgoingto

turn into one of those horrible oversized pimples I get every few

monthsorso.WheneverIhaveoneIknowit’sallanyonecansee.

I’llhavetowearmyhairdownforawhile,whichishowJakelikes

it anyway. My hair is the only thing I feel one hundred percent

confidentaboutallthetime.IwasatGlenn’sDinerlastweekwithmy

girlfriends, sitting next to Keely across from the big mirror, and she

reached over and ran a hand through my hair while grinning at our

reflections.Canwepleasetrade?Justforaweek?shesaid.

Ismiledather,butwishedIweresittingontheothersideofthe

table. I hate seeing Keely and me side by side. She’s so beautiful, all

tawnyskinandlong eyelashes andAngelinaJolielips.She’sthe lead

characterinamovieandI’mthegenericbestfriendwhosenameyou

forgetbeforethecreditsevenstartrolling.

Thedoorbellrings,butIknowbetterthantoexpectJakeupstairs

rightaway. Mom’sgoing tocapture himfor atleasttenminutes.She

can’t hear enough about the Simon situation, and she’d talk about

today’smeetingwithOfficerBudapestallnightifIlether.

Iseparatemyhairintosectionsandrunabrushalongeachlength.

My mind keeps going back to Simon. He’d been a constant presence

aroundourgroupsincefreshmanyear,buthewasneveroneofus.He

hadonlyonerealfriend,asorta-GothgirlnamedJanae.Iusedtothink

they were together until Simon started asking out all my friends. Of

course, none of them ever said yes. Although last year, before she

starteddatingCooper,KeelygotsuperdrunkatapartyandletSimon

kissherforfiveminutesinacloset.Ittookheragestoshakehimafter

that.

I’mnotsurewhatSimonwasthinking,tobehonest.Keelyhasone

type:jock.HeshouldhavegoneforsomeonelikeBronwyn.She’scute

enough,inaquietkindofway,withinterestinggrayeyesandhairthat

wouldprobablylookgreatifsheeverworeitdown.PlussheandSimon

must’vetrippedovereachotherinhonorsclassesallthetime.

ExceptIgottheimpressiontodaythatBronwyndidn’tlikeSimon

much.Oratall.WhenOfficerBudapesttalkedabouthowSimondied,

Bronwynlooked…Idon’tknow.Notsad.

A knock sounds at the door and I watch it open in the mirror. I

keepbrushingmyhairasJakecomesin.Hepullsoffhissneakersand

flops on my bed with exaggerated exhaustion, arms splayed at his

sides.“Yourmom’swrungmedry,Ads.I’venevermetanyonewhocan

askthesamequestionsomanyways.”

“Tellmeaboutit,” Isay,gettingup to joinhim.Heputs an arm

aroundmeand Icurlinto hisside,my headonhisshoulder andmy

handonhischest.Weknowexactlyhowtofittogether,andIrelaxfor

thefirsttimesinceIgotcalledintoPrincipalGupta’soffice.

Itrailmyfingersalonghisbicep.Jake’snotasdefinedasCooper,

who’s practically a superhero with all the professional-level working

outhedoes,buttomehe’stheperfectbalanceofmuscularandlean.

And he’s fast, the best running back Bayview High’s seen in years.

There’snotthesamefeedingfrenzyaroundhimasCooper,butafew

collegesareinterestedandhe’sgotagoodshotatascholarship.

“Mrs.Kellehercalledme,”Jakesays.

MyhandhaltsitsprogressuphisarmasIstareatthecrispblue

cottonofhisT-shirt.“Simon’smother?Why?”

“She asked if I’d be a pallbearer at the funeral. It’s gonna be

Sunday,” Jake says, his shoulders lifting in a shrug. “I told her sure.

Can’treallysayno,canI?”

I forget sometimes that Simon and Jake used to be friends in

grade school and middle school, before Jake turned into a jock and

Simon turned into…whatever he was. Freshman year Jake made the

varsity football team and started hanging out with Cooper, who was

alreadyaBayviewlegendafteralmostpitchinghismiddleschoolteam

totheLittleLeagueWorldSeries.Bysophomoreyearthetwoofthem

werebasically thekingsof ourclass,andSimonwasjustsomeweird

guyJakeusedtoknow.

I half think Simon started About That to impress Jake. Simon

found out one of Jake’s football rivals was behind the anonymous

sextingharassmentofabunchofjuniorgirlsandposteditonthisapp

calledAfterSchool.Itgottonsofattentionforacoupleofweeks,and

so did Simon. That might’ve been the first time anyone at Bayview

noticedhim.

Jake probably patted him on the back once and forgot about it,

andSimonmovedontobiggerandbetterthingsbybuildinghisown

app. Gossip as a public service doesn’t go very far, so Simon started

postingthingsalotpettierandmorepersonalthanthesextingscandal.

Nobodythoughthewasaheroanymore,butbythentheyweregetting

scaredofhim,andIguessforSimonthatwasalmostasgood.

JakeusuallydefendedSimon,though,whenourfriendsgotdown

on him for About That. It’s not like he’s lying, he’d point out. Stop

doingsneakyshitanditwon’tbeaproblem.

Jake can be pretty black-and-white in his thinking sometimes.

Easywhenyounevermakeamistake.

“We’restillheadedforthebeachtomorrownight,ifthat’sokay,”

hetellsmenow,windingmyhairaroundhisfingers.Hesaysitlikeit’s

uptome,butwebothknowJake’sinchargeofoursociallife.

“Ofcourse,”Imurmur.“Who’sgoing?”Don’tsayTJ.

“Cooper and Keely are supposed to, although she’s not sure he’s

upforit.LuisandOlivia.Vanessa,Tyler,Noah,Sarah…”

Don’tsayTJ.

“…andTJ.”

Argh.I’mnotsureifit’smyimaginationorifTJ,whousedtobe

onthe outskirtsof ourgroup asthenewkid,hasstartedworkinghis

way into the center right when I wish he’d disappear altogether.

“Great,”Isayblandly,reachingupandkissingJake’sjawline.It’sthe

timeofdaywhenit’salittlescratchy,whichisnewthisyear.

“Adelaide!”Mymother’svoicefloatsupthestairs.“We’reheading

out.” She and Justin go somewhere downtown almost every night,

usuallyrestaurantsbut sometimesclubs.Justin’sonly thirtyandstill

intothatwholescene.Mymotherenjoysitalmostasmuch,especially

whenpeoplemistakeherforbeingJustin’sage.

“Okay!”Icall,andthedoorslams.AfteraminuteJakeleansdown

tokissme,hishandslidingundermyshirt.

AlotofpeoplethinkJakeandIhavebeensleepingtogethersince

freshmanyear,butthat’snottrue.Hewantedtowaituntilafterjunior

prom.Itwasabigdeal;Jakerentedafancyhotelroomthathefilled

with candles and flowers, and bought me amazing lingerie from

Victoria’s Secret. I wouldn’t have minded something a little more

spontaneous,Iguess,butIknowI’mbeyondluckytohaveaboyfriend

whocaresenoughtoplaneverylastdetail.

“Isthisokay?”Jake’seyesscanmyface.“Orwouldyouratherjust

hangout?”Hisbrowsriselikeit’sarealquestion,buthishandkeeps

inchinglower.

I never turn Jake down. It’s like my mother said when she first

took me to get birth control: if you say no too much, pretty soon

someoneelsewillsayyes.Anyway,Iwantitasmuchashedoes.Ilive

for these moments of closeness with Jake; I’d crawl inside him if I

could.

“Morethanokay,”Isay,andpullhimontopofme.

Nate

Thursday,September27,8:00p.m.

Iliveinthathouse.Theonepeopledrivepastandsay,Ican’tbelieve

someone actually lives there. We do, although “living” might be a

stretch.I’mgoneasmuchaspossibleandmydad’shalf-dead.

OurhouseisonthefaredgeofBayview,thekindofshittyranch

richpeoplebuytoteardown.Smallandugly,withonlyonewindowin

front.Thechimney’sbeencrumblingsinceIwasten.Sevenyearslater

everything else is joining it: the paint’s peeling, shutters are hanging

off,theconcretestepsinfrontarecrackedwideopen.Theyard’sjust

as bad. The grass is almost knee-high and yellow after the summer

drought.Iusedtomowit,sometimes,untilithitmethatyardworkis

awasteoftimethatneverends.

Myfather’spassedoutonthecouchwhenIgetinside,anempty

bottle of Seagram’s in front of him. Dad considers it a stroke of luck

thathefelloffaladderduringaroofingjobafewyearsago,whilehe

wasstillafunctioningalcoholic.Hegotaworkman’scompsettlement

andwoundupdisabledenoughtocollectsocialsecurity,whichislike

winning the lottery for a guy like him. Now he can drink without

interruptionwhilethechecksrollin.

The money’s not much, though. I like having cable, keeping my

bikeon theroad,andoccasionallyeatingmorethanmacandcheese.

WhichishowIcametomypart-timejob,andwhyIspentfourhours

after school today distributing plastic bags full of painkillers around

San Diego County. Obviously not something I should be doing,

especiallysinceIwaspickedupfordealingweedoverthesummerand

I’m on probation. But nothing else pays as well and takes so little

effort.

I head for the kitchen, open the refrigerator door, and pull out

some leftover Chinese. There’s a picture curling under a magnet,

crackedlikeabrokenwindow.Mydad,mymother,andmewhenIwas

eleven,rightbeforeshetookoff.

Shewasbipolarandnotgreatabouttakinghermeds,soit’snotas

though I had some fantastic childhood while she was around. My

earliestmemoryisherdroppingaplate,thensittingonthefloorinthe

middleofthepieces,cryinghereyesout.OnceIgotoffthebustoher

throwingallourstuffoutthewindow.Lotsoftimesshe’dcurlupina

cornerofherbedandnotmovefordays.

Hermanicphaseswereatrip,though.Formyeighthbirthdayshe

tookmetoadepartmentstore,handedmeacart,andtoldmetofillit

with whatever I wanted. When I was nine and into reptiles she

surprised me by setting up a terrarium in the living room with a

bearded dragon. We called it Stan after Stan Lee, and I still have it.

Thosethingsliveforever.

Myfatherdidn’tdrinkasmuchthen,sobetweenthetwoofthem

they managed to get me to school and sports.Thenmymotherwent

totally off her meds and started getting into other mind-altering

substances.Yeah,I’mtheassholewhodealsdrugsaftertheywrecked

his mother. But to be clear: I don’t sell anything except weed and

painkillers. My mother would’ve been fine if she’d stayed away from

cocaine.

Forawhileshecamebackeveryfew months or so. Then once a

year. The last time I saw her was when I was fourteen and my dad

startedfallingapart.Shekepttalkingaboutthisfarmcommuneshe’d

moved to in Oregon and how great it was, that she’d take me and I

could go to school there with all the hippie kids and grow organic

berriesorwhateverthehelltheydid.

She bought me a giant ice creamsundaeatGlenn’sDiner,likeI

waseightyearsold,andtoldmeallaboutit.You’llloveit,Nathaniel.

Everyoneissoaccepting.Nobodylabelsyouthewaytheydohere.

Itsoundedlikebullshiteventhen,but better than Bayview. So I

packedabag,putStaninhiscarrier,andwaitedforheronourfront

steps. I must have sat there half the night, like a complete fucking

loser,beforeitfinallydawnedonmeshewasn’tgoingtoshow.

TurnedoutthattriptoGlenn’sDinerwasthelasttimeIeversaw

her.

WhiletheChineseheatsupIcheckonStan,who’sstillgotapileof

wilted vegetables and a few live crickets from this morning. I lift the

coverfromhisterrariumandheblinksupatmefromhisrock.Stanis

pretty chill and low maintenance, which is the only reason he’s

managedtostayaliveinthishouseforeightyears.

“What’sup,Stan?”Iputhimonmyshoulder,grabmyfood,and

flop into an armchair across from my comatose father. He has the

WorldSerieson,whichIturnoffbecause(a)Ihatebaseballand(b)it

remindsmeofCooperClay,whichremindsmeofSimonKelleherand

thatwholesicksceneindetention.I’dneverlikedthekid,butthatwas

horrible.AndCooperwasalmostasuselessastheblondgirlwhenyou

come right down to it. Bronwyn was the only one who did anything

exceptbabblelikeanidiot.

My mother used to like Bronwyn. She’d always notice her at

school things. Like the Nativity play in fourth grade when I was a

shepherd and Bronwyn was the Virgin Mary. Someone stole baby

Jesus before we were supposed to go on, probably to mess with

Bronwyn because she took everything way too seriously even then.

Bronwynwent intotheaudience,borrowedabag,wrappedablanket

aroundit,andcarrieditaroundasifnothinghadhappened.Thatgirl

doesn’ttakecrapfromanyone,mymotherhadsaidapprovingly.

Okay.Intheinterestof full disclosure, I stolebabyJesus,and it

wasdefinitelytomesswithBronwyn.Itwould’vebeenfunnierifshe’d

freakedout.

My jacket beeps, and I dig in my pockets for the right phone. I

almost laughed in detention on Monday when Bronwyn said nobody

has two cell phones. I have three: one for people I know, one for

suppliers,andoneforcustomers.PlusextrassoIcanswitchthemout.

ButIwouldn’tbestupidenoughtotakeanyofthemintoAvery’sclass.

Myworkphonesarealwayssettovibrate,soIknowit’sapersonal

message.IpulloutmyancientiPhoneandseeatextfromAmber,agirl

Imetatapartylastmonth.Uup?

Ihesitate.Amber’shotandnevertriesto hang out too long,but

shewasjusthereafewnightsago.ThingsgetmessywhenIletcasual

hookupshappenmorethanonceaweek.ButI’mrestlessandcoulduse

adistraction.

Comeover,Iwriteback.

I’m about to put my phone away when another text comes

through. It’s from Chad Posner, a guy at Bayview I hang out with

sometimes.Youseethis?Iclickonthelinkinthemessageanditopens

aTumblrpagewiththeheadline“AboutThis.”

IgottheideaforkillingSimonwhilewatchingDateline.

I’dbeenthinkingaboutitforawhile,obviously.That’snotthekindofthing

youpluckoutofthinair.Butthehowofgettingawaywithitalwaysstoppedme.

Idon’tkidmyselfthatI’macriminalmastermind.AndI’mmuchtoogood-

lookingforprison.

Ontheshow,aguykilledhiswife.StandardDatelinestuff,right?It’s

alwaysthehusband.Butturnsoutlotsofpeoplewerehappytoseehergone.

She’dgottenacoworkerfired,screwedoverpeopleoncitycouncil,andhadan

affairwithafriend’shusband.Shewasanightmare,basically.

TheguyonDatelinewasn’ttoobright.Hiredsomeonetomurderhiswife

andthecellphonerecordswereeasytotrace.Butbeforethosecameouthe

hadadecentsmokescreenbecauseofalltheothersuspects.That’sthekind

ofpersonyoucangetawaywithkilling:someoneeverybodyelsewantsdead.

Let’sfaceit:everyoneatBayviewHighhatedSimon.Iwasjusttheonly

onewithenoughgutstodosomethingaboutit.

You’rewelcome.

Thephonealmost slipsoutof myhand.Another textfromChad

PosnercamethroughwhileIwasreading.Peoplerfuckedup.

Itextback,Where’dyougetthis?

Posner writes Some rando emailed a link, with the laughing-so-

hard-I’m-crying emoji. He thinks it’s somebody’s idea of a sick joke.

Whichiswhatmostpeoplewouldthink,iftheyhadn’tspentanhour

withapoliceofficeraskingtendifferentwayshowpeanutoilgotinto

SimonKelleher’scup.Alongwiththreeotherpeoplewholookedguilty

ashell.

NoneofthemhaveasmuchexperienceasIdokeepingastraight

facewhenshit’sfallingapartaroundthem.Atleast,noneofthemare

asgoodatitasme.

Bronwyn

Friday,September28,6:45p.m.

Fridayeveningisarelief.MaeveandIaresettledintoherroomfora

Buffy the Vampire Slayer marathon on Netflix. It’s our latest

obsession,andI’vebeenlookingforwardtoitallweek,buttonightwe

onlyhalfpayattention.Maeve’scurleduponthewindowseat,tapping

awayonherlaptop,andI’msprawledacrossherbedwithmyKindle

open to Ulysses by James Joyce. It’s number one on the Modern

Library’s 100 Best Novels and I’m determined to finish it before the

semester’sover,butit’sprettyslowgoing.AndIcan’tconcentrate.

AllanybodycouldtalkaboutatschooltodaywasthatTumblrpost.

A bunch of kids had the link emailed to them last night from some

“About This” Gmail address, and by lunchtime everyone had read it.

Yumiko helps out in the principal’s office on Fridays, and she heard

themtalkingabouttryingtotrackwhoeverdiditbyIPaddress.

Idoubtthey’llhaveanyluck.Nobodywithhalfabrainwouldsend

somethinglikethatfromtheirowntechnology.

Since detention on Monday people have been careful and overly

nicetome,buttodaywasdifferent.Conversationskeptstoppingwhen

Iapproached.Yumikofinallysaid,“It’snotlikepeoplethinkyousent

it.Theyjustthinkit’sweird,howyouguysgotquestionedbythepolice

yesterdayandthenthispopsup.”Likethatwassupposedtomakeme

feelbetter.

“Just imagine.” Maeve’s voice startles me back to her bedroom.

Sheputsasideherlaptopandrapsherfingerslightlyonthewindow.

“This time next year, you’ll be at Yale. What do you think you’ll do

thereonaFridaynight?Fratparty?”

I roll my eyes at her. “Right, because you get a personality

transplantalongwithyouracceptanceletter.Anyway,Istillhavetoget

in.”

“Youwill.Howcouldyounot?”

Ishiftrestlesslyonthebed.Lotsofways.“Youneverknow.”

Maevekeepstappingherfingersagainsttheglass.“Ifyou’rebeing

modestonmyaccount,youcangiveitarest.I’mquitecomfortablein

myroleasthefamilyslacker.”

“You’renotaslacker,”Iprotest.Shejustgrinsandfluttersahand.

Maeve’soneofthesmartestpeopleIknow,butuntilherfreshmanyear

shewastoosicktogotoschoolconsistently.Shewasdiagnosedwith

leukemiawhenshewasseven,andwasn’tfully disease-freeuntil two

yearsago,whenshewasfourteen.

Wealmostlostheracoupleoftimes.OncewhenIwasinfourth

grade,Ioverheardapriestatthehospitalaskingmyparentsifthey’d

consideredstartingtomake“arrangements.”Iknewwhathemeant.I

bowedmyheadandprayed: Please don’t take her. I’ll do everything

rightifyouletherstay.I’llbeperfect.Ipromise.

Aftersomanyyearsinandoutofthehospital,Maeveneverreally

learned how to participate in life. I do that for both of us: join the

clubs,wintheawards,andgetthegradessoIcangotoYalelikeour

parents did. It makes them happy, and keeps Maeve from extending

herselftoomuch.

Maevegoesbacktostaringoutthewindowwithherusualfaraway

expression.Shelookslikeadaydreamherself:paleandethereal,with

dark-brownhairlikeminebutstartlingamber eyes.I’mabouttoask

what she’s thinking when she suddenly sits up straight and cups her

handsaroundhereyes,pressingherfaceagainstthewindow.“Isthat

Nate Macauley?” I snort without moving, and she says, “I’m serious.

Checkitout.”

Igetupandleaninnexttoher.Icanjustaboutmakeoutthefaint

outlineofamotorcycleinourdriveway.“Whatthehell?”MaeveandI

exchangeglances,andsheshootsmeawickedgrin.“What?”Iask.My

voicecomesoutmoresnappishthanIintended.

“What?” she mimics. “You think I don’t remember you mooning

overhiminelementaryschool?Iwassick,notdead.”

“Don’tjokeaboutthat.God.Andthatwaslight-yearsago.”Nate’s

motorcycleisstillinourdriveway,notmoving.“Whatdoyousuppose

he’sdoinghere?”

“Onlyonewaytofindout.”Maeve’svoiceisannoyinglysingsongy,

andsheignoresthedirtylookIgiveherasIstandup.

Myheartthumps alltheway downstairs.Nateand Ihavetalked

more at school this week than we have since fifth grade, which

admittedlystillisn’tmuch.EverytimeIseehimIgettheimpression

hecan’twaittobesomeplaceelse.ButIkeeprunningintohim.

Openingthefrontdoortriggersafloodlightinfrontofourgarage

thatmakesNatelookasthoughhe’soncenterstage.AsIwalktoward

himmynervesarejangling,andI’macutelyconsciousofthefactthat

I’m in my usual hanging-out-with-Maeve ensemble: flip-flops, a

hoodie, and athletic shorts. Not that he’s making an effort. I’ve seen

thatGuinnessT-shirtatleasttwicethisweek.

“Hi,Nate,”Isay.“What’sup?”

Natetakeshishelmetoff,andhisdark-blueeyesflickpastmeto

our front door. “Hey.” He doesn’t say anything else for an

uncomfortablylongtime.Icrossmyarmsandwaithimout.Finallyhe

meets my gaze with a wry smile that makes my stomach do a slow

somersault.“Idon’thaveagoodreasonforbeinghere.”

“Doyouwanttocomein?”Iblurtout.

Hehesitates.“Ibetyourparentswouldlovethat.”

He doesn’t know the half of it. Dad’s least favorite stereotype is

thatoftheColombiandrugdealer,andhewouldn’tappreciateevena

hint of association from me. But I find myself saying, “They’re not

home.”ThenIhastilyadd,“I’mhangingoutwithmysister,”beforehe

thinksthatwassomesortofcome-on.

“Yeah,okay.”Nategetsoffhisbikeandfollowsmelikeit’snobig

deal, so I try to act equally nonchalant. Maeve’s leaning against the

kitchen counter when we get inside, even though I’m sure she was

staringoutherbedroomwindowtensecondsago.“Haveyoumetmy

sister,Maeve?”

Nateshakeshishead.“No.How’sitgoing?”

“Allright,”Maeveanswers,eyeinghimwithfrankinterest.

I have no idea what to do next as he shrugs off his jacket and

tossesitoverakitchenchair.HowamIsupposedto…entertain Nate

Macauley? It’s not even my responsibility, right? He’s the one who

showed up out of the blue. I should do what I normally do. Except

that’ssitinmysister’sroomandwatchretrovampireshowswhilehalf

readingUlysses.

I’mcompletelyoutofmydepthhere.

Nate doesn’t notice my discomfort, wandering past the french

doorsthatopenintoour living room. Maeveelbowsmeaswefollow

himandmurmurs,“Quebocatanhermosa.”

“Shutup,”Ihiss.DadencouragesustospeakSpanisharoundthe

house, but I doubt this is what he had in mind. Besides, for all we

know,Nate’sfluent.

Hestopsatthegrandpianoandlooksbackatus.“Whoplays?”

“Bronwyn,”MaevesaysbeforeIcanevenopenmymouth.Istay

near the doorway, arms folded, as she settles into Dad’s favorite

leatherarmchairinfrontoftheslidingdoorleadingtoourdeck.“She’s

reallygood.”

“Ohyeah?”NateasksatthesametimeIsay,“No,I’mnot.”

“Youare,”Maeveinsists.Inarrowmyeyesandshewidenshersin

fakeinnocence.

Nate crosses to the large walnut bookcase covering one wall,

picking up a picture of Maeve and me with identical gap-toothed

smiles in front of Cinderella’s castle at Disneyland. It was taken six

months before Maeve was diagnosed, and for a long time it was the

onlyvacationpicturewehad.Hestudiesit,thenglancesmywaywitha

smallsmile.Maevewasrightabouthismouth—itissexy.“Youshould

playsomething.”

Well,it’seasierthantalkingtohim.

Ishuffletothebenchandsit,adjustingthesheetmusicinfrontof

me. It’s “Variations on the Canon,” which I’ve been practicing for

months now. I’ve taken lessons since I was eight and I’m pretty

competent, technically. But I’ve never made people feel anything.

“VariationsontheCanon”isthefirstpiecethatmademewanttotry.

There’ssomethingaboutthewayitbuilds,startingsoftandsweetbut

gaininginvolumeandintensityuntilit’salmostangry.That’sthehard

part, because at a certain point the notes grow harsh, verging on

discordant,andIcan’tmustertheforcetopullitoff.

I haven’t played it in over a week. The last time I tried I hit so

many wrong notes, even Maeve winced. She seems to remember,

glancingtowardNateandsaying,“Thisisareallyhardsong.”Asifshe

suddenlyregretssettingmeupforembarrassment.Butwhatthehell.

This whole situation is too surreal to take seriously. If I woke up

tomorrowandMaevetoldmeI’ddreameditall,I’dfullyacceptthat.

So I start, and right away it feels different. Looser and less of a

reachfortheharderparts.ForafewminutesIforgetanyone’sinthe

room, and enjoy how notes that usually trip me up flow easily. Even

thecrescendo—Idon’tattackitashardasIneedto,butI’mfasterand

surerthanInormally am, anddon’thitasingle wrong note.WhenI

finishIsmiletriumphantlyatMaeve,andit’sonlywhenhereyesdrift

towardNatethatIrememberIhaveanaudienceoftwo.

He’sleaningagainstourbookcase,armscrossed,andforoncehe

doesn’tlookboredorabouttomakefunofme.“That’sthebestthing

I’veeverheard,”hesays.

Addy

Friday,September28,7:00p.m.

God, my mother. She’s actually flirting with Officer Budapest, of the

pink freckled face and receding hairline. “Of course Adelaide will do

anythingtohelp,”shesaysinahuskyvoice,trailingonefingeraround

therimofherwineglass.Justin’shavingdinnerwithhisparents,who

hate Mom and never invite her. This is his punishment whether he

knowsitornot.

OfficerBudapeststoppedbyjustaswefinishedthevegetablepad

ThaiMomalwaysorderswhenmysister,Ashton,comestovisit.Now

he doesn’t know where to look, so he’s got his eyes fixed on a dried

flower arrangement on the living room wall. My mother redecorates

every six months, and her latest theme is shabby chic with a weird

beachyedge.Cabbagerosesandseashellsasfarastheeyecansee.

“Justafewfollow-uppoints,ifyoudon’tmind,Addy,”hesays.

“Okay,”Isay.I’msurprisedhe’shere,sinceIthoughtwe’dalready

answered all his questions. But I guess the investigation’s still going

strong. Today Mr. Avery’s lab was blocked off with yellow tape, and

policeofficerswereinandoutofschoolallday.CoopersaidBayview

High’sprobably goingto getinto troublefor havingpeanut oilin the

waterorsomething.

Iglanceatmymother.HereyesarefixedonOfficerBudapest,but

with that distant expression I know well. She’s already mentally

checkedout,probablyplanningherwardrobefortheweekend.Ashton

comes into the living room and settles herself in an armchair across

from me. “Are you talking to all the kids who were in detention that

day?”sheasks.

Officer Budapest clears his throat.“Theinvestigationisongoing,

butI’mherebecauseIhadaparticularquestionforAddy.Youwerein

thenurse’sofficethedaySimondied,isthatright?”

I hesitate and dart a glance toward Ashton, then look back at

OfficerBudapest.“No.”

“Youwere,”OfficerBudapestsays.“It’sinthenurse’slog.”

I’m looking at the fireplace, but I can feel Ashton’s eyes boring

intome.Iwindastrandofhairaroundmyfingerandtugnervously.“I

don’trememberthat.”

“Youdon’tremembergoingtothenurse’sofficeonMonday?”

“Well,Igo alot,”Isay quickly.“Forheadaches andstuff.Itwas

probablyforthat.”IscrunchmyforeheadlikeI’mthinkinghard,and

finallymeetOfficerBudapest’seyes.“Oh,right.IhadmyperiodandI

wascrampingreallybad,soyeah.IneededTylenol.”

OfficerBudapestisablusher.HeturnsredasIsmilepolitelyand

release my hair. “And you got what you needed there? Just the

Tylenol?”

“Whydoyouwanttoknow?”Ashtonasks.Sherearrangesathrow

pillowbehindhersothestarfishpattern,madeoutofactualseashells,

isn’tdiggingintoherback.

“Well,oneofthethingswe’relookingintoiswhythereappeared

to be no EpiPens in the nurse’s office during Simon’s allergy attack.

The nurse swears she had several pens that morning. But they were

gonethatafternoon.”

Ashton stiffens and says, “You can’t possibly think Addy took

them!”Momturnstomewithafaintlysurprisedair,butdoesn’tspeak.

If Officer Budapest notices that my sister has stepped into the

parentingrolehere,hedoesn’tmentionit.“Nobody’ssayingthat.But

didyouhappentoseewhetherthepenswereintheofficethen,Addy?

Accordingtothenurse’slog,youwerethereatoneo’clock.”

Myheart’sbeatinguncomfortablyfast,butIkeepmytoneeven.“I

don’tevenknowwhatanEpiPenlookslike.”

He makes me tell him everything I remember about detention,

again,thenasksabunchofquestionsabouttheTumblrpost.Ashton’s

all alert and interested, leaning forward and interrupting the whole

time,whileMomgoesinto thekitchentwice torefillherwineglass.I

keeplookingattheclock,becauseJakeandIaresupposedtobegoing

tothebeachsoonandIhaven’tevenstartedtouchingupmymakeup.

Mypimple’snotgoingtocoveritself.

WhenOfficerBudapestfinallygetsreadytoleave,hehandsmea

card.“Callifyourememberanythingelse,Addy,”hesays.“Younever

knowwhatmightbeimportant.”

“Okay,” I say, sliding the card into the back pocket of my jeans.

OfficerBudapestsaysgood-byetoMomandAshtonasIopenthedoor

forhim.Ashtonleansagainstthedoorframenexttomeandwewatch

OfficerBudapestgetintohissquadwagonandstartslowlybackingout

ofourdriveway.

IspyJustin’scarwaitingtopullinbehindOfficerBudapest,and

thatgetsmemovingagain.Idon’t want to havetotalktohim and I

still haven’t fixed my makeup, so I escape upstairs with Ashton

following behind me. My bedroom is the biggest one in our house

exceptthemaster,andusedtobeAshton’suntilItookitoverwhenshe

gotmarried.Shestillmakesherselfathomethereasifshe’dneverleft.

“Youdidn’ttellmeaboutthatTumblrthing,”shesays,sprawling

across my white eyelet bedspread and opening the latest issue of Us

Weekly.Ashtonisevenblonderthan me, but her hair is cut in chin-

length layers that our mother hates. I think it’s cute, though. If Jake

didn’tlovemyhairsomuch,I’dconsideracutlikethat.

I sit at my vanity and dab concealer on my hairline pimple.

“Somebody’sbeingacreep,that’sall.”

“Didyoureallynotrememberbeinginthenurse’soffice?Ordid

youjustnotwanttoanswer?”Ashtonasks.Ifumblewiththeconcealer

cap,butI’msavedfromansweringwhenmyphoneblaresitsRihanna

“Only Girl” text tone from the bedside table. Ashton picks it up and

reports,“Jake’salmosthere.”

“God,Ash.”Iglareatherinthemirror.“Youshouldn’tlookatmy

phonelikethat.Whatifitwasprivate?”

“Sorry,”shesaysinacompletelynot-sorrytone.“Everythingokay

withJake?”

Itwistinmychairtofaceher,frowning.“Whywouldn’titbe?”

Ashton holds a palm up at me. “Just a question, Addy. I’m not

implyinganything.”Hertonedarkens.“Noreasontothinkyou’llturn

out like me. It’s not as though Charlie and I were high school

sweethearts.”

I blink at her in surprise. I mean, I’ve thought for a while that

thingsweren’tgoingwellbetweenAshtonandCharlie—foronething,

she’s suddenly here a lot, and for another, he was hard-core flirting

with a slutty bridesmaid at our cousin’s wedding last month—but

Ashton’snevercomeoutandadmittedaproblembefore.“Arethings…

uh,reallybad?”

Sheshrugs,droppingthemagazineandpickingathernails.“It’s

complicated.Marriageiswayharderthananyonetellsyou.Bethankful

youdon’thavetomakelifedecisionsyet.”Hermouthtightens.“Don’t

let Mom get in your ear and twist everything. Just enjoy being

seventeen.”

Ican’t.I’mtooafraidit’sallgoingtoberuined.Thatit’salready

ruined.

IwishI couldtellAshtonthat.Itwouldbesucharelief togetit

out.IusuallytellJakeeverything, butIcan’ttellhimthis. And after

him,there’sliterallynotoneotherpersonintheworldItrust.Notany

of my friends, certainly not my mother, and not my sister. Because

even though she probably means well, she can be awfully passive-

aggressiveaboutJake.

The doorbell rings, and Ashton’s mouth twists into a half smile.

“MustbeMr.Perfect,”shesays.Sarcastic,rightonschedule.

Iignoreherandbounddownthestairs,openingthedoorwiththe

bigsmileIcan’thelpwhenI’mabouttoseeJake.Andthereheis,in

hisfootballjacketwithhischestnuthairtousledbythewind,givingme

theexactsamesmileback.“Hey,baby.”I’mabouttokisshimwhenI

catchsightofanotherfigurebehindhimandfreeze.“Youdon’tmindif

wegiveTJaride,doyou?”

AnervouslaughbubblesupinmythroatandIpushitdown.“Of

coursenot.”Igoinformykiss,butthemoment’sruined.

TJflickshiseyestowardme,thenattheground.“Sorryaboutthis.

MycarbrokedownandIwasgonnastayhome,butJakeinsisted….”

Jakeshrugs.“Youwereontheway.Noreasontomissanightout

because of car trouble.” His eyes travel from my face to my canvas

sneakersasheasks,“Youwearingthat,Ads?”

It’snotacriticism,exactly,butI’minAshton’scollegesweatshirt

and Jake’s never liked me in shapeless clothes. “It’ll be cold at the

beach,”Isaytentatively,andhegrins.

“I’llkeepyouwarm.Putonsomethingalittlecuter,huh?”

Igivehimastrainedsmileandgobackinside,mountingthestairs

withdraggingsteps becauseIknowIhaven’tbeengone longenough

for Ashton to have left my room. Sure enough she’s still flipping

throughUsWeeklyonmybed,andsheknitsherbrowstogetherasI

headformycloset.“Backsosoon?”

I pull out a pair of leggings and unbutton my jeans. “I’m

changing.”

Ashton closes the magazine and watches me in silence until I

exchangehersweatshirtforaformfittingsweater.“Youwon’tbewarm

enoughinthat.It’schillytonight.”Shesnortsoutadisbelievinglaugh

whenIslipoffmysneakersandstepintoapairofstrappysandalswith

kitten heels. “You’re wearing those to the beach? Is this wardrobe

changeJake’sidea?”

I toss my discarded clothes into the hamper, ignoring her. “Bye,

Ash.”

“Addy, wait.” The snarky tone’s gone from Ashton’s voice, but I

don’t care. I’m down the stairs and out the door before she can stop

me,steppingintoabreezethatchillsmeinstantly.ButJakegivesme

an approving smile and wraps an arm around my shoulders for the

shortwalktothecar.

Ihatetheentireride.HatesittingthereactingnormalwhenIwant

to throw up. Hate listening to Jake and TJ talk about tomorrow’s

game.HatewhenthelatestFallOutBoysongcomesonandTJsays,“I

lovethissong,”becausenowIcan’tlikeitanymore.Butmostly,Ihate

thefactthatbarelyamonthaftermyandJake’smomentousfirsttime,

IgotblinddrunkandsleptwithTJForrester.

WhenwegettothebeachCooperandLuisarealreadybuildinga

bonfire, and Jake heaves a frustrated grunt as he shifts into park.

“Theydoitwrongeverytime,”hecomplains,launchinghimselfoutof

thecartowardthem.“Youguys.You’retooclosetothewater!”

TJandIgetoutofthecarmoreslowly,notlookingateachother.

I’malreadyfreezing,andwrapmyarmsaroundmybodyforwarmth.

“Doyouwantmyjack—”TJstarts,butIdon’tlethimfinish.

“No.”Icuthimoffandstalktowardthebeach,almosttrippingin

mystupidshoeswhenIreachthesand.

TJ’s at my side, arm out to steady me. “Addy, hey.” His voice is

low,hismintybreathbriefly onmycheek.“Itdoesn’thavetobethis

awkward,youknow?I’mnotgoingtosayanything.”

Ishouldn’tbemadathim.It’snothisfault.I’mtheonewhogot

insecure after Jake and I slept together, and started thinking he was

losinginteresteverytimehetooktoolongtoansweratext.I’mtheone

who flirted with TJ when we ran into each other on this exact same

beachoverthesummerwhileJakewasonvacation.I’mtheonewho

daredTJtogetabottleofrum,anddrankalmosthalfofitwithaDiet

Cokechaser.

AtonepointthatdayIlaughedsohardIsnortedsodaoutofmy

nose, which would have disgusted Jake. TJ just said in this dry way,

“Wow,Addy,thatwasattractive.I’mveryturnedonbyyourightnow.”

That was when I kissed him. And suggested we go back to his

place.

Soreally,noneofthisishisfault.

WereachtheedgeofthebeachandwatchJakedousethefireso

he can rebuild it where he wants. I sneak a glance at TJ and see

dimplesflashashewavestotheguys.“Justforgetiteverhappened,”

hesaysunderhisbreath.

Hesoundssincere,andhopesparksinmychest.Maybewereally

can keep this to ourselves. Bayview’s a gossipy school, but at least

AboutThatisn’thangingovereverybody’sheadsanymore.

And if I’m being one hundred percent honest, I have to admit—

that’sarelief.

Cooper

Saturday,September29,4:15p.m.

Isquintatthebatter.We’reatfullcountandhe’sfouledoffthelasttwo

pitches.He’smakingmework,whichisn’tgood.Inashowcasegame

like this, facing a right-handed second baseman with so-so stats, I

should’vemowedhimdownalready.

Problemis,I’mdistracted.It’sbeenahellofaweek.

Pop’sinthestands,andIcanpictureexactlywhathe’sdoing.He’ll

havetakenhiscapoff,knottingitbetweenhishandsashestaresatthe

mound.Likeburningaholeintomewithhiseyesisgoingtohelp.

IbringtheballintomygloveandglanceatLuis,whocatchesfor

meduringregularseason.He’sontheBayviewHighfootballteamtoo

but got permission to miss today’s game so he could be here. He

signalsafastball,butIshakemyhead.I’vethrownfivealreadyandthis

guy’sfiguredeveryoneout.IkeepshakingLuisoffuntilhegivesme

the signal I want. Luis adjusts his crouch slightly, and we’ve played

together long enough that I can read his thoughts in the movement.

Yourfuneral,man.

Ipositionmyfingersontheball,tensingmyselfinpreparationto

throw. It’s not my most consistent pitch. If I miss, it’ll be a big fat

softballandthisguy’llcrushit.

IdrawbackandhurlashardasIcan.Mypitchheadsstraightfor

the middle of the plate, and the batter takes an eager, triumphant

swing.Then theball breaks,dropping outof thestrike zoneand into

Luis’sglove.Thestadiumexplodesincheers,andthebattershakeshis

headlikehehasnoideawhathappened.

Iadjustmycapandtrynottolookpleased.I’vebeenworkingon

thatsliderallyear.

Istrikethenexthitteroutonthreestraightfastballs.Thelastone

hitsninety-three,thefastestI’veeverpitched.Lights-outforalefty.My

statsthroughtwoinningsarethreestrikeouts,twogroundouts,anda

longflythatwould’vebeenadoubleiftherightfielderhadn’tmadea

divingcatch.IwishIcouldhavethatpitchback—mycurveballdidn’t

curve—butotherthanthatIfeelprettygoodaboutthegame.

I’m at Petco—the Padres’ stadium—for an invitation-only

showcaseevent,whichmyfatherinsistedIgotoeventhoughSimon’s

memorialserviceisinanhour.Theorganizersagreedtoletmepitch

first and leave early, so I skip my usual postgame routine, take a

shower,andheadoutofthelockerroomwithLuistofindPop.

I spot him as someone calls my name. “Cooper Clay?” The man

approaching me looks successful. That’s the only way I can think to

describehim.Sharpclothes,sharphaircut,justtherightamountofa

tan, and a confident smile as he holds his hand out to me. “Josh

LangleywiththePadres.I’vespokentoyourcoachafewtimes.”

“Yes, sir. Pleased to meet you,” I say. My father grins like

somebodyjusthandedhimthekeystoaLamborghini.Hemanagesto

introducehimselftoJoshwithoutdrooling,butbarely.

“Hellofaslideryouthrewthere,”Joshsaystome.“Fellrightoff

theplate.”

“Thankyou,sir.”

“Goodvelocityonyourfastballtoo.You’vereallybroughtthatup

sincethespring,haven’tyou?”

“I’vebeenworkingoutalot,”Isay.“Buildinguparmstrength.”

“Big jump in a short time,” Josh observes, and for a second the

statementhangsintheairbetweenuslikeaquestion.Thenheclapsa

handonmyshoulder.“Well,keepitup,son.Nicetohavealocalboy

onourradar.Makesmyjobeasy.Lesstravel.”Heflashesasmile,nods

good-byetomydadandLuis,andtakesoff.

Bigjumpinashorttime.It’strue.Eighty-eightmilesperhourto

ninety-threeinafewmonthsisunusual.

Pop won’t shut up on the way home, alternating between

complainingaboutwhatIdidwrongandcrowingaboutJoshLangley.

He winds up in a good mood, though, more happy about the Padres

scoutthanupsetaboutsomeonealmostgettingahitoffme.“Simon’s

familygonnabethere?”heasksashepullsuptoBayviewHigh.“Pay

ourrespectsiftheyare.”

“Idunno,”Ianswerhim.“Itmightjustbeaschoolthing.”

“Hat off, boys,” Pop says. Luis crams his into the pocket of his

football jacket, and Pop raps the steering wheel impatiently when I

hesitate. “Come on, Cooper, it might be outside but this is still a

service.Leaveitinthecar.”

IdoasI’mtoldandgetout,butasIrunahandthroughmyhat-

hairandclosethepassengerdoor,IwishIhaditback.Ifeelexposed,

and people have already been staring at me enough this week. If it

were up to me I’d go home and spend a quiet evening watching

baseball with my brother and Nonny, but there’s no way I can miss

Simon’smemorialservicewhenIwasoneofthelastpeopletoseehim

alive.

Westarttowardthecrowdonthefootballfield,andItextKeelyto

findoutwhereourfriendsare.Shetellsmethey’renearthefront,so

weduckunderthebleachersandtrytospotthemfromthesidelines.I

havemyeyesonthecrowd,anddon’tseethegirlinfrontofmeuntilI

almost bump into her. She’s leaning against a post, watching the

footballfieldwithherhandsstuffedintothepocketsofheroversized

jacket.

“Sorry,”Isay,andrealizewhoitis.“Oh,hey,Leah.Youheading

out to the field?” Then I wish I could swallow my words, because

there’s no way in hell Leah Jackson’s here to mourn Simon. She

actually tried to kill herself last year because of him. After he wrote

about her sleeping with a bunch of freshmen, she was harassed on

socialmediaformonths.Sheslitherwristsinherbathroomandwas

outofschoolfortherestoftheyear.

Leahsnorts.“Yeah,right.Goodriddance.”Shestaresatthescene

infrontofus,kickingthetoeofherbootintothedirt.“Nobodycould

standhim,butthey’reallholdingcandleslikehe’ssomekindofmartyr

insteadofagossipydouchebag.”

She’s not wrong, but now doesn’t seem like the time to be that

honest. Still, I’m not going to try defending Simon to Leah. “I guess

peoplewanttopaytheirrespects,”Ihedge.

“Hypocrites,” she mutters, cramming her hands deeper into her

pockets.Herexpressionshifts,andshepullsoutherphonewithasly

look.“Youguysseethelatest?”

“Latest what?” I ask with a sinking feeling. Sometimes the best

thingaboutbaseballisthefactthatyoucan’tcheckyourphonewhile

you’replaying.

“There’sanotheremailwithaTumblrupdate.”Leahswipesafew

timesatherphoneandhandsittome.Itakeitreluctantlyandlookat

thescreenasLuisreadsovermyshoulder.

Timetoclarifyafewthings.

Simonhadaseverepeanutallergy—sowhynotstickaPlantersintohis

sandwichandbedonewithit?

I’dbeenwatchingSimonKelleherformonths.Everythingheatewas

wrappedinaninchofcellophane.Hecarriedthatgoddamnwaterbottle

everywhereanditwasallhedrank.

Buthecouldn’tgotenminuteswithoutswiggingfromthatbottle.Ifiguredif

itwasn’tthere,he’ddefaulttoplainoldtapwater.Soyeah,Itookit.

IspentalongtimefiguringoutwhereIcouldslippeanutoilintooneof

Simon’sdrinks.Someplacecontained,withoutawaterfountain.Mr.Avery’s

detentionseemedliketheidealspot.

IdidfeelbadwatchingSimondie.I’mnotasociopath.Inthatmoment,as

heturnedthathorriblecolorandfoughtforair—ifIcouldhavestoppedit,

Iwouldhave.

Icouldn’t,though.Because,yousee,I’dtakenhisEpiPen.Andeverylast

oneinthenurse’soffice.

My heart starts hammering and my stomach clenches. The first

postwasbadenough,butthisone—thisone’swrittenliketheperson

wasactuallyintheroomwhenSimonhadhisattack.Likeitwasoneof

us.

Luissnorts.“That’sfuckedup.”

Leah’s watching me closely, and I grimace as I hand back

the phone. “Hope they figure out who’s writing this stuff. It’s pretty

sick.”

She lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I guess.” She starts to back

away.“Haveablastmourning,guys.I’mouttahere.”

“Bye, Leah.” I squelch the urge to follow her, and we trudge

forwarduntilwehittheten-yardline.Istartshoulderingthroughthe

crowdandfinallyfindKeelyandtherestofourfriends.WhenIreach

her,shehandsmeacandleshelightswithherown,andloopsherarm

throughmine.

Principal Gupta steps up to the microphone and taps against it.

“Whataterribleweekforourschool,”shesays.“Buthowinspiringto

seeallofyougatheredheretonight.”

IshouldbethinkingaboutSimon,butmyhead’stoofullofother

stuff.Keely,who’sgrippingmyarmalittletootight.Leah,sayingthe

kindofthingsmostpeopleonlythink.ThenewTumblr—postedright

before Simon’s memorial service. And Josh Langley with his flashy

smile:Bigjumpinashorttime.

That’s the thing about competitive edges. Sometimes they’re too

goodtobetrue.

Nate

Sunday,September30,12:30p.m.

My probation officer isn’t the worst. She’s in her thirties, not bad-

looking, and has a sense of humor. But she’s a pain in my ass about

school.

“Howdidyourhistoryexamgo?”We’resittinginthekitchenfor

ourusualSundaymeeting.Stan’shangingoutonthetable,whichshe’s

finewithsinceshelikeshim.Mydad isupstairs,something Ialways

arrange before Officer Lopez comes over. Part of her job is to make

sureI’mbeingadequatelysupervised.Sheknewhisdealthefirsttime

shesawhim,butshealsoknowsI’vegotnowhereelsetogoandstate

carecanbewayworsethanalcoholicneglect.It’seasiertopretendhe’s

afitguardianwhenhe’snotpassedoutinthelivingroom.

“Itwent,”Isay.

Shewaitspatientlyformore.Whenitdoesn’tcome,sheasks,“Did

youstudy?”

“I’vebeenkindofdistracted,”Iremindher.She’dheardtheSimon

storyfromhercoppals,andwespentthefirsthalfhouraftershegot

heretalkingaboutwhathappened.

“Iunderstand.Butkeepingupwithschoolisimportant,Nate.It’s

partofthedeal.”

She bringsupTheDealeveryweek. San Diego County is getting

tougher on juvenile drug offenses, and she thinks I was lucky to get

probation. A bad report from her could put me back in front of a

pissed-off judge. Another drug bust could land me in juvie. So every

Sundaymorningbeforesheshowsup,Igatherupallmyunsolddrugs

andburnerphonesandsticktheminoursenileneighbor’sshed.Just

incase.

Officer Lopez holds out her palm to Stan, who crawls halfway

towarditbeforehelosesinterest.Shepickshimupandlayshimacross

her arm. “How has your week been otherwise? Tell me something

positivethathappened.”Shealwayssaysthat,asiflifeisfullofgreat

shitIcanstoreupandreporteverySunday.

“IgottothreethousandinGrandTheftAuto.”

She rolls her eyes. She does that a lot at my house. “Something

else.Whatprogresshaveyoumadetowardyourgoals?”

Jesus. My goals. She made me write a list at our first

appointment.There’snotanythingIactuallycareaboutonthere,just

stuff I know she wants to hear about school and jobs. And friends,

whichshe’sfiguredbynowIdon’thave.IhavepeopleIgotoparties

with,sellto,andscrew,butIwouldn’tcallanyofthemfriends.

“It’sbeenaslowweek,goal-wise.”

“DidyoulookatthatAlateenliteratureIleftyou?”

Nope.Ididn’t.Idon’tneedabrochuretotellmehowbaditsucks

when your only parent’s a drunk, and I definitely don’t need to talk

about it with a bunch of whiners in a church basement somewhere.

“Yeah,”Ilie.“I’mthinkingaboutit.”

I’msuresheseesrightthroughme,sinceshe’snotstupid.Butshe

doesn’t push it. “That’s good to hear. Sharing experiences with other

kidswhoseparentsarestrugglingwouldbetransformativeforyou.”

OfficerLopezdoesn’tletup.Youhavetogiveherthat.Wecould

be surrounded by walking dead in the zombie apocalypse and she’d

lookforthebrightside.Yourbrainsarestillinyourhead,right?Way

tobeattheodds!She’dlove,justonce,tohearanactualpositivething

from me. Like how I spent Friday night with Ivy League–bound

Bronwyn Rojas and didn’t disgrace myself. But that’s not a

conversationIneedtoopenupwithOfficerLopez.

Idon’tknowwhyIshowedupthere.Iwasrestless,staringatthe

VicodinIhadleftoverafterdrop-offandwonderingifIshouldtakea

fewandseewhatallthefussisabout.I’venevergonedownthatroad,

becauseI’mprettysureit’dendwithmecomatoseinthelivingroom

alongside my dad until someone kicked us out for not paying the

mortgage.

So I went to Bronwyn’s instead. I didn’t expect her to come

outside.Orinvitemein.Listeningtoherplaythepianohadastrange

effectonme.Ialmostfelt…peaceful.

“HowiseveryonecopingwithSimon’sdeath?Havetheyheldthe

funeralyet?”

“It’stoday.Theschoolsentanemail.”Iglanceattheclockonour

microwave.“Inabouthalfanhour.”

Her brows shoot up. “Nate. You should go. That would be a

positive thing to do. Pay your respects, gain some closure after a

traumaticevent.”

“Nothanks.”

Sheclearsherthroatandgivesmeashrewdlook.“Letmeputit

anotherway.Goto that goddamnfuneral,Nate Macauley, orIwon’t

overlookyourspottyschoolattendancethenexttimeIfileanupdate

report.I’llcomewithyou.”

Which is how I end up at Simon Kelleher’s funeral with my

probationofficer.

We’relateandSt.Anthony’sChurchispacked,sowebarelyfind

spaceinthelastpew.Theservicehasn’t startedbutnoone’stalking,

andwhentheoldguyinfrontofuscoughsitechoesthroughtheroom.

Thesmellofincensebringsmebacktogradeschool,whenmymother

usedtotakemetoMasseverySunday.Ihaven’tbeentochurchsince

then,butitlooksalmostexactlythesame:redcarpet,shinydarkwood,

tallstained-glasswindows.

Theonlythingthat’sdifferentistheplaceiscrawlingwithcops.

Notinuniform.ButIcantell,andOfficerLopezcantoo.Aftera

whilesomeofthemlookmyway,andIgetparanoidshe’sledmeinto

some kind of trap. ButIdon’thaveanythingonme.Sowhydothey

keepstaringatme?

Notonlyme.IfollowtheirgazestoBronwyn,who’snearthefront

with her parents, and to Cooper and the blond girl, sitting in the

middle with their friends. The back of my neck tingles, and not in a

good way. My body tenses, ready to bolt until Officer Lopez puts a

handonmyarm.Shedoesn’tsayanything,butIstayput.

Abunchofpeopletalk—nobodyIknowexceptthatGothgirlwho

used to follow Simon everywhere.Shereadsaweird,ramblingpoem

andhervoiceshakesthewholetime.

Thepastandpresentwilt—Ihavefill’dthem,emptied

them,

Andproceedtofillmynextfoldofthefuture.

Listenerupthere!whathaveyoutoconfidetome?

LookinmyfacewhileIsnuffthesidleofevening,

(Talkhonestly,nooneelsehearsyou,andIstayonlya

minutelonger.)

DoIcontradictmyself?

VerywellthenIcontradictmyself,

(Iamlarge,Icontainmultitudes.)…

WillyouspeakbeforeIamgone?willyouprovealreadytoo

late?…

Idepartasair,Ishakemywhitelocksattherunawaysun,

Ieffusemyfleshineddies,anddriftitinlacyjags.

IbequeathmyselftothedirttogrowfromthegrassIlove,

Ifyouwantmeagainlookformeunderyourboot-soles.

YouwillhardlyknowwhoIamorwhatImean,

ButIshallbegoodhealthtoyounevertheless,

Andfilterandfiberyourblood.

Failingtofetchmeatfirstkeepencouraged,

Missingmeoneplacesearchanother,

Istopsomewherewaitingforyou.

“Song of Myself,”Officer Lopez murmurs when the girl finishes.

“Interestingchoice.”

There’smusic,morereadings,andit’sfinallyover.Thepriesttells

ustheburial’sgoingtobeprivate,familyonly.Finebyme.I’venever

wanted to leave anyplace so bad in my life and I’m ready to take off

beforethefuneralprocessioncomesdowntheaisle,butOfficerLopez

hasherhandonmyarmagain.

AbunchofseniorguyscarrySimon’scasketoutthedoor.Acouple

dozenpeopledressedindarkcolorsfileoutafterthem,endingwitha

manandawomanholdinghands.Thewomanhasathin,angularface

like Simon. She’s staring at the floor, but as she passes our pew she

looksup,catchesmyeye,andchokesoutafurioussob.

More people crowd the aisles, and someone edges into the pew

withOfficerLopezandme.It’soneoftheplainclothescops,anolder

guy with a buzz cut. I can tell right away he’s not bush-league like

OfficerBudapest.Hesmileslikewe’vemetbefore.

“NateMacauley?”heasks.“Yougotafewminutes,son?”

Addy

Sunday,September30,2:05p.m.

I shade my eyes against the sun outside the church, scanning the

crowd until I spot Jake. He and the other pallbearers put Simon’s

casketontosomekindofmetalstretcher,thenstepasideasthefuneral

directorsangleittowardthehearse.Ilookdown,notwantingtowatch

Simon’s body get loaded into the back of a car like an oversized

suitcase,andsomebodytapsmeontheshoulder.

“AddyPrentiss?”Anolderwomandressedinaboxybluesuitgives

meapolite,professionalsmile.“I’mDetectiveLauraWheelerwiththe

BayviewPolice.Iwanttofollowuponthediscussionyouhadlastweek

withOfficerBudapestaboutSimonKelleher’sdeath.Couldyoucome

tothestationwithmeforafewminutes?”

Istareatherandlickmylips.Iwanttoaskwhy,butshe’ssocalm

and assured, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to pull me

asideafterafuneral,thatitseemsrudetoquestionher.Jakecomesup

besidemethen,handsome in hissuit,andgives DetectiveWheelera

friendly, curious smile. My eyes dart between them and I stammer,

“Isn’tit—Imean—can’twetalkhere?”

Detective Wheeler winces. “So crowded, don’t you think? And

we’rerightaroundthecorner.”ShegivesJakeahalfsmile.“Detective

LauraWheeler,BayviewPolice.I’mlookingtoborrowAddyforalittle

whileandgetclarificationonafewpointsrelatedtoSimonKelleher’s

death.”

“Sure,”hesays,likethatsettlesthings.“Textmeifyouneedaride

after,Ads.LuisandIwillstickarounddowntown.We’restarvingand

we gotta talk offensive strategy for next Saturday’s game. Going to

Glenn’s,probably.”

So that’s it, I guess. I follow Detective Wheeler down the

cobblestone path behind the church that leads to the sidewalk, even

though I don’t want to. Maybe this is what Ashton means when she

saysIdon’tthinkformyself.It’sthreeblockstothepolicestation,and

we walk in silence past a hardware store, the post office, and an ice

creamparlorwherealittle girl out frontishavingameltdown about

gettingchocolatesprinklesinsteadofrainbow.IkeepthinkingIshould

tell Detective Wheeler that my mother will worry if I don’t come

straighthome,butI’mnotsureIcouldsayitwithoutlaughing.

Wepassthroughmetaldetectorsinthefrontofthepolicestation

andDetectiveWheelerleadsmestraighttothebackandintoasmall,

overheatedroom.I’veneverbeeninsideapolicestationbefore,andI

thought it would be more…I don’t know. Official-looking. It reminds

me of the conference room in Principal Gupta’s office, with worse

lighting.Theflickeringfluorescenttubeaboveusdeepenseverylineon

Detective Wheeler’s face and turns her skin an unattractive yellow. I

wonderwhatitdoestomine.

Sheoffersmeadrink,andwhenIdeclinesheleavestheroomfor

afewminutes,returningwithamessengerbagslungoveroneshoulder

andasmall,dark-hairedwomantrailingbehindher.Bothofthemsit

acrossfrommeatthesquatmetaltable,andDetectiveWheelerlowers

herbagontothefloor.“Addy,thisisLornaShaloub,afamilyliaisonfor

theBayviewSchoolDistrict.She’shereasaninterestedadultonyour

behalf. Now, this is not a custodial interrogation. You don’t have to

answer my questions and you are free to leave at any time. Do you

understand?”

Notreally.Shelostmeat“interestedadult.”ButIsay“Sure,”even

though I wish more than ever I’d just gone home. Or that Jake had

comewithme.

“Good.Ihopeyou’llhanginherewithme.Mysenseis,ofallthe

kidsinvolved,you’rethemostlikelytohavegotteninoveryourhead

withnoillintent.”

Iblinkather.“Noillwhat?”

“Noillintent.Iwanttoshowyousomething.”Shereachesintothe

bagnexttoherandpullsoutalaptop.Ms.ShaloubandIwaitasshe

opensitandpressesafewkeys.Isuckinmycheeks,wonderingifshe’s

goingtoshowmetheTumblrposts.Maybethepolicethinkoneofus

wrotethemassomekindofawfuljoke.Iftheyaskmewho,IguessI’d

havetosayBronwyn.Becausethewholethingsoundslikeit’swritten

bysomebodywhothinksthey’retentimessmarterthaneveryoneelse.

DetectiveWheelerturnsthelaptopsoit’sfacingme.I’mnotsure

whatI’mlookingat,butitseemslikesomekindofblog,withtheAbout

Thatlogofrontandcenter.Igiveheraquestioninglook,andshesays,

“This is the admin panel Simon used to manage content for About

That.ThetextbelowlastMonday’sdatestamparehislatestposts.”

Ileanforwardandstarttoread.

Firsttimethisapphaseverfeaturedgood-girlBR,possessorofschool’smost

perfectacademicrecord.Exceptshedidn’tgetthatAinchemistrythroughplain

oldhardwork,unlessthat’showyoudefinestealingtestsfromMr.C’sGoogle

Drive.SomeonecallYale….

Ontheoppositeendofthespectrum,ourfavoritecriminalNM’sbackto

doingwhathedoesbest:makingsuretheentireschoolisashighasitwantsto

be.Prettysurethat’saprobationviolationthere,N.

MLBplusCCequalsawholelotofgreennextJune,right?Seems

inevitableBayview’ssouthpawwillmakeasplashinthemajorleagues…but

don’ttheyhavesomeprettystrictantijuicingrules?BecauseCC’sperformance

wasmostdefinitelyenhancedduringshowcaseseason.

APandJRaretheperfectcouple.Homecomingprincessandstarrunning

back,inloveforthreeyearsstraight.ExceptforthatintimatedetourAtookover

thesummerwithTFathisbeachhouse.Evenmoreawkwardnowthatthe

guysarefriends.Thinktheycomparenotes?

I can’t breathe. It’s out there for everyone to see. How? Simon’s

dead; he can’t have published this. Has someone else taken over for

him?TheTumblrposter?Butitdoesn’tevenmatter:thehow,thewhy,

the when—all that matters is that it is. Jake will see it, if he hasn’t

already.All thethings IreadbeforeIgottomyinitials,thatshocked

measIrealizedwhotheywereaboutandwhattheymeant,falloutof

my brain. Nothing exists except my stupid, horrible mistake in black

andwhiteonthescreenforthewholeworldtoread.

Jakewillknow.Andhe’llneverforgiveme.

I’m almost folded in half with my head on the table, and can’t

makeoutDetectiveWheeler’swordsatfirst.Thensomestartbreaking

through.“…canunderstandhowyoufelttrapped…keepthisfrombeing

published…Ifyoutelluswhathappenedwecanhelpyou,Addy….”

Onlyonephrasesinksin.“Isthisnotpublished?”

“ItwasqueuedupthedaySimondied,buthenevergotthechance

topostit,”DetectiveWheelersayscalmly.

Salvation.Jakehasn’tseenthis.Nobodyhas.Except…thispolice

officer,andmaybeotherpoliceofficers.WhatI’mfocusedonandwhat

she’sfocusedonaretwodifferentthings.

DetectiveWheelerleansforward,herlipsstretchedinasmilethat

doesn’treachhereyes.“Youmayalreadyhaverecognizedtheinitials,

butthoseotherstorieswereaboutBronwynRojas,NateMacauley,and

CooperClay.ThefourofyouwhowereintheroomwithSimonwhen

hedied.”

“That’s…aweirdcoincidence,”Imanage.

“Isn’tit?”DetectiveWheeleragrees.“Addy,youalreadyknowhow

Simon died. We’ve analyzed Mr. Avery’s room and can’t see any way

thatpeanutoilcouldhavegottenintoSimon’scupunlesssomeoneput

itthereafterhefilleditfromthetap.Therewereonlysixpeopleinthe

room,oneofwhomisdead.Yourteacherleftforalongperiodoftime.

ThefourofyouwhoremainedwithSimonallhadreasonsforwanting

tokeephimquiet.”Hervoicedoesn’tgetanylouder,butitfillsmyears

like buzzing from a hive. “Do you see where I’m heading with this?

Thismighthavebeencarriedoutasagroup,butitdoesn’tmeanyou

shareequalresponsibility.There’sabigdifferencebetweencomingup

withanideaandgoingalongwithit.”

IlookatMs.Shaloub.Shedoeslookinterested,Ihavetosay,but

notlikeshe’sonmyside.“Idon’tunderstandwhatyoumean.”

“Youliedaboutbeinginthenurse’soffice,Addy.Didsomeoneput

youuptothat?ToremovingtheEpiPenssoSimoncouldn’tbehelped

later?”

My heartpoundsasIpullastrandofhair off my shoulders and

twist it around my fingers. “I didn’t lie. I forgot.” God, what if she

makesmetakealiedetectortest?I’llneverpass.

“Kids your age are under a lot of pressure today,” Detective

Wheeler says. Her tone is almost friendly, but her eyes are as flat as

ever. “The social media alone—it’s like you can’t make a mistake

anymore, can you? It follows you everywhere. The court is very

forgiving toward impressionable young people who act hastily when

theyhavealottolose,especiallywhentheyhelpusuncoverthetruth.

Simon’sfamilydeservesthetruth,don’tyouthink?”

Ihunchmyshouldersandtugatmyhair.Idon’tknowwhattodo.

Jakewouldknow—butJake’snothere.IlookatMs.Shaloubtucking

hershorthairbehindherears,andsuddenlyAshton’svoicepopsinto

myhead.Youdon’thavetoansweranyquestions.

Right.DetectiveWheelersaidthatatthebeginning,andthewords

pusheverythingelseoutofmybrainwithstartlingreliefandclarity.

“I’mgoingtoleavenow.”

Isayitwithconfidence,butI’mstillnotonehundredpercentsure

Icandothat.Istandandwaitforhertostopme,butshedoesn’t.She

just narrows her eyes and says, “Of course.AsItoldyou,thisisn’ta

custodialinterrogation.Butpleaseunderstand,thehelpIcangiveyou

nowwon’tbethesameonceyouleavethisroom.”

“Idon’tneedyourhelp,”Itellher,andwalkoutthedoor,thenout

of the police station. Nobody stops me. Once I’m outside, though, I

don’tknowwheretogoorwhattodo.

Isitonabenchandpulloutmyphone,myhandsshaking.Ican’t

callJake,notforthis.Butwhodoesthatleave?Mymind’sasblankas

if Detective Wheeler took an eraser and wiped it clean. I’ve built my

entireworldaroundJakeandnowthatit’sshatteredIrealize,waytoo

late,thatIshouldhavecultivatedsomeotherpeoplewho’dcarethata

police officer with mom hair and a sensible suit just accused me of

murder. And when I say “care,” I don’t mean in an oh-my-God-did-

you-hear-what-happened-to-Addykindofway.

My mother would care, but I can’t face that much scorn and

judgmentrightnow.

IscrolltotheAsinmycontactlistandpressaname.It’smyonly

option,andIsayasilentprayerofthankswhenshepicksup.

“Ash?”SomehowImanagenottocryatmysister’svoice.“Ineed

help.”

Cooper

Sunday,September30,2:30p.m.

When Detective Chang shows me Simon’s unpublished About That

page, I read everyone else’s entry first. Bronwyn’s shocks me, Nate’s

doesn’t,Ihavenoideawhothehellthis“TF”Addysupposedlyhooked

upwithis—andI’malmostpositiveIknowwhat’scomingforme.My

heartpoundsasIspymyinitials:BecauseCC’sperformancewasmost

definitelyenhancedduringshowcaseseason.

Huh.MypulseslowsasIleanbackinmychair.That’snotwhatI

expected.

AlthoughIguess Ishouldn’tbe surprised.Iimprovedtoomuch,

tooquickly—eventhePadresscoutsaidsomething.

DetectiveChangdancesaroundthesubjectforawhile,dropping

hintsuntilIunderstandhethinksthefourofuswhowereintheroom

plannedthewholethingtokeepSimonfrompostinghisupdate.Itry

topictureit—me,Nate,andthetwogirlsplottingmurderbypeanutoil

inMr.Avery’sdetention.It’ssostupidit wouldn’t even makeagood

movie.

IknowI’mquietfortoolong.“NateandIneverevenspokebefore

lastweek,”Ifinallysay. “AndIsureasheck never talked to thegirls

aboutthis.”

DetectiveChangleansalmosthalfwayacross the table. “You’re a

good kid, Cooper. Your record’s spotless till now, and you’ve got a

brightfuture.Youmadeonemistakeandyougotcaught.That’sscary.

Igetthat.Butit’snottoolatetodotherightthing.”

I’m not sure which mistake he’s referring to: my alleged juicing,

myallegedmurdering,orsomethingwehaven’ttalkedaboutyet.But

as far as I know, I haven’t been caught at anything. Just accused.

Bronwyn and Addy are probably getting the exact same speech

somewhere.IguessNatewouldgetadifferentone.

“Ididn’tcheat,”ItellDetectiveChang.“AndIdidn’thurtSimon.”

Ahdidn’t.Icanhearmyaccentcomingback.

Hetriesadifferenttack.“Whoseideawasittousetheplantedcell

phonestogetallofyouintodetentiontogether?”

Ileanforward,palmspressedontheblackwoolofmygoodpants.

I hardly ever wear them, and they’re making me hot and itchy. My

heart’sbangingagainstmychestagain.“Listen.Idon’tknowwhodid

that, but…isn’t it something you should look into? Like, were there

fingerprintsonthephones?Becauseitfeelstomelikemaybewewere

framed.” The other guy in the room, some representative from the

Bayview School District who hasn’t said a word, nods like I’ve said

somethingprofound.ButDetectiveChang’sexpressiondoesn’tchange.

“Cooper, we examined those phones as soon as we started to

suspectfoulplay.There’snoforensicevidencetosuggestanyoneelse

wasinvolved.Ourfocusisonthefourofyou,andthat’swhereIexpect

ittoremain.”

Whichfinallygetsmetosay,“Iwanttocallmyparents.”

The “want” part isn’t true, but I’m in over my head. Detective

ChangheavesasighlikeI’vedisappointedhimbutsays,“Allright.You

haveyourcellphonewithyou?”WhenInod,hesays,“Youcanmake

thecallhere.”HestaysintheroomwhileIcallPop,whocatchesona

lotfasterthanIdid.

“Give me that detective you’re talking to,” he spits. “Right now.

And Cooperstown—wait, Cooper! Hold up. Don’t you say another

goddamnwordtoanyone.”

IhandDetectiveChangmyphoneandheputsittohisear.Ican’t

heareverythingPop’ssaying,buthe’sloudenoughthatIgetthebasic

idea. Detective Chang tries to insert a few words—along the lines of

howit’sperfectlylegaltoquestionminorsin California withouttheir

parents present—but mostly he lets Pop rant. At one point he says,

“No.He’sfreetogo,”andmyearsprickup.Ithadn’toccurredtome

thatIcouldleave.

DetectiveChanggivesmyphoneback,andPop’svoicecracklesin

myear.“Cooper,youthere?Getyourasshome.They’renotcharging

you with anything, and you’re not gonna answer any more questions

withoutmeandalawyer.”

A lawyer. Do I actually need one of those? I hang up and face

DetectiveChang.“Myfathertoldmetoleave.”

“Youhavethatright,”DetectiveChangsays,andIwishI’dknown

thatfromthebeginning.Maybehetoldme.Ihonestlydon’tremember.

“But, Cooper, these conversations are happening all over the station

withyourfriends.Oneofthemisgoingtoagreetoworkwithus,and

thatpersonwillbetreatedverydifferentlyfromtherestofyou.Ithink

itshouldbeyou.I’dlikeyoutohavethatchance.”

I want to tell him he’s got it all wrong, but Pop told me to stop

talking.Ican’tbringmyselftoleavewithoutsayinganything,though.

So I end up shaking Detective Chang’s hand and saying, “Thank you

foryourtime,sir.”

Isoundliketheass-kisserofthecentury.It’syearsofconditioning

kickingin.

Bronwyn

Sunday,September30,3:07p.m.

I’m beyond grateful my parents were with me at church when

DetectiveMendozapulledmeasideandaskedmetocometothepolice

station. I thought I’d just get a few follow-up questions from Officer

Budapest. I wasn’t prepared for what came next and wouldn’t have

knownwhattodo.Myparentstookoverandrefusedtoletmeanswer

his questions. They got tons of information out of the detective and

didn’tgiveupanythinginreturn.Itwasprettymasterful.

But.NowtheyknowwhatI’vedone.

Well.Notyet.Theyknowtherumor.Atthemoment,drivinghome

from the police station, they’re still ranting against the injustice of it

all. My mother is, anyway. My father’s keeping his attention on the

road,butevenhisturnsignalsareunusuallyaggressive.

“Imean,”mymothersays,inanurgentvoicethatindicatesshe’s

barelywarmingup,“it’shorriblewhathappenedtoSimon.Of course

his parents want answers. But to take a high school gossip post and

turnitintoanaccusationlikethatisjustludicrous.Ican’tfathomhow

anyonecouldthinkBronwynwouldkillaboybecausehewasaboutto

postalie.”

“It’snotalie,”Isay,buttooquietlyforhertohearme.

“The police have nothing.” My father sounds like he’s judging a

company he’s thinking of acquiring and finds it lacking. “Flimsy

circumstantial evidence.Obviouslynorealforensicsortheywouldn’t

be reaching this way. That was a Hail Mary.” The car in front of us

stops short at a yellow light, and Dad swears softly in Spanish as he

brakes.“Bronwyn,Idon’twantyoutoworryaboutthis.We’llhirean

outstanding lawyer, but it’s purely a formality. I may sue the police

departmentwhenit’sallover.Especiallyifanyofthisgoespublicand

harmsyourreputation.”

My throat feels like I’m getting ready to push words through

sludge.“Idid.”I’mbarelyaudible.Ipressthepalmofmyhandtomy

burningcheekandforcemyvoicehigher.“Ididcheat.I’msorry.”

Momrotatesinherseat.“Ican’thearyou,honey.Whatwasthat?”

“Icheated.”Thewordstumbleoutofme:howI’dusedacomputer

inthelabrightafterMr.Camino,andrealizedhehadn’tloggedoutof

his Google Drive. A file with all our chemistry test questions for the

rest of the year was right there. I downloaded it onto a flash drive

almostwithoutthinkingaboutit.AndIusedittogetperfectscoresfor

therestoftheyear.

IhavenoideahowSimonfoundout.Butasusual,hewasright.

The next few minutes in the car are horrible. Mom turns in her

seatandstaresatmewithbetrayalinhereyes.Dadcan’tdothesame,

buthekeepsglancingintotherearviewmirrorlikehe’shopingtosee

something different. I can read the hurt in both their expressions:

You’renotwhowethoughtyouwere.

Myparentsareallaboutmerit-basedachievement.Dadwasoneof

theyoungestCFOsinCaliforniabeforewewereevenborn,andMom’s

dermatology practice is so successful she hasn’t been able to take on

anynewpatientsinyears.They’vebeendrummingthesamemessage

intomesincekindergarten:Workhard,doyourbest,andtherestwill

follow.Anditalwayshad,untilchemistry.

IguessIdidn’tknowwhattodoaboutthat.

“Bronwyn.”Mom’sstillstaringatme,hervoicelowandtight.“My

God.Ineverwouldhaveimaginedyou’ddosomethinglikethat.Thisis

terribleonsomanylevels,butmostimportant,itgivesyouamotive.”

“Ididn’tdoanythingtoSimon!”Iburstout.

Thehardlinesofhermouthsoftenslightlyassheshakesherhead

atme.“I’mdisappointedinyou,Bronwyn,butIdidn’tmakethatleap.

I’m just stating fact. If you can’t unequivocally say that Simon was

lying,thiscouldgetverymessy.”Sherubsahandoverhereyes.“How

didheknowyoucheated?Doeshehaveproof?”

“I don’t know. Simon didn’t…” I pause, thinking about all the

AboutThatupdatesI’dreadovertheyears.“Simonneverreallyproved

anything. It’s just…everybody believed him because he was never

wrong.Thingsalwayscameouteventually.”

And here I’d thought I was in the clear, since I’d taken Mr.

Camino’sfileslastMarch.WhatIjustdon’tgetis,ifSimonhadknown,

whyhadn’thepouncedonitrightaway?

IknewwhatIdidwaswrong,obviously.Ieventhoughtitmightbe

illegal, although technically I didn’t break into Mr. Camino’s account

sinceitwasalreadyopen.Butthatparthardlyseemedreal.Maeveuses

hermadcomputerskillstohackintostuffforfunallthetime,andifI’d

thoughtofitIprobablycouldhaveaskedhertogetMr.Camino’sfiles

forme.Orevenchangemygrade.Butitwasn’tpremeditated.Thefile

wasinfrontofmeinthatmoment,andItookit.

ThenIchosetouseitformonthsafterward,tellingmyselfitwas

okaybecauseonehardclassshouldn’truinmywholefuture.Whichis

kindofhorriblyironic,givenwhatjusthappenedatthepolicestation.

IwonderifeverythingSimonwroteaboutCooperandAddyistrue

too. Detective Mendoza showed us all the entries, implying that

somebodyelsemightalreadybeconfessingandcuttingadeal.Ialways

thought Cooper’s talent was God-given and that Addy was too Jake-

obsessed to even look at another guy, but they probably never

imaginedmeasacheater,either.

With Nate, I don’t wonder. He’s never pretended to be anything

otherthanexactlywhoheis.

Dadpullsintoourdrivewayandcutstheengine,slippingthekeys

fromtheignitionandturning to face me.“Isthereanythingelse you

haven’ttoldus?”

Ithinkbacktotheclaustrophobiclittleroomatthepolicestation,

my parents on either side of me as Detective Mendoza lobbed

questionslikegrenades.WereyoucompetitivewithSimon?Haveyou

ever been to his house? Did you know he was writing a post about

you?

Didyouhaveanyreason,beyondthis,todislikeorresentSimon?

MyparentssaidIdidn’thavetorespondtoanyofhisquestions,

butIdidanswerthatone.No,Isaidthen.

“No,”Isaynow,meetingmyfather’seyes.

IfheknowsI’mlying,hedoesn’tshowit.

Nate

Sunday,September30,5:15p.m.

CallingmyridehomewithOfficerLopezafterSimon’sfuneral“tense”

wouldbeanunderstatement.

It was hours later, for one thing. After Officer Buzz Cut had

brought me to the station and asked me a half-dozen different ways

whether I’d killed Simon. Officer Lopez had asked if she could be

present during questioning, and he agreed, which was fine with me.

AlthoughthingsgotalittleawkwardwhenhepulledupSimon’sdrug-

dealingaccusation.

Which,althoughtrue,hecan’tprove. Even Iknowthat. I stayed

calm when he told me the circumstances surrounding Simon’s death

gavethepoliceprobablecausetosearchmyhousefordrugs,andthat

theyalreadyhadawarrant.I’dclearedeverythingoutthismorning,so

Iknewtheywouldn’tfindanything.

ThankGodOfficerLopezandImeetonSundays.I’dprobablybe

in jail otherwise. I owe her big-time for that, although she doesn’t

know it. And for having my back during questioning, which I didn’t

expect.I’veliedto her faceeverytimewe’ve met andI’mprettysure

she knows that. But when Officer Buzz Cut started getting heated,

she’d dial him back. I got the sense, eventually, that all they have is

someflimsycircumstantialevidenceandatheorytheywerehopingto

pressuresomeoneintoadmitting.

Iansweredafewoftheirquestions.TheonesIknewcouldn’tget

me into trouble. Everything else was some variation of I don’t know

andIdon’tremember.Sometimesitwaseventrue.

Officer Lopez didn’t say a word from the time we left the police

stationuntilshepulledintomydriveway.Nowshegivesmealookthat

makesitclearevenshecan’tfindabrightsidetowhatjusthappened.

“Nate. I won’t ask if what I saw on that site is true. That’s a

conversationforyouandalawyerifitevercomestothat.Butyouneed

tounderstandsomething.If,fromthisdayforward,youdealdrugsin

anyway,shape,orform—Ican’thelpyou.Nobodycan.Thisisnojoke.

You’re dealing with a potential capital offense. There are four kids

involvedinthisinvestigationandeverysingleoneofthemexceptyou

is backed by parents who are materially comfortable and present in

theirchildren’slives.Ifnotoutrightwealthyandinfluential.You’rethe

obviousoutlierandscapegoat.AmImakingmyselfclear?”

Jesus. She’s not pulling any punches. “Yeah.” I got it. I’d been

thinkingaboutitallthewayhome.

“Allright.I’llseeyounextSunday.Callmeifyouneedmebefore

then.”

Iclimboutofthe car without thankingher.It’sabullshit move,

butIdon’thaveitinmetobegrateful.Istepinsideourlow-ceilinged

kitchen and the smell hits me right away: stale vomit seeps into my

nose and throat, making me gag. I look around for the source, and I

guesstoday’smyluckydaybecausemyfathermanagedtomakeitto

thesink.Hejustdidn’tbotherrinsingitafterward.Iputonehandover

myfaceandusetheothertoaimasprayofwater,butit’snogood.The

stuff’scakedonbynowanditwon’tcomeoffunlessIscrubit.

Wehaveaspongesomewhere.Probablyinthecabinetunderthe

sink.Insteadoflooking,though,Ikickit.Whichisprettysatisfying,so

I do it another five or ten times, harder and harder until the cheap

woodsplintersandcracks.I’mpanting,breathinginlungsfulofpuke-

infestedair,andI’msofuckingsickofitall,Icouldkillsomebody.

Somepeoplearetootoxictolive.Theyjustare.

A familiar scratching sound comes from the living room—Stan,

clawing at the glass of his terrarium, looking for food. I squirt half a

bottleofdishdetergentinthesinkandaimanotherblastofwaterover

it.I’lldealwiththerestlater.

I get a container of live crickets from the refrigerator and drop

themintoStan’scage,watchingthemhoparoundwithnocluewhat’s

instoreforthem.My breathing slows andmyheadclears,butthat’s

notexactlygoodnews.IfI’mnotthinkingaboutoneshitstorm,Ihave

tothinkaboutanother.

Group murder. It’s an interesting theory. I guess I should be

gratefulthecopsdidn’ttrytopinthewholethingonme.Asktheother

threetonodandgetoutofjailfree.I’msureCooperandtheblondgirl

wouldhavebeenmorethanhappytoplayalong.

MaybeBronwynwouldn’t,though.

IclosemyeyesandbracemyhandsonthetopofStan’sterrarium,

thinkingaboutBronwyn’shouse.Howcleanandbrightitwas,andhow

sheandhersistertalkedtoeachotherlikealltheinterestingpartsof

theirconversationwerethethingstheydidn’tsay.Itmustbenice,after

gettingaccusedofmurder,tocomehometoaplacelikethat.

WhenIleavethehouseand get onmybike,Itellmyself I don’t

knowwhereI’mgoing,anddriveaimlesslyforalmostanhour.Bythe

time I end up in Bronwyn’s driveway, it’s dinnertime for normal

people,andIdon’texpectanyonetocomeoutside.

I’mwrong,though.Someonedoes.It’satallmaninafleecevest

andacheckedshirt,withshortdarkhairandglasses.Helookslikea

guy who’s used to giving orders, and he approaches me with a calm,

measuredtread.

“Nate,right?”His hands areonhis hips, abigwatch glinting on

onewrist.“I’mJavierRojas,Bronwyn’sfather.I’mafraidyoucan’tbe

here.”

Hedoesn’tsoundmad,justmatter-of-fact.Buthealsosoundslike

he’snevermeantanythingmoreinhislife.

ItakemyhelmetoffsoIcanmeethiseyes.“IsBronwynhome?”

It’sthemostpointless question ever. Obviouslysheis,and obviously

he’s not going to let me see her. I don’t even know why I want to,

exceptthatIcan’t.AndbecauseIwanttoaskher:What’strue?What

didyoudo?Whatdidn’tyoudo?

“You can’tbehere,”JavierRojassays again. “I’m sure you don’t

wantpoliceinvolvementanymorethanIdo.”He’sdoingadecentjob

of pretending I wouldn’t be his worst nightmare even if I weren’t

involvedinamurderinvestigationwithhisdaughter.

That’s it, I guess. Lines are drawn. I’m the obvious outlier and

scapegoat.Thereisn’tmuchelsetosay,soIreverseoutofhisdriveway

andheadhome.

Addy

Sunday,September30,5:30p.m.

Ashtonunlocksthe door tohercondo in downtownSanDiego. It’s a

one-bedroom, because she and Charlie can’t afford anything bigger.

Especially with a year’s worth of law school debt that’ll be hard to

repaynowthatAshton’sgraphicdesignbusinesshasn’ttakenoffand

Charlie’s decided to make nature documentaries instead of being a

lawyer.

Butthat’snotwhatwe’reheretotalkabout.

Ashtonbrews coffeeinherkitchen,whichistinybutcute:white

cabinets, glossy black granite countertops, stainless steel appliances,

andretrolight fixtures.“Where’sCharlie?”Iask asshedoctors mine

withcreamandsugar,paleandsweetthewayIlikeit.

“Rockclimbing,”Ashtonsays,pressingherlipsintoathinlineas

she hands me the mug. Charlie has lots of hobbies Ashton doesn’t

share, and they’re all expensive. “I’ll call him about finding you a

lawyer.Maybeoneofhisoldprofessorsknowssomeone.”

Ashtoninsistedontakingmetogetsomethingtoeatafterweleft

the police station, and I told her everything at the restaurant—well,

almosteverything.ThetruthaboutSimon’srumor,anyway.Shetried

callingMomonthewayhere,butgotvoicemailandleftacrypticcall-

me-as-soon-as-you-get-thismessage.

WhichMomhasignored.Ornotseen.MaybeIshouldgiveherthe

benefitofthedoubt.

We take our coffee to Ashton’s balcony and settle ourselves into

bright-red chairs on either side of a tiny table. I close my eyes and

swallow a mouthful of hot, sweet liquid, willing myself to relax. It

doesn’twork,butIkeepsippingslowlyuntilI’mdone.Ashtonpullsout

herphoneandleavesatersemessageforCharlie,thentriesourmother

again.“Stillvoicemail,”shesighs,drainingthelastofhercoffee.

“Nobody’shomeexceptus,”Isay,andforsomereasonthatmakes

melaugh.Alittlehysterically.Imightbelosingit.

Ashtonrestsherelbowsonthetableandclaspsherhandstogether

underherchin.“Addy,you’vegottotellJakewhathappened.”

“Simon’s update isn’t live,” I say weakly, but Ashton shakes her

head.

“It’llgetout.Maybegossip,maybethepolicetalkingtohimtoput

pressure on you. But it’s something you need to deal with in your

relationship no matter what.” She hesitates, tucking her hair behind

herears.“Addy,istheresomepartofyouthat’sbeenwantingJaketo

findout?”

Resentment surges through me. Ashton can’t stop her anti-Jake

crusadeeveninthemiddleofacrisis.“WhywouldIeverwantthat?”

“Hecallstheshotsoneverything,doesn’the?Maybeyougottired

ofthat.Iwould.”

“Right,becauseyou’retherelationshipexpert,”Isnap.“Ihaven’t

seenyouandCharlietogetherinoveramonth.”

Ashtonpursesherlips.“Thisisn’taboutme.YouneedtotellJake,

andsoon.Youdon’twanthimtohearthisfromsomeoneelse.”

Allthefightgoesout of me, because Iknowshe’sright.Waiting

will only make things worse. And since Mom’s not calling us back, I

mightaswellripofftheBand-Aid.“Willyoutakemetohishouse?”

IhaveabunchoftextsfromJakeanyway,askinghowthingswent

at the station. I should probably be focusing on the whole criminal

aspectofthis,butasusual,mymind’sconsumedwithJake.Itakeout

myphone,openmymessages,andtext,CanItellyouinperson?

Jake responds right away. “Only Girl” blares, which seems

inappropriatefortheconversationthat’sabouttofollow.

Ofcourse.

IrinseoutourmugswhileAshtoncollectsherkeysandpurse.We

stepintothehallwayandAshtonshutsthedoorbehindus,tuggingthe

knobto makesureit’slocked.Ifollowhertotheelevator,mynerves

buzzing.Ishouldn’thavehadthatcoffee.Evenifitwasmostlymilk.

We’re more than halfway to Bayview when Charlie calls. I try to

tune out Ashton’s tense, clipped conversation, but it’s impossible in

such close quarters. “I’m not asking for me,” she says at one point.

“Canyoubethebiggerpersonforonce?”

I scrunch in my seat and take out my phone, scrolling through

messages. Keely’s sent half a dozen texts about Halloween costumes,

andOlivia’sagonizingaboutwhethersheshouldgetbacktogetherwith

Luis.Again.Ashtonfinallyhangsupandsayswithforcedbrightness,

“Charlie’sgoingtomakeafewcallsaboutalawyer.”

“Great.Tellhimthanks.”IfeellikeIshouldsaymore,butI’mnot

surewhat,andwelapseintosilence.Still,I’dratherspendhoursinmy

sister’s quiet car than five minutes in Jake’s house, which looms in

frontofusalltooquickly.“I’mnotsurehowlongthiswilltake,”Itell

Ashtonasshepullsintothedriveway.“AndImightneedaridehome.”

Nausearollsthroughmystomach.IfIhadn’tdonewhatIdidwithTJ,

Jakewouldinsistonbeingapartofwhatevercomesnext.Thewhole

situationwouldstillbeterrifying,butIwouldn’thavetofaceitonmy

own.

“I’ll be at the Starbucks on Clarendon Street,” Ashton says as I

climboutofthecar.“Textmewhenyou’redone.”

I feel sorry, then, for snapping at her and goading her about

Charlie. If she hadn’t picked me up from the police station, I don’t

know what I would have done. But she backs out of the driveway

before I can say anything, and I start my slow march to Jake’s front

door.

HismomanswerswhenIringthebell,smilingsonormallythatI

almost think everything’s going to be okay. I’ve always liked Mrs.

Riordan.Sheusedtobeahotshotadvertisingexecutivetillrightbefore

Jakestartedhighschool,whenshedecidedtodownshiftandfocuson

herfamily.IthinkmymothersecretlywishesshewereMrs.Riordan,

with a glamorous career she doesn’t have to do anymore and a

handsome,successfulhusband.

Mr. Riordan can be intimidating, though. He’s a my-way-or-

nothing sort of man. Whenever I mention that, Ashton starts

mutteringaboutapplesnotfallingfarfromtrees.

“Hi, Addy. I’m on my way out, but Jake’s waiting for you

downstairs.”

“Thanks,”Isay,steppingpastherintothefoyer.

IcanhearherlockthedoorbehindherandhercardoorslamasI

takethe stairsdowntoJake.TheRiordanshaveafinishedbasement

that’sbasicallyJake’sdomain.It’shuge,andtheyhaveapooltableand

agiantTVandlots of overstuffed chairs andcouchesdownthere,so

ourfriendshangoutheremorethananywhereelse.Asusual,Jakeis

sprawledonthebiggestcouchwithanXboxcontrollerinhand.

“Hey, baby.” He pauses the game and sits up when he sees me.

“How’deverythinggo?”

“Notgood,”Isay,andstartshakingallover.Jake’sfaceisfullof

concernIdon’tdeserve.Hegetstohisfeet,tryingtopullmedownnext

to him,butIresistforonce.Itake a seat in the armchair beside the

couch.“IthinkIshouldsitoverherewhileItellyouthis.”

AfrowncreasesJake’sforehead.Hesitsbackdown,ontheedgeof

thecouchthistime,hiselbowsrestingonhiskneesashegazesatme

intently.“You’rescaringme,Ads.”

“It’sbeenascaryday,”Isay,twistingastrandofhairaroundmy

finger.Mythroatfeelsasdryasdust.“Thedetectivewantedtotalkto

me because she thinks I…She thinks all of us who were in detention

with Simon that day…killed him. They think we deliberately put

peanutoilinhiswatersohe’ddie.”Itoccurstomeasthewordsslip

outthatmaybeIwasn’tsupposedtotalkaboutthispart.ButI’mused

totellingJakeeverything.

Jake stares at me, blinks, and barks out a short laugh. “Jesus.

That’snotfunny,Addy.”Healmostnevercallsmebymyactualname.

“I’m not joking. She thinks we did it because he was about to

publish an update of About That featuring the four of us. Reporting

awfulthings we’dneverwanttogetout.”I’mtemptedtotellhimthe

othergossipfirst—See,I’mnottheonlyhorribleperson!—butIdon’t.

“Therewassomethingaboutmeonthere,somethingtrue,thatIhave

to tell you. I should have told you when it happened but I was too

scared.”Istareatthefloor,myeyesfocusingonaloosethreadinthe

plushbluecarpet.IfIpulleditIbetthewholesectionwouldunravel.

“Goon,”Jakesays.Ican’treadhistoneatall.

God. How can my heart be hammering this hard and I still be

alive? It should have burst out of my chest by now. “At the end of

school last year, when you were in Cozumel with your parents, I ran

intoTJatthebeach.Wegotabottleofrumandendedupgettingreally

drunk.AndIwenttoTJ’shouseand,um,Ihookedupwithhim.”Tears

slidedownmycheeksanddripontomycollarbone.

“Hookeduphow?”Jakeasksflatly.Ihesitate,wonderingifthere’s

anypossiblewayIcanmakethissoundlessawfulthanitis.Butthen

Jakerepeatshimself—“Hookeduphow?”—soforcefullythatthewords

springoutofme.

“We slept together.” I’m crying so hard I can barely get more

wordsout.“I’msorry,Jake.Imadeastupid,horriblemistakeandI’m

so,sosorry.”

Jake doesn’t say anything for a minute, and when he speaks his

voiceisicycold.“You’resorry,huh?That’sgreat.That’sallright,then.

Aslongasyou’resorry.”

“Ireallyam,”Istart,butbeforeIcancontinuehespringsupand

ramshisfistintothewallbehindhim.Ican’thelpthestartledcrythat

escapesme.Theplastercracks,rainingwhitedustacrossthebluerug.

Jakeshakeshisfistandhitsthewallharder.

“Fuck,Addy.Youscrewmyfriendmonthsago,you’vebeenlying

tomeeversince,andyou’resorry?Whatthehelliswrongwithyou?I

treatyoulikeaqueen.”

“Iknow,”Isob,staringatthebloodysmearshisknuckleslefton

thewall.

“Youletmehangoutwithaguywho’slaughinghisassoffbehind

my back while you jump out of his bed and into mine like nothing

happened. Pretending you give a shit about me.” Jake almost never

swearsinmypresence,orifhedoes,heapologizesafterward.

“Ido!Jake,Iloveyou.I’vealwayslovedyou,sincethefirsttimeI

sawyou.”

“Sowhy’dyoudoit?Why?”

I’veaskedmyselfthatquestionformonthsandcan’tcomeupwith

anything except weak excuses. I was drunk, I was stupid, I was

insecure.Iguessthatlastone’sclosesttothetruth;yearsofbeingnot

enoughfinallycatchingupwithme.“Imadeamistake.I’ddoanything

tofixit.IfIcouldtakeitbackIwould.”

“But you can’t, can you?” Jake asks. He’s silent for a minute,

breathinghard.Idon’tdaresayanotherword.“Lookatme.”Ikeepmy

headinmyhandsaslongasIcan.“Lookatme,Addy.Youfuckingowe

methat.”

SoIdo,butIwishIhadn’t.Hisface—thatbeautifulfaceI’veloved

sincebeforeiteverlookedasgoodasitdoesnow—istwistedwithrage.

“Youruinedeverything.Youknowthat,right?”

“Iknow.”Itcomesoutasamoan,likeI’matrappedanimal.IfI

couldgnawmyownlimbofftoescapethissituation,Iwould.

“Getout.Getthehellout of my house. I can’tstandthesightof

you.”

I’mnotsurehowImanagetogetupthestairs,nevermindoutthe

door. Once I’m in the driveway I scramble through my bag trying to

findmyphone.There’snowayIcanstandinJake’sdrivewaysobbing

while I wait for Ashton. I need to walk to Clarendon Street and find

her. Then a car across the street beeps softly, and through a haze of

tearsIwatchmysisterlowerherwindow.

HermouthdroopsasIapproach.“Ithoughtitmightgolikethis.

Comeon,getin.Mom’swaitingforus.”

Bronwyn

Monday,October1,7:30a.m.

IgetreadyforschoolonMondaythewayIalwaysdo.UpatsixsoIcan

run for half an hour. Oatmeal with berries and orange juice at six-

thirty,ashowertenminuteslater.Drymyhair,pickoutclothes,puton

sunscreen.ScantheNewYorkTimesfortenminutes.Checkmyemail,

packmybooks,makesuremyphone’sfullycharged.

Theonlythingthat’sdifferentistheseven-thirtymeetingwithmy

lawyer.

Her name is Robin Stafford, and according to my father she’s a

brilliant, highly successful criminal defense attorney. But not overly

high-profile. Not the kind of lawyer automatically associated with

guiltyrichpeopletryingtobuytheirwayoutoftrouble.She’srighton

timeandgivesmeawide,warmsmilewhenMaeveleadsherintothe

kitchen.

Iwouldn’tbeabletoguessheragebylookingather,butthebio

my fathershowedmelastnightsaysshe’s forty-one. She’s wearing a

cream-colored suit that’s striking against her dark skin, subtle gold

jewelry,andshoesthatlookexpensivebutnotJimmyChoolevel.

Shetakesaseatatourkitchenislandacrossfrommyparentsand

me.“Bronwyn,it’sapleasure.Let’stalkaboutwhatyoumightexpect

todayandhowyoushouldhandleschool.”

Sure. Because that’s my life now. School is something to be

handled.

Shefoldsherhandsinfrontofher.“I’mnotsurethepolicetruly

believed the four of you planned this together, but I do think they

hoped to shock and pressure one of you into giving up useful

information.Thatindicatestheirevidenceisflimsyatbest.Ifnoneof

youpointfingersandyourstorieslineup,theydon’thaveanywhereto

takethisinvestigation,andit’smybeliefitwillultimatelybeclosedout

asanaccidentaldeath.”

Thevisethat’sbeengrippingmychestallmorningloosensalittle.

“Even though Simon was about to post those awful things about us?

Andthere’sthatwholeTumblrthinggoingon?”

Robingivesan elegant littleshrug.“At theendofthe day, that’s

nothingbutgossipandtrolling.Iknowyoukidstakeitseriously,butin

the legalworldit’smeaninglessunlesshard proof emerges to back it

up.Thebestthingyoucandoisnottalkaboutthecase.Certainlynot

withthepolice,butnotwithschooladministratorseither.”

“Whatiftheyask?”

“Tell them you’ve retained counsel and can’t answer questions

withoutyourlawyerpresent.”

ItrytoimaginehavingthatconversationwithPrincipalGupta.I

don’t know what the school’s heard about this, but me pleading the

Fifthwouldbeamajorredflag.

“Areyoufriendlywiththeotherkidswhowereindetentionthat

day?”Robinasks.

“Notexactly.CooperandIhavesomeclassestogether,but—”

“Bronwyn.”Mymotherinterruptswithachillinhervoice.“You’re

friendlyenoughwithNateMacauleythatheshowedupherelastnight.

Forthethirdtime.”

Robinsitsstraighterinherchair,andIflush.Thatwasabigtopic

of discussion last night after my dad made Nate leave. Dad thought

he’dstalkedouraddressinacreepyway,soIhadsomeexplainingto

do.

“WhyhasNatebeenherethreetimes,Bronwyn?”Robinaskswith

apolite,interestedair.

“It’snobigdeal.HegavemearidehomeafterSimondied.Then

he stopped by last Friday to hang out for a while. And I don’t know

whathe wasdoing herelast night,sincenobodywould letmetalkto

him.”

“It’sthe‘hangingout’whileyourparentsaren’thomethatdisturbs

me—”mymotherstarts,butRobininterruptsher.

“Bronwyn,what’sthenatureofyourrelationshipwithNate?”

Ihavenoidea.Maybeyoucouldhelpmeanalyzeit?Isthatpart

ofyourretainer?“Ihardlyknowhim.Ihadn’ttalkedtohiminyears

beforelastweek.We’rebothinthisweirdsituationand…ithelpstobe

aroundotherpeoplegoingthroughthesamething.”

“Irecommendmaintainingdistancefromtheothers,”Robinsays,

ignoring my mother’s evil eye in my direction. “No need to give the

police further ammunition for their theories. If your cell phone and

emailareexamined,willtheyshowrecentcommunicationwiththose

threestudents?”

“No,”Isaytruthfully.

“That’sgoodnews.”She glances atherwatch,aslimgold Rolex.

“That’sallwecanaddressnowifyou’regoingtogettoschoolontime,

whichyoushould.Businessasusual.”Sheflashesmethatwarmsmile

again.“We’lltalkmoreindepthlater.”

Isaygood-bye tomyparents,not quiteableto lookthemin the

eye, and call for Maeve as I grab the keys to the Volvo. I spend the

wholedrivesteelingmyselfforsomethingawfultohappenonceweget

to school, but it’s weirdly normal. No police lying in wait for me.

Nobody’s looking at me any differently than they have since the first

Tumblrpostcameout.

Still,I’monlyhalfpayingattentiontoKateandYumiko’schatter

after homeroom, my eyes roaming the hallway. There’s only one

personIwanttotalkto,eventhoughit’sexactlywhoI’msupposedto

stayawayfrom.“Catchyouguyslater,okay?”Imurmur,andintercept

Nateafterheducksintothebackstairwell.

Ifhe’ssurprised toseeme, hedoesn’tshow it.“Bronwyn.How’s

thefamily?”

Ileanagainstthewallnexttohimandlowermyvoice.“Iwanted

to apologize for my dad making you leave last night. He’s kind of

freakedoutbyallthis.”

“Wonderwhy.”Natedropshisvoiceaswell. “Youbeensearched

yet?” My eyes widen, and he laughs darkly. “Didn’t think so. I was.

You’reprobablynotsupposedtobetalkingtome,right?”

I can’t help but glance around the empty stairwell. I’m already

paranoidandNate’snothelping.Ihavetokeepremindingmyselfthat

wedidnot,infact,conspiretocommitmurder.“Whydidyoustopby?”

His eyes search mine as though he’s about to say something

profound about life and death and the presumption of innocence. “I

wasgoingtoapologizeforstealingJesusfromyou.”

I recoil a little. I have no idea what he’s talking about. Is he

makingsomekindofreligiousallegory?“What?”

“Inthefourth-gradeNativityplayatSt.Pius.IstoleJesusandyou

hadtocarryabagwrappedinablanket.Sorryaboutthat.”

Istareathimforasecondasthetensionflowsoutofme,leaving

melimpandslightlygiddy.Ipunchhimintheshoulder,startlinghim

somuchheactuallylaughs.“Iknewitwasyou.Why’dyoudothat?”

“Togetariseoutofyou.”Hegrinsatme,andforasecondIforget

everything except the fact that Nate Macauley still has an adorable

smile.“Also,Iwantedtotalktoyouabout—allthis.ButIguessit’stoo

late.Youmustbelawyeredupbynow,right?”Hissmiledisappears.

“Yes,but…Iwanttotalktoyoutoo.”Thebellrings,andIpullout

my phone. Then I remember Robin asking about communication

records between the four of us and stuff it back into my bag. Nate

catchesthegestureandsnortsanotherhumorlesslaugh.

“Yeah,exchangingnumbersisashitidea.Unlessyouwanttouse

this.”Hereachesintohisbackpackandhandsmeaflipphone.

Itakeitgingerly.“Whatisit?”

“Anextraphone.Ihaveafew.”Irunmythumbacrossthecover

withadawningideaofwhatitmightbefor,andheaddshastily,“It’s

new.Nobody’sgoingtocallitoranything.ButIhavethenumber.I’ll

call you. You can answer, or not. Up to you.” He pauses, and adds,

“Just don’t, you know, leave it lying around. They get a warrant for

your phone and computer, that’s all they can touch. They can’t go

throughyourwholehouse.”

I’mprettysuremyexpensivelawyerwouldtellmenottotakelegal

advicefromNateMacauley.Andshe’dprobablyhavesomethingtosay

about the fact that he has an apparently inexhaustible supply of the

samecheapphonesthatcorralledusallindetentionlastweek.Iwatch

him head up the stairs, knowing I should drop the phone into the

nearesttrashcan.ButIputitinmybackpackinstead.

Cooper

Monday,October1,11:00a.m.

It’salmostarelieftobeatschool.Betterthanhome,wherePopspent

hoursrantingabouthowSimon’saliarandthepoliceareincompetent

andtheschoolshouldbeonthehookforthisandlawyerswillcosta

fortunewedon’thave.

Hedidn’taskifanyofitwastrue.

We’reinaweirdlimbonow.Everything’sdifferentbutitalllooks

thesame.ExceptJakeandAddy,who’rewalkingaroundliketheywant

to kill and die, respectively. Bronwyn gives me the least convincing

smile ever in the hallway, her lips pressed so tight they almost

disappear.Nate’snowhereinsight.

We’reallwaitingforsomethingtohappen,Iguess.

Aftergymsomethingdoes,butitdoesn’thaveanythingtodowith

me. My friends and I are heading for the locker room after playing

soccer,laggingbehindeveryoneelse,andLuisisgoingonaboutsome

newjuniorgirlhe’sgothiseyeon.Ourgymteacheropensthedoorto

letabunchofkidsinsidewhenJakesuddenlywhirlsaround,grabsTJ

bytheshoulder,andpuncheshimintheface.

Ofcourse.“TF”fromAbout ThatisTJForrester.Thelackof aJ

confusedme.

IgrabJake’sarms,pullinghimbackbeforehecanthrowanother

punch, but he’s so furious he almost gets away from me before Luis

steps in to help. Even then, two of us can barely hold him. “You

asshole,”JakespitsatTJ,whostaggersbutdoesn’tfall.TJputsahand

to his bloody, probably broken mess of a nose. He doesn’t make any

efforttogoafterJake.

“Jake,comeon,man,”I sayasthe gymteacherracestowardus.

“You’regonnagetsuspended.”

“Worthit,”Jakesaysbitterly.

So instead of today’s big story being Simon, it’s about how Jake

RiordangotsenthomeforpunchingTJForresteraftergymclass.And

sinceJakerefusedtospeaktoAddybeforeheleftandshe’spractically

intears,everyone’sprettysuretheyknowwhy.

“How could she?” Keely murmurs in the lunch line as Addy

shufflesaroundlikeasleepwalker.

“Wedon’tknowthewholestory,”Iremindher.

Iguessit’sgoodJake’s notheresinceAddysits withusatlunch

likeusual.I’mnotsureshe’dhavethenerveotherwise.Butshedoesn’t

talktoanybody,andnobodytalkstoher.They’reprettyobviousabout

it. Vanessa, who’s always been the bitchiest girl in our group,

physically turns away when Addy takes the chair next to her. Even

Keelydoesn’tmakeanyefforttoincludeAddyintheconversation.

Bunchofhypocrites.LuiswasonSimon’sappforthesamedamn

thing and Vanessa tried to give me a hand job at a pool party last

month,sotheyshouldn’tbejudginganyone.

“How’sitgoin’,Addy?”Iask,ignoringthestaresoftherestofthe

table.

“Don’t be nice, Cooper.” She keeps her head down, her voice so

lowIcanhardlyhearit.“It’sworseifyou’renice.”

“Addy.”AllthefrustrationandfearI’vebeenfeelingfindsitsway

intomyvoice,andwhenAddylooksupajoltofunderstandingpasses

betweenus.There’reamillionthingsweshouldbetalkingabout,but

wecan’tsayanyofthem.“It’llbeallright.”

Keelyputsherhandonmyarm,asking,“Whatdoyouthink?”and

IrealizeI’vemissedanentireconversation.

“Aboutwhat?”

Shegivesmealittleshake.“AboutHalloween!Whatshouldwebe

forVanessa’sparty?”

I’mdisoriented,likeIjustgotyankedintosomeshinyvideo-game

version of the world where everything’s too bright and I don’t

understand the rules. “God, Keely, I don’t know. Whatever. That’s

almostamonthaway.”

Oliviacluckshertonguedisapprovingly.“Typicalguy.Youhaveno

ideahowharditistofindacostumethat’ssexybutnotslutty.”

Luiswaggleshisbrowsather.“Justbeslutty,then,”hesuggests,

andOliviasmackshisarm.Thecafeteria’stoowarm,almosthot,andI

wipemydampbrowasAddyandIexchangeanotherlook.

Keelypokesme.“Givemeyourphone.”

“What?”

“I want to look at that picture we took last week, at Seaport

Village?Thatwomanintheflapperdress.Shelookedamazing.Maybe

I could do something like that.” I shrug and pull out my phone,

unlocking it and handing it over. She squeezes my arm as she opens

myphotos.“You’dlooktotallyhotinoneofthosegangstersuits.”

She hands the phone to Vanessa, who gives an exaggerated,

breathless“Ohhh!”Addypushesfoodaroundonherplatewithoutever

liftingherforktohermouth,andI’mabouttoaskherifshewantsme

togethersomethingelsewhenmyphonerings.

Vanessa keeps hold of it and snorts, “Who calls during lunch?

Everybodyyouknowisalreadyhere!”Shelooksatthescreen,thenat

me.“Ooh,Cooper.Who’sKris?ShouldKeelybejealous?”

Idon’tanswerforafewsecondstoolong,thentoofast.“Just,um,

aguyIknow.Frombaseball.”MywholefacefeelshotandpricklyasI

takethephonefromVanessaandsendittovoicemail.IwishlikehellI

couldtakethatcall,butnow’snotthetime.

Vanessaraisesaneyebrow.“AboywhospellsChriswithaK?”

“Yeah.He’s…German.”God.Stoptalking. I put my phone in my

pocketandturntoKeely,whoselipsareslightlypartedlikeshe’sabout

toaskaquestion.“I’llcallhimbacklater.So.Aflapper,huh?”

—

I’m about to head home after the last bell when Coach Ruffalo stops

meinthehall.“Youdidn’tforgetaboutourmeeting,didyou?”

I exhale in frustration because yeah, I did. Pop’s leaving work

early so we can meet with a lawyer, but Coach Ruffalo wants to talk

college recruiting. I’m torn, because I’m pretty sure Pop would want

me to do both at the same time. Since that’s not possible, I follow

CoachRuffaloandfigureI’llmakeitquick.Hisofficeisnexttothegym

and smells like twenty years’ worth of student athletes passing

through.Inotherwords,notgood.

“Myphone’sringingoffthehookforyou,Cooper,”hesaysasIsit

acrossfromhiminalopsidedmetalchairthatcreaksundermyweight.

“UCLA, Louisville, and Illinois are putting together full-scholarship

offers.They’reallpushingforaNovembercommitmenteventhoughI

told them there’s no way you’ll make a decision before spring.” He

catchesmyexpressionandadds,“It’sgoodtokeepyouroptionsopen.

Obviouslythedraft’sarealpossibilitybutthemoreinterestthereison

thecollegelevel,thebetteryou’lllooktothemajors.”

“Yes,sir.”It’snotdraftstrategyI’mworriedabout.It’showthese

collegeswillreactifthestuffonSimon’sappgetsout.Orifthiswhole

thingspiralsandIkeepgettinginvestigatedbythepolice.Areallthese

offersgonnadryup,oramIinnocentuntilprovenguilty?I’mnotsure

if I should be telling any of this to Coach Ruffalo. “It’s just…hard to

keep’emallstraight.”

Hepicksupathinsheafofstapled-togetherpapers,wavingthem

atme.“I’vedoneitforyou.Here’salistofeverycollegeI’ve beenin

touchwithandtheircurrentoffer.I’vehighlightedtheonesIthinkare

the best fit or will be most impressive to the majors. I wouldn’t

necessarily put Cal State or UC Santa Barbara on the short list, but

they’re both local and offering facility tours. You want to schedule

thosesomeweekend,letmeknow.”

“Okay.I…Ihavesomefamilystuffcomingup,soImightbekinda

busyforawhile.”

“Sure,sure.Norush,nopressure.It’sentirelyuptoyou,Cooper.”

Peoplealwayssaythatbutitdoesn’tfeeltrue.Aboutanything.

IthankCoachRuffaloandheadintothealmost-emptyhallway.I

havemyphoneinonehandandCoach’slistintheother,and I’mso

lost in thought as I look between them that I almost mow someone

overinmypath.

“Sorry,” I say, taking in a slight figure with his arms wrapped

aroundabox.“Uh…hey,Mr.Avery.Youneedhelpcarryingthat?”

“Nothankyou,Cooper.”I’malottallerthanheis,andwhenIlook

down I don’t see anything but folders in the box. I guess he can

managethose.Mr.Avery’swateryeyesnarrowwhenheseesmyphone.

“Iwouldn’twanttointerruptyourtexting.”

“Iwasjust…”Itrailoff,sinceexplainingthelawyerappointment

I’malmostlateforwon’twinmeanypoints.

Mr. Avery sniffs and adjusts his grip on the box. “I don’t

understandyoukids.Soobsessedwithyourscreensandyourgossip.”

Hegrimaceslikethewordtastesbad,andI’mnotsurewhattosay.Is

he making a reference to Simon? I wonder if the police bothered

questioning Mr. Avery this weekend, or if he’s been disqualified by

virtueofnothavingamotive.Thattheyknowof,anyway.

He shakes himself, like he doesn’t know what he’s talking about

either.“Anyway.Ifyou’llexcuseme,Cooper.”

Allhe’dhavetodotogetpastmeisstepaside,butIguessthat’s

myjob.“Right,”Isay,movingoutofhisway.Iwatchhimshuffledown

thehallanddecidetoleavemystuffinmylockerandheadforthecar.

I’mlateenoughasitis.

I’mstoppedatthelastredlightbeforemyhousewhenmyphone

beeps. I look down expecting a text from Keely, because somehow I

ended up promising we’d get together tonight to plan Halloween

costumes.Butit’sfrommymom.

Meetusatthehospital.Nonnyhadaheartattack.

Nate

Monday,October1,11:50p.m.

ImadearoundofcallstomysuppliersthismorningtotellthemI’m

out of commission for a while. Then I threw away that phone. I still

haveacoupleofothers.IusuallypaycashforabunchatWalmartand

rotatethemforafewmonthsbeforereplacingthem.

So after I’ve watched as many Japanese horror movies as I can

standandit’salmostmidnight,Itakeanewphoneoutandcalltheone

IgaveBronwyn.Itringssixtimesbeforeshepicksup,andshesounds

nervousashell.“Hello?”

I’m tempted to disguise my voice and ask if I can buy a bag of

herointomesswithher,butshe’dprobablythrowthephoneoutand

nevertalktomeagain.“Hey.”

“It’slate,”shesaysaccusingly.

“Wereyousleeping?”

“No,”sheadmits.“Ican’t.”

“Me either.” Neither of us says anything for a minute. I’m

stretched out on my bed with a couple of thin pillows behind me,

staringatpausedscreencreditsinJapanese.Iclickoffthemovieand

scrollthroughthechannelguide.

“Nate,doyourememberOliviaKendrick’sbirthdaypartyinfifth

grade?”

Ido,actually.Itwas thelastbirthdaypartyI ever went to atSt.

Pius,beforemydadwithdrewmebecausewecouldn’tpaythetuition

anymore. Olivia invited the whole class and had a scavenger hunt in

her yard and the woods behind it. Bronwyn and I were on the same

team,andshetorethroughthoseclueslikeitwasherjobandshewas

upforapromotion.Wewonandallfiveofusgottwenty-dollariTunes

giftcards.“Yeah.”

“Ithinkthat’sthelasttimeyouandIspokebeforeallthis.”

“Maybe.” I remember better than she probably realizes. In fifth

grade my friends started noticing girls and at one point they all had

girlfriendsfor,like,aweek.Stupidkidstuffwheretheyaskedagirlout,

the girl said yes, and then they ignored each other. While we were

walkingthroughOlivia’swoodsIwatchedBronwyn’sponytailswingin

front of me and wondered what she’d say if I asked her to be my

girlfriend.Ididn’tdoit,though.

“Where’dyougoafterSt.Pi?”sheasks.

“Granger.”St.Piuswentuptoeighthgrade,soIwasn’tinschool

with Bronwyn again until high school. By then she was in full-on

overachievermode.

Shepauses,asthoughshe’swaitingformetocontinue,andlaughs

alittle.“Nate,why’dyoucallmeifyou’reonlygoingtogiveone-word

answerstoeverything?”

“Maybeyou’renotaskingtherightquestions.”

“Okay.”Anotherpause.“Didyoudoit?”

Idon’thavetoaskwhatshemeans.“Yesandno.”

“You’llhavetobemorespecific.”

“Yes,Isolddrugswhileonprobationforsellingdrugs.No,Ididn’t

dumppeanutoilinSimonKelleher’scup.You?”

“Same,”shesaysquietly.“Yesandno.”

“Soyoucheated?”

“Yes.”Hervoicewavers,andifshestartscryingIdon’tknowwhat

I’lldo.Pretendthecalldropped,maybe.Butshepullsherselftogether.

“I’mreallyashamed.AndI’msoafraidofpeoplefindingout.”

She’s all worried-sounding, so I probably shouldn’t laugh, but I

can’t help it. “So you’re not perfect. So what? Welcome to the real

world.”

“I’mfamiliarwiththerealworld.”Bronwyn’svoiceiscool.“Idon’t

liveinabubble.I’msorryforwhatIdid,that’sall.”

Sheprobablyis,butit’snotthewholetruth.Reality’smessierthan

that.Shehadmonthstoconfessifitwasreallyeatingather,andshe

didn’t. I don’t know why it’s so hard for people to admit that

sometimes they’re just assholes who screw up because they don’t

expecttogetcaught.“Yousoundmoreworriedaboutwhatpeopleare

gonnathink,”Isay.

“There’snothingwrongwithworryingaboutwhatpeoplethink.It

keepsyouoffprobation.”

Mymainphonebeeps.It’snexttomybedonthescarredsidetable

thatlurcheseverytimeItouchit,becauseit’smissingalegtipandI’m

toolazytofixit.IrollovertoreadatextfromAmber:Uup?I’mabout

totellBronwynIhavetogowhensheheavesasigh.

“Sorry. Low blow. It’s just…it’s more complicated than that, for

me.I’vedisappointedbothmyparents,butit’sworseformydad.He’s

always pushing against stereotypes because he’s not from here. He

builtthisgreatreputation,andIcouldtarnishthewholethingwithone

stupidmove.”

I’m about to tell her nobody thinks that way. Her family looks

prettyuntouchable fromwhere Isit. ButI guesseveryone hasshit to

deal with, and I don’t know hers. “Where’s your dad from?” I ask

instead.

“HewasborninColombia,butmovedherewhenhewasten.”

“Whataboutyourmom?”

“Oh, her family’s been here forever. Fourth-generation Irish or

something.”

“Mine too,” I say. “But let’s just say my fall from grace won’t

surpriseanyone.”

Shesighs.“Thisisallsosurreal,isn’tit?Thatanybodycouldthink

eitheroneofuswouldactuallykillSimon.”

“You’re taking me at my word?” I ask. “I’m on probation,

remember?”

“Yeah,butIwastherewhenyoutriedtohelpSimon.You’dhave

tobeaprettygoodactortofakethat.”

“If I’m enough of a sociopath to kill Simon I can fake anything,

right?”

“You’renotasociopath.”

“Howdoyouknow?”IsayitlikeI’mmakingfun,butIreallywant

toknowtheanswer.I’mtheguywhogotsearched.Theobviousoutlier

andscapegoat,asOfficerLopezsaid.Someonewholieswheneverit’s

convenientandwoulddoitinaheartbeattosavehisownass.I’mnot

surehowallthataddsuptotrustforsomeoneIhadn’ttalkedtoinsix

years.

Bronwyndoesn’tanswerrightaway,andIstopchannelsurfingat

theCartoonNetworktowatchasnippetofsomenewshowwithakid

andasnake.Itdoesn’tlookpromising.“Irememberhowyouusedto

look out for your mom,” she finally says. “When she’d show up at

schoolandact…youknow.Likeshewassickorsomething.”

Like she was sick or something. I guess Bronwyn could be

referring to the time my mother screamed at Sister Flynn during

parent-teacher conferences and ended up ripping all our artwork off

the walls. Or the way she’d cry on the curb while she was waiting to

pickmeupfromsoccerpractice.There’salottochoosefrom.

“Ireallylikedyourmom,”BronwynsaystentativelywhenIdon’t

answer.“SheusedtotalktomelikeIwasagrown-up.”

“She’dswearatyou,youmean,”Isay,andBronwynlaughs.

“Ialwaysthoughtitwasmorelikeshewasswearingwithme.”

Somethingaboutthewayshesaysthatgetstome.Likeshecould

seethepersonunderalltheothercrap.“Shelikedyou.”Ithinkabout

Bronwyninthestairwelltoday,herhairstillinthatshinyponytailand

her face bright. As if everything is interesting and worth her time. If

shewerearound,she’dlikeyounow.

“Sheusedtotellme…”Bronwynpauses.“Shesaidyouonlyteased

mesomuchbecauseyouhadacrushonme.”

IglanceatAmber’s text,stillunanswered.“I might have.Idon’t

remember.”

LikeIsaid.Iliewheneverit’sconvenient.

Bronwyn’squietforaminute.“Ishouldgo.Atleasttrytosleep.”

“Yeah.Metoo.”

“Iguesswe’llseewhathappenstomorrow,huh?”

“Guessso.”

“Well,bye.And,um,Nate?”Shespeaksquickly,inarush.“Ihada

crushonyoubackthen.Forwhateverthat’sworth.Nothing,probably.

Butanyway.FYI.So,goodnight.”

AftershehangsupIputthephoneonmybedsidetableandpick

uptheotherone.IreadAmber’smessageagain,thentype,Comeover.

Bronwyn’snaïveifshethinksthere’smoretomethanthat.

Addy

Wednesday,October3,7:50a.m.

Ashtonkeepsmakingmegoto school. Mymothercouldn’tcare less.

Asfaras she’sconcernedI’veruinedall ourlives,soit doesn’tmuch

matter what I do anymore. She doesn’t say those exact words, but

they’reetchedacrossherfaceeverytimeshelooksatme.

“Five thousand dollars just to talk to a lawyer, Adelaide,” she

hissesatmeoverbreakfastThursdaymorning.“Ihopeyouknowthat’s

comingoutofyourcollegefund.”

I’drollmyeyesifIhadtheenergy.WebothknowIdon’thavea

collegefund.She’sbeenonthephonetomyfatherinChicagofordays,

hasslinghimforthemoney.Hedoesn’thavemuchtospare,thanksto

hissecond,youngerfamily,buthe’llprobablysendatleasthalftoshut

herupandfeelgoodaboutwhataninvolvedparentheis.

Jakestillwon’t talktome, andImiss himsomuch, it’slikeI’ve

beenhollowedoutbyanuclearblastandthere’snothingleftbutashes

flutteringinsidebrittlebones.I’vesenthimdozensoftextsthataren’t

onlyunanswered;they’reunread.HeunfriendedmeonFacebookand

unfollowed me on Instagram and Snapchat. He’s pretending I don’t

exist and I’m starting to think he’s right. If I’m not Jake’s girlfriend,

whoamI?

HewassupposedtobesuspendedallweekforhittingTJ,buthis

parents raised a fuss about how Simon’s death has put everyone on

edge,soIguesshe’sbacktoday.Thethoughtofseeinghimmakesme

sickenoughthatIdecidedtostayhome.Ashtonhadtodragmeoutof

bed.She’sstayingwithusindefinitely,fornow.

“You’re not going to wither up and die from this, Addy,” Ashton

lecturesassheshovesmetowardtheshower.“Hedoesn’tgettoerase

youfromtheworld.God,youmadeastupidmistake.It’snotlikeyou

murderedsomeone.

“Well,”sheaddswith a short,sarcasticlaugh,“I guessthejury’s

stilloutonthatone.”

Oh,thegallowshumorinourhouseholdnow.WhoknewPrentiss

girlshaditinthemtobeevenalittlebitfunny?

Ashton drives me to Bayview and drops me off out front. “Keep

yourchinup,”sheadvises.“Don’tletthatsanctimoniouscontrolfreak

getyoudown.”

“God,Ash.Ididcheatonhim,youknow.He’snotunprovoked.”

Shepursesherlipsinahardline.“Still.”

Igetoutofthecarandtrytosteelmyselffortheday.Schoolused

tobesoeasy.I belonged to everythingwithouteventrying.Now I’m

barelyhangingontotheedgesofwhoIusedtobe,andwhenIcatch

my reflection in a window I hardly recognize the girl staring back at

me. She’s in my clothes—the kind of formfitting top and tight jeans

thatJakelikes—butherhollowcheeksanddeadeyesdon’tmatchthe

outfit.

Myhairlookstremendous,though.AtleastIhavethatgoingfor

me.

There’sonlyonepersonwholooksworsethanmeatschool,and

that’sJanae.ShemusthavelosttenpoundssinceSimondied,andher

skin’samess.Hermascara’srunningallthetime,soIguessshecries

in the bathroom between classes as much as I do. It’s surprising we

haven’trunintoeachotheryet.

IseeJakeathislockeralmostassoonasIenterthehallway.All

thebloodrushesoutofmyhead,makingmesolight-headedIactually

swayasIwalktowardhim.Hisexpressioniscalmandpreoccupiedas

hetwirlshiscombination.ForasecondIhopeeverything’sgoingtobe

fine, that his time away from school has helped him cool off and

forgiveme.“Hi,Jake,”Isay.

Hisfacechangesinaninstantfromneutraltolivid.Heyankshis

locker open with a scowl and pulls out an armful of books, stuffing

themintohisbackpack.Heslamshislocker,shouldershisbackpack,

andturnsaway.

“Areyouevergoingtotalktomeagain?”Iask.Myvoiceistiny,

breathless.Pathetic.

Heturnsandgivesmesuchahate-filledlookthatIstepbackward.

“NotifIcanhelpit.”

Don’tcry.Don’tcry.Everyone’sstaringatmeasJakestalksaway.

I catch Vanessa smirking from a few lockers over. She’s loving this.

HowdidIeverthinkshewasmyfriend?She’llprobablygoafterJake

soon, if she hasn’t already. I stumble in front of my own locker, my

hand stretching toward the lock. It takes a few seconds for the word

writteninthickblackSharpietosinkin.

WHORE.

Muffledlaughtersurroundsme as my eyestracethetwoVsthat

make up the W. They cross each other in a distinctive, loopy scrawl.

I’ve made dozens of pep rally posters for the Bayview Wildcats with

Vanessa,andteasedherforherfunny-lookingWs.Shedidn’teventry

tohideit.Iguessshewantedmetoknow.

Iforcemyselftowalk,notrun,tothenearestbathroom.Twogirls

standatthemirror,fixingtheirmakeup,andIduckpastthemintothe

fartheststall.Icollapseontothetoiletseatandcrysilently,buryingmy

headinmyhands.

ThefirstbellringsbutIstaywhere I am, tears rolling down my

cheeksuntilI’mcriedout.Ifoldmyarmsontomykneesandlowermy

head,immobileas thesecondbellrings andgirlscome inandoutof

thebathroomagain.Snatchesofconversationfloatthroughtheroom

and,yeah,someofit’saboutme.Iplugmyearsandtrynottolisten.

It’s the middle of third period by the time I uncoil myself and

stand.Iunlockthestalldoorandheadforthemirror,pushingmyhair

awayfrommyface.Mymascara’swashedaway,butI’vebeenherelong

enough that my eyes aren’t puffy. I stare at my reflection and try to

collectmyscatteredthoughts.Ican’tdealwithclassestoday.I’dgoto

the nurse’s office and claim a headache, but I don’t feel comfortable

there now that I’m a suspected EpiPen thief. That leaves only one

option:gettingoutofhereandgoinghome.

I’m in the back stairwell with my hand on the door when heavy

footstepspoundthestairs.IturntoseeTJForrestercomingdown;his

noseisstillswollenandframedbyablackeye.Hestopswhenhesees

me,onehandgrippingthebanister.“Hey,Addy.”

“Shouldn’tyoubeinclass?”

“Ihave adoctor’sappointment.”Heputsahandtohisnoseand

grimaces.“Imighthaveadeviatedseptum.”

“Serves you right.” The bitter words burst out before I can stop

them.

TJ’smouthfallsopen,thencloses,andhisAdam’sapplebobsup

anddown.“Ididn’tsayanythingtoJake,Addy.IsweartoGod.Ididn’t

wantthistocomeoutanymorethanyoudid.It’smessedthingsupfor

metoo.”Hetoucheshisnoseagaingingerly.

Iwasn’tactuallythinkingaboutJake;IwasthinkingaboutSimon.

ButofcourseTJwouldn’tknowanythingabouttheunpublishedposts.

HowdidSimonknow,though?“Weweretheonlytwopeoplethere,”I

hedge.“Youmusthavetoldsomebody.”

TJshakeshishead,wincingasthoughthemovementhurts.“We

werekissingonapublicbeachbeforewegottomyhouse,remember?

Anyonecouldhaveseenus.”

“But they wouldn’t have known—” I stop, realizing Simon’s site

never said TJ and I slept together. He implied it, pretty heavily, but

that was it. Maybe I’d overconfessed. The thought sickens me,

although I’m not sure I could have managed to tell Jake only a half-

truthanyway.He’dhavegottenitoutofmeeventually.

TJlooksatmewithregretinhiseyes.“I’msorrythissuckssobad

foryou.Forwhatit’sworth,IthinkJake’sbeingajerk.ButIdidn’ttell

anybody.” He puts a hand over his heart. “Swear on my granddad’s

grave.Iknowthatdoesn’tmeananythingtoyoubutitdoestome.”I

finallynod,andheletsoutadeepbreath.“Whereareyougoing?”

“Home.Ican’tstandbeinghere.Allmyfriendshateme.”I’mnot

sure why I’m telling him this, other than the fact that I don’t have

anyoneelsetotell.“Idoubtthey’llevenletmesitwiththemnowthat

Jake’s back.” It’s true. Cooper’s out today, visiting his sick

grandmotherandprobably,althoughhedidn’tsayso,meetingwithhis

lawyer.WithhimgonenobodywilldarestanduptoJake’sanger.Or

wantto.

“Screw them.” TJ gives me a lopsided grin. “If they’re still being

assholestomorrow,comesitwithme.Theywannatalk,let’sgivethem

somethingtotalkabout.”

Itshouldn’tmakemesmile,butitalmostdoes.

Bronwyn

Thursday,October4,12:20p.m.

Igotlulledintoafalsesenseofcomplacency.

It happens, I guess, even during the worst week of your life.

Horrible,earth-shatteringstuffpilesontopofyouuntilyou’reaboutto

suffocateandthen—itstops.Andnothingelsehappens,soyoustartto

relaxandthinkyou’reintheclear.

That’s a rookie mistake that smacks me in the face Thursday

duringlunchwhentheusuallow-gradecafeteriabuzzsuddenlygrows

andswells.AtfirstIlookaround,interested,likeanyonewouldbe,and

wondering why everyone’s suddenly pulled out their phones. But

before I can take mine out, I notice the heads swiveling in my

direction.

“Oh.” Maeve is quicker than me, and her soft exhalation as she

scansherphoneisloadedwithsomuchregretthatmyheartsinks.She

catches her bottom lip between her teeth and wrinkles her forehead.

“Bronwyn.It’s,um,anotherTumblr.About…well.Here.”

Itakeherphone,heartpounding,andreadtheexactsamewords

DetectiveMendozashowedmeonSundayafterSimon’sfuneral.First

time this app has ever featured good-girl BR, possessor of school’s

mostperfectacademicrecord…

It’sallthere.Simon’sunpublishedentriesforeachofus,withan

addednoteatthebottom:

DidyouthinkIwasjokingaboutkillingSimon?Readitandweep,kids.

EveryoneindetentionwithSimonlastweekhadanextraspecialreasonfor

wantinghimgone.ExhibitA:thepostsabove,whichhewasabouttopublish

onAboutThat.

Nowhere’syourassignment:connectthedots.Iseverybodyinittogether,

orissomebodypullingstrings?Who’sthepuppetmasterandwho’sthe

puppet?

I’llgiveyouahinttogetyoustarted:everyone’slying.

GO!

IraisemyeyesandlockonMaeve’s.Sheknowsthetruth,allofit,

butIhaven’ttoldYumikoorKate.BecauseIthoughtmaybethiscould

stay contained, quiet, while the police ran their investigation in the

backgroundandthencloseditoutfromlackofevidence.

I’mpatheticallynaïve.Obviously.

“Bronwyn?”IcanbarelyhearYumikoovertheroaringinmyears.

“Isthisforreal?”

“FuckthisTumblrbullshit.”I’dbestartledatMaeve’slanguageifI

hadn’t vaulted over my surprise threshold two minutes ago. “I bet I

couldhackthatstupidthingandfigureoutwho’sbehindit.”

“Maeve,no!”Myvoiceissoloud.IloweritandswitchtoSpanish.

“Nolohagas…Noqueremos…”

IforcemyselftostoptalkingasKateandYumikokeepstaringat

me.Youcan’t.Wedon’twant.Thatshouldbeenough,fornow.

ButMaevewon’tshutup.“Idon’tcare,”shesaysfuriously.“You

might,butI—”

Saved by the loudspeaker. Sort of. Déjà vu seizes me as a

disembodiedvoicefloatsthroughtheroom:“Attention,please.Would

CooperClay,NateMacauley,AdelaidePrentiss,andBronwynRojas

please report to the main office. Cooper Clay, Nate Macauley,

AdelaidePrentiss,andBronwynRojastothemainoffice.”

Idon’tremembergettingtomyfeet,butImusthave,becausehere

I am, moving. Shuffling like a zombie past the stares and whispers,

weaving through tables until I get to the cafeteria exit. Down the

hallway,pasthomecomingpostersthatarethreeweeksoldnow.Our

planningcommitteeisslacking,whichwouldinspiremoredisdainifI

weren’tonit.

WhenIgettothemainoffice,thereceptionistgesturestowardthe

conferenceroomwiththewearywaveofsomeonewhothinksIshould

know the drill by now. I’m the last to arrive—at least, I think I am,

unless Bayview Police or school committee members are joining us.

“Close the door, Bronwyn,” Principal Gupta says. I comply and sidle

pasthertotakeaseatbetweenNateandAddy,acrossfromCooper.

Principal Gupta steeples her fingers under her chin. “I’m sure I

don’thavetotellyouwhyyou’rehere.We’vebeenkeepinganeyeon

thatrepulsiveTumblrsiteandgottoday’supdateassoonasyoudid.At

the same time, we’ve had a request from the Bayview Police

Departmenttomakethestudentbodyavailableforinterviewsstarting

tomorrow. My understanding, based on conversations with police, is

that today’s Tumblr is an accurate reflection of posts Simon wrote

before he died. I realize most of you now have legal representation,

whichofcoursetheschoolrespects.Butthisisasafespace.Ifthere’s

anything you’d like to tell me that might help the school better

understandthepressuresyouwerefacing,nowisthetime.”

Istareatherasmykneesstarttotremble.Issheforreal?Nowis

mostdefinitelynotthetime.Still,Ifeelthisalmostirresistibleurgeto

answer her, to explain myself, until a hand under the table grasps

mine. Nate doesn’t look at me, but his fingers thread through mine,

warmandstrong,restingagainstmyshakingleg.He’sinhisGuinness

T-shirt again, and the material stretches thin and soft across his

shoulders,asthoughit’sbeenthroughhundredsofwashes.Iglanceat

himandhegivesatiny,almostimperceptibleshakeofhishead.

“Ah got nothin’ more to say than what ah told ya last week,”

Cooperdrawls.

“Meeither,”Addysaysquickly.Hereyesarered-rimmedandshe

looksexhausted,herpixiefeaturespinched.She’ssopale,Inoticethe

light dusting of freckles across her nose for the first time. Or maybe

she’s just not wearing makeup. I think with a stab of sympathy that

she’sbeenthehardesthitofanyonesofar.

“I hardly think—” Principal Gupta begins, when the door opens

andthereceptioniststicksherheadin.

“BayviewPoliceonlineone,”shesays,andPrincipalGuptagetsto

herfeet.

“Excusemeforamoment.”

Sheclosesthedoor behind her andthefourof us sit instrained

silence, listening to the hum of the air conditioner. It’s the first time

we’veallbeeninoneroomtogethersinceOfficerBudapestquestioned

us last week. I almost laugh when I remember how clueless we were

then,arguingaboutunfairdetentionsandjuniorpromcourt.

Althoughtobefair,thatwasmostlyme.

Nate lets go of my hand and tips his chair back, surveying the

room.“Well.Thisisawkward.”

“Areyouguysallright?”Mywordscomeoutinarush,surprising

me. I’m not sure what I intended to say, but that wasn’t it. “This is

unreal.Thatthey—suspectus.”

“It was an accident,” Addy says immediately. Not like she’s

positive,though.Morelikeshe’stestingatheory.

CooperslideshiseyesovertoNate.“Weirdkindofaccident.How

doespeanutoilgetinacupallbyitself?”

“Maybesomeonecameintotheroomatsomepointandwedidn’t

notice,” I say, and Nate rolls his eyes at me. “I know it sounds

ridiculous, but—you have to consider everything, right? It’s not

impossible.”

“LotsofpeoplehatedSimon,”Addysays.Fromthehardsetofher

jaw,she’soneofthem.“Heruinedplentyoflives.Youguysremember

AidenWu?Inourclass,transferredsophomoreyear?”I’mtheonlyone

whonods,soAddyturnshergazeonme.“Mysisterknowshissister

from college. Aiden didn’t transfer for the hell of it. He had a

breakdownafterSimonpostedabouthiscross-dressing.”

“Seriously?” Nate asks. Cooper runs a hand back and forth over

hishair.

“Yourememberthosespotlight posts Simon usedtodowhenhe

firstlaunchedtheapp?” Addy asks.“Morein-depthstuff,likea blog,

almost?”

Mythroatgetstight.“Iremember.”

“Well,hedidthatwithAiden,”Addysays.“Itwasstraight-upevil.”

Somethingabouthertonemakesmeuneasy.IneverthoughtI’dhear

shallow little Addy Prentiss speak with such venom in her voice. Or

haveanopinionofherown.

Cooperjumpsinhastily,likehe’sworriedshe’sgoingtogooffona

rant.“That’swhatLeahJacksonsaidatthememorialservice.Iraninto

her under the bleachers. She said we were all hypocrites for treating

himlikesomekindofmartyr.”

“Well, there you go,” Nate says. “You were right, Bronwyn. The

entireschool’sprobablybeenwalkingaroundwithbottlesofpeanutoil

intheirbackpacks,waitingfortheirchance.”

“Not just any peanut oil,” Addy says, and we all turn to her. “It

wouldhavetobecold-pressedforapersonwithallergiestoreacttoit.

Thegourmettype,basically.”

Natestaresather,browcreased.“Howwouldyouknowthat?”

Addyshrugs.“IsawitontheFoodNetworkonce.”

“Maybethat’sthesortofthingyoukeep to yourself when Gupta

comesback,”Natesuggests,andtheghostofagrinflitsacrossAddy’s

face.

CooperglaresatNate.“Thisisn’tajoke.”

Nateyawns,unperturbed.“Feelslikeitsometimes.”

Iswallowhard,mymindstillchurningthroughtheconversation.

Leah and I were friendly once—we partnered in a Model United

Nationscompetitionthatbroughtustothestatefinalsatthebeginning

ofjunioryear. Simon hadwantedto participate too,butwe told him

thewrongapplicationdeadlineandhemissedthecutoff.Itwasn’ton

purpose,butheneverbelievedthatandwasfuriouswithbothofus.A

fewweekslaterhestartedwritingaboutLeah’ssexlifeonAboutThat.

UsuallySimonpostedsomethingonceandletitgo,butwithLeah,he

kepttheupdatescoming.Itwaspersonal.I’msurehe’dhavedonethe

sametomeiftherehadbeenanythingtofindbackthen.

WhenLeahstartedslidingofftherails,sheaskedmeifI’dmisled

Simononpurpose.Ihadn’tbutstillfeltguilty,especiallyoncesheslit

her wrists. Nothing was the same for her after Simon started his

campaignagainsther.

I don’t know what going through something like that does to a

person.

Principal Gupta comes back into the room, shutting the door

behindherandsettlingintoherseat.“Myapologies,butthatcouldn’t

wait.Wherewerewe?”

Silence falls for a few seconds, until Cooper clears his throat.

“Withallduerespect,ma’am,Ithinkwewereagreeingwecan’thave

thisconversation.”There’sasteelinhisvoicethatwasn’ttherebefore,

andinaninstantIfeeltheenergyoftheroomcoalesceandshift.We

don’t trust one another, that’s pretty obvious—but we trust Principal

Gupta and the Bayview Police Department even less. She sees it too

andpushesherchairback.

“It’s important you know this door is always open to you,” she

says, but we’re already getting to our feet and opening the door

ourselves.

—

I’moutofsortsandanxiousfortherestoftheday,goingthroughthe

motionsofeverythingI’msupposedtodoatschoolandathome.ButI

can’t relax, not really, until the clock inches past midnight and the

phoneNategavemerings.

He’scalledmeeverynightsinceMonday,alwaysaroundthesame

time.He’stoldmethingsIcouldn’thaveimaginedabouthismother’s

illness and his father’s drinking. I’ve told him about Maeve’s cancer

and the nameless pressure I’ve always felt to be twice as good at

everything.Sometimeswedon’ttalkatall.Lastnighthesuggestedwe

watch a movie, and we both logged in to Netflix and watched a god-

awful horror movie he picked until two in the morning. I fell asleep

with my earbuds still in, and might have snored in his ear at some

point.

“Your turn to pick a movie,” he says by way of greeting. I’ve

noticed that about Nate; he doesn’t do pleasantries. Just starts with

whatever’sonhismind.

Mymind’selsewhere,though.“I’mlooking,”Isay,andwe’resilent

for a minute as I scroll through Netflix titles without really seeing

them.It’snogood;Ican’tgostraightintomoviemode.“Nate,areyou

introublebecauseofhoweverythingcameoutatschooltoday?”AfterI

left Principal Gupta’s office, the rest of the afternoon was a blur of

stares, whispers, and uncomfortable conversations with Kate and

YumikoonceIfinallyexplained what had been goingonforthepast

fewdays.

He snorts a short laugh. “I was in trouble before. Nothing’s

changed.”

“Myfriendsaremadatmefornottellingthem.”

“Aboutcheating?Orbeinginvestigatedbythepolice?”

“Both. I hadn’t said anything about either. I thought maybe it

wouldallgoawayandthey’dneverhavetoknow.”Robinhadsaidnot

to answer any questions about the case, but I didn’t see how I could

applythattomytwobestfriends.Whenthewholeschool’sstartingto

turn against you, you need somebody on your side. “I wish I could

remember more about that day. What class were you in when Mr.

Averyfoundthephoneinyourbackpack?”

“Physical science,” Nate says. “Science for dummies, in other

words.You?”

“Independent study,” I say, chewing the sides of my cheeks.

Ironicallyenough,mystellargradesinchemistryletmeconstructmy

ownsciencecoursesenioryear.“IsupposeSimonwould’vebeeninAP

physics. I don’t know what classes Addy and Cooper have with Mr.

Avery,butindetentiontheyactedsurprisedtoseeeachother.”

“So?”Nateasks.

“Well,they’refriends,right?You’dthinkthey’dhavetalkedabout

it.Orevenbeeninthesameclasswhenithappened.”

“Whoknows.Could’vebeenhomeroomorstudyperiodforoneof

them. Avery’s a jack-of-all-trades,” Nate says. When I don’t reply, he

adds,“What,youthinkthosetwomastermindedthewholething?”

“Justfollowingatrainofthought,”Isay.“Ifeellikethepoliceare

barelypayingattentiontohowweirdthatphonesituationis,because

they’resosurewe’reallinittogether.Imean,whenyouthinkaboutit,

Mr. Avery knows better than anyone what classes we have with him.

Maybehe did it. Planted phones in all our backpacks and coated the

cupswithpeanutoilbeforewegotthere.He’sascienceteacher;he’d

knowhowtodothat.”

Even as I say it, though, the mental image of our frail, mousy

teacher manically doctoring cups before detention doesn’t ring true.

Neither does Cooper making off with the school’s EpiPens, or Addy

hatchingamurderschemewhilewatchingtheFoodNetwork.

ButIdon’treallyknowanyofthem.IncludingNate.Eventhough

itfeelslikeIdo.

“Anything’spossible,”Natesays.“Youpickamovieyet?”

I’mtemptedtochoosesomethingcoolandarthouse-ytoimpress

him, except he’d probablyseerightthroughit.Plushepickedacrap

horror movie, so there’s not a lot to live up to. “Have you seen

Divergent?”

“No.”Histoneiswary.“AndIdon’twantto.”

“Tough.Ididn’twanttowatchabunch of people get killed by a

mist created from an alien tear in the space-time continuum, but I

did.”

“Damnit.”Natesoundsresigned.Hepauses,thenasks,“Youhave

itbuffered?”

“Yes.HitPlay.”Andwedo.

Cooper

Friday,October5,3:30p.m.

IpickLucasupafterschoolandstopbyNonny’shospitalroombefore

ourparentsgetthere.She’dbeenasleepmostofthetimewevisitedall

week, but today she’s sitting up in bed with the TV remote in hand.

“Thistelevisiononlygetsthreechannels,”shecomplainsasLucasand

Ihoverinthedoorway.“Wemightaswellbein1985.Andthefoodis

terrible.Lucas,doyouhaveanycandy?”

“No,ma’am,”Lucassays,flippinghistoo-longhairoutofhiseyes.

Nonnyturnsahopefulfacetome,andI’mstruckbyhowoldshelooks.

Imean,sure,she’swellintohereighties,butshe’salwayshadsomuch

energythatIneverreallynoticed.Ithitsmenowthateventhoughher

doctorsaysshe’srecoveringwell,we’llbeluckytogoafewyearsbefore

somethinglikethishappensagain.

Andthenatsomepoint,she’snotgonnabearoundatall.

“Igotnothin’.Sorry,”Isay,droppingmyheadtohidemystinging

eyes.

Nonny lets out a theatrical sigh. “Well, goddamn. You boys are

pretty,butnothelpfulfromapracticalstandpoint.”Sherummageson

thesidetablenexttoherbedandfindsarumpledtwenty-dollar bill.

“Lucas,godownstairstothegiftshopandbuythreeSnickersbars.One

foreachofus.Keepthechangeandtakeyourtime.”

“Yes,ma’am.”Lucas’seyesgleamashecalculateshisprofit.He’s

out the door in a flash, and Nonny settles back against a stack of

hospitalpillows.

“Offhegoestopadhispockets,blesshismercenarylittleheart,”

shesaysfondly.

“Areyousupposedtobeeatingcandyrightnow?”Iask.

“Of course not. But I want to hear how you’re doing, darlin’.

NobodytellsmeanythingbutIhearthings.”

Ilowermyselfintothesidechairnexttoherbed,eyesonthefloor.

Idon’ttrustmyselftolookatheryet.“Youshouldrest,Nonny.”

“Cooper, this was the least dangerous heart attack in cardiac

history.Abliponthemonitor.Toomuchbacon,that’sall.Catchmeup

on the Simon Kelleher situation. I promise you it will not cause a

relapse.”

I blink a few times and imagine myself getting ready to throw a

slider:straighteningmywrist,placingmyfingersontheouterportion

ofthe baseball,lettingtheballrolloffmythumbandindexfinger.It

works;myeyesdryandmybreathingevensout,andIcanfinallymeet

Nonny’seyes.“It’sagoddamnmess.”

Shesighsandpatsmyhand.“Oh,darlin’.Ofcourseitis.”

I tell her everything: How Simon’s rumors about us are all over

school now, and how the police set up shop in the administrative

officestodayandinterviewedeverybodyweknow.Pluslotsofpeople

wedon’tknow.HowCoach Ruffalo hasn’t pulled measideyettoask

whetherI’monthejuicebutI’msurehewillsoon.Howwehadasub

forastronomybecauseMr.Averywasholedupinanotherroomwith

twopoliceofficers.Whetherhewasbeingquestionedlikewe’dbeenor

givingsomekindofevidenceagainstus,Icouldn’ttell.

NonnyshakesherheadwhenIfinish.Shecan’tsetherhairhere

the way she does at home, and it bobs around like loose cotton. “I

couldnotbesorrieryougotpulledintothis,Cooper.Youofallpeople.

It’snotright.”

I wait for her to ask me, but she doesn’t. So I finally say—

tentatively,becauseafterspendingdayswithlawyersitfeelswrongto

stateanythinglikeanactualfact—“Ididn’tdowhattheysay,Nonny.I

didn’tusesteroidsandIdidn’thurtSimon.”

“Well,forgoodness’sake,Cooper.”Nonnybrushesimpatientlyat

herhospitalblanket.“Youdon’thavetotellmethat.”

I swallow hard. Somehow, the fact that Nonny accepts my word

withoutquestionmakesmefeelguilty.“Thelawyer’scostingafortune

andshe’snothelping.Nothing’sgettingbetter.”

“Things’llgetworsebeforetheyget better,” Nonny says placidly.

“That’showitgoes.Anddon’tyouworryaboutthecost.I’mpayin’for

it.”

Afreshwaveofguilthitsme.“Canyouaffordthat?”

“CourseIcan.YourgrandfatherandIboughtalotofApplestock

inthenineties.JustbecauseIdidn’thanditallovertoyourfatherto

buy a McMansion in this overpriced town doesn’t mean I couldn’t

have.Now.TellmesomethingIdon’tknow.”

I’mnotsurewhatshemeans.IcouldmentionhowJakeisfreezing

outAddyandallourfriendsarejoiningin,butthat’stoodepressing.

“Notmuchelsetotell,Nonny.”

“How’sKeelyhandlingallthis?”

“Like a vine. Clingy,” I say before I can stop myself. Then I feel

horrible.Keely’sbeennothingbutsupportive,andit’snotherfaultthat

makesmefeelsuffocated.

“Cooper.”Nonnytakesmyhandinbothofhers.They’resmalland

light,threadedwith thickblueveins.“Keelyisabeautiful,sweetgirl.

Butifshe’snotwhoyoulove,she’sjustnot.Andthat’sfine.”

My throat goes dry and I stare at the game show on the screen.

Somebody’s about to win a new washer/dryer set and they’re pretty

happyaboutit.Nonnydoesn’tsayanythingelse,justkeepsholdingmy

hand.“Idunnowhatchamean,”Isay.

If Nonny notices my good ol’ boy accent coming and going, she

doesn’tmentionit.“Imean,CooperClay,I’vebeenintheroomwhen

that girl calls or texts you, and you always look like you’re trying to

escape. Then someone else calls and your face lights up like a

Christmas tree. I don’t know what’s holding you back, darlin’, but I

wishyou’dstoplettingit.It’snotfairtoyouortoKeely.”Shesqueezes

myhandandreleasesit.“Wedon’thavetotalkaboutitnow.Infact,

could you please hunt down that brother of yours? It may not have

been the best idea I ever had to let a twelve-year-old wander the

hospitalwithmoneyburningaholeinhispocket.”

“Yeah,sure.”She’slettingmeoffthehookandwebothknowit.I

standupandeaseoutoftheroomintoahallwaycrowdedwithnurses

inbrightlycoloredscrubs.Everyoneofthemstopswhatthey’redoing

andsmilesatme.“Youneedhelp,hon?”theoneclosesttomeasks.

It’sbeenthatwaymywholelife.Peopleseemeandimmediately

thinkthebestofme.Oncetheyknowme,theylikemeevenmore.

If it ever came out that I’d actually done something to Simon,

plentyofpeoplewouldhateme.Butthere’dalsobepeoplewho’dmake

excuses for me, and say there must be more to my story than just

gettingaccusedofusingsteroids.

Thethingis,they’dberight.

Nate

Friday,October5,11:30p.m.

Myfather’sawakeforachangewhenIgethomeFridayfromapartyat

Amber’shouse.ItwasstillgoingstrongwhenIleft,butI’dhadenough.

I’ve got ramen noodles on the stove and toss some vegetables into

Stan’scage.Asusualhejustblinksatthemlikeaningrate.

“You’rehomeearly,”myfathersays.Helooksthesameasever—

like hell. Bloated and wrinkled with a pasty, yellow tinge to his skin.

Hishandshakeswhenheliftshisglass.AcoupleofmonthsagoIcame

homeonenightandhewasbarelybreathing,soIcalledanambulance.

Hespentafew days in thehospital,wheredoctors told him hisliver

wassodamagedhecoulddropdeadatanytime.Henoddedandacted

like he gave a shit, then came home and cracked another bottle of

Seagram’s.

I’ve been ignoring that ambulance bill for weeks. It’s almost a

thousand dollars thanks to our crap insurance, and now that I have

zeroincomethere’sevenlesschancewecanpayit.

“Ihavethingstodo.”Idumpthenoodlesintoabowlandheadfor

myroomwiththem.

“Seen my phone?” my father calls after me. “Kept ringing today

butIcouldn’tfindit.”

“That’s’cause it’snot onthecouch,”Imutter,andshutmydoor

behind me. He was probably hallucinating. His phone hasn’t rung in

months.

Iscarfdownmynoodlesinfiveminutes,thensettlebackontomy

pillowsandputinmy earbudssoIcancallBronwyn.It’smyturnto

pick a movie, thank God, but we’re barely half an hour into Ringu

whenBronwyndecidesshe’shadenough.

“Ican’twatchthisalone.It’stooscary,”shesays.

“You’renotalone.I’mwatchingitwithyou.”

“Notwithme.Ineedapersonintheroomforsomethinglikethis.

Let’swatchsomethingelseinstead.Myturntopick.”

“I’mnotwatchinganothergoddamnDivergentmovie,Bronwyn.”I

wait a beat before adding, “You should come over and watch Ringu

withme.Climboutyourwindowanddrivehere.”Isayitlikeit’sajoke,

anditmostlyis.Unlessshesaysyes.

Bronwyn pauses, and I can tell she’s thinking about it as a not-

joke.“Mywindow’safifteen-footdroptotheground,”shesays.Joke.

“Souseadoor.You’vegot,like,tenoftheminthathouse.”Joke.

“My parents would kill me if they found out.” Not-joke. Which

means she’s considering it. I picture her sitting next to me in those

little shorts she had on when I was at her house, her leg pressed

againstmine,andmybreathinggetsshallow.

“Why would they?” I ask. “You said they can sleep through

anything.” Not-joke. “Come on, just for an hour till we finish the

movie.Youcanmeetmy lizard.”Ittakesafew secondsofsilencefor

metorealizehowthatmightbeinterpreted.“That’snotaline.Ihave

anactuallizard.AbeardeddragonnamedStan.”

Bronwyn laughs so hard she almost chokes. “Oh my God. That

would have been completely out of character and yet…for a second I

reallydidthinkyoumeantsomethingelse.”

I can’t help laughing too. “Hey, girl. You were into that smooth

talk.Admitit.”

“Atleastit’snotananaconda,”Bronwynsputters.Ilaughharder,

butI’mstillkindofturnedon.Weirdcombination.

“Comeover,”Isay.Not-joke.

Ilistentoherbreatheforawhile,untilshesays,“Ican’t.”

“Okay.” I’m not disappointed. I never really thought she would.

“Butyouneedtopickadifferentmovie.”

Weagreeon the lastBournemovie andI’mwatchingit withmy

eyes half-closed, listening to increasingly frequent texts from Amber

chime in the background. She might be starting to think we’re

something we’re not. I reach for that phone to shut it down when

Bronwynsays,“Nate.Yourphone.”

“What?”

“Someonekeepstextingyou.”

“So?”

“Soit’sreallylate.”

“And?”Iask,annoyed.Ihadn’tpeggedBronwynasthepossessive

type,especiallywhenallweeverdoistalkonthephoneandshejust

turneddownmyjoke-not-jokeinvitation.

“It’snot…customers,isit?”

I exhale and shut the other phone off. “No. I told you, I’m not

doingthatanymore.I’mnotstupid.”

“Allright.”Shesoundsrelieved,buttired.Hervoiceisstartingto

drag.“Imightgotosleepnow.”

“Okay.Doyouwanttohangup?”

“No.”Shelaughsthickly,alreadyhalf-asleep.“I’mrunningoutof

minutes,though.Ijustgotawarning.Ihavehalfanhourleft.”

Those prepaid phones have hundreds of minutes on them, and

she’s had it less than a week. I didn’t realize we’d been talking that

much. “I’ll give you another phone tomorrow,” I tell her, before I

remembertomorrow’sSaturdayandwedon’thaveschool.“Bronwyn,

wait.Youneedtohangup.”

Ithinkshe’salreadyasleepuntilshemutters,“What?”

“Hangup,okay?Soyourminutesdon’trunoutandIcancallyou

tomorrowaboutgettingyouanotherphone.”

“Oh.Right.Okay.Goodnight,Nate.”

“Good night.” I hang up and place the two phones side by side,

pickuptheremote,andshutofftheTV.Mightaswellgotosleep.

Addy

Saturday,October6,9:30a.m.

I’mathome with Ashtonandwe’re tryingtofigureout somethingto

do.Butwekeepgettingstuckonthefactthatnothinginterestsme.

“Come on, Addy.” I’m lying across an armchair, and Ashton

nudgesmewithherfootfromthecouch.“Whatwouldyounormallydo

onaweekend?Anddon’tsayhangoutwithJake,”sheaddsquickly.

“ButthatiswhatI’ddo,”Iwhine.Pathetic,butIcan’thelpit.I’ve

hadthisawfulsickening lurchinmystomachallweek,asthough I’d

beenwalkingalongasturdybridgeanditvanishedundermyfeet.

“Can you honestly not come up with a single, non-Jake-related

thingyoulike?”

Ishiftinmyseatandconsiderthequestion.WhatdidIdobefore

Jake?Iwasfourteenwhenwestarteddating,stillpartlyakid.Mybest

friend was Rowan Flaherty, a girl I’d grown up with who moved to

Texaslaterthatyear.We’ddriftedapartinninthgradewhenshehad

zero interest in boys, but the summer before high school we’d still

riddenourbikesallover towntogether.“Ilikeridingmy bike,”Isay

uncertainly,eventhoughIhaven’tbeenononeinyears.

AshtonclapsherhandsasifI’mareluctanttoddlershe’stryingto

getexcitedaboutanewactivity.“Let’sdothat!Ridebikessomewhere.”

Ugh, no. I don’t want to move. I don’t have the energy. “I gave

mine away years ago. It was half-rusted under the porch. And you

don’thaveoneanyway.”

“We’llusethoserentalbikes—whataretheycalled?HubBikesor

something?They’reallovertown.Let’sfindsome.”

Isigh.“Ash,youcan’tbabysitmeforever.Iappreciateyoukeeping

me from falling apart all week, but you’ve got a life. You should get

backtoCharlie.”

Ashtondoesn’tanswerrightaway.Shegoesintothekitchen,andI

heartherefrigeratordooropeningandthefaintclinkofbottles.When

she returns she’s holding a Corona and a San Pellegrino, which she

handstome.Sheignoresmyraisedeyebrows—it’snoteventeno’clock

inthemorning—andtakesalongsipofbeerasshesitsdown,crossing

her legs beneath her. “Charlie’s happy as can be. I’m guessing he’s

movedhisgirlfriendinbynow.”

“What?”IforgethowtiredIamandsitupstraight.

“I caught them when I went home to get more clothes last

weekend.Itwasallsohorriblyclichéd.Ieventhrewavaseathishead.”

“Did you hit him?” I ask hopefully. And hypocritically, I guess.

Afterall,I’mtheCharlieinmyandJake’srelationship.Sheshakesher

headandtakesanothergulpofherbeer.

“Ash.”Imovefrommyarmchairandsitnexttoheronthecouch.

She’snotcrying, buthereyes areshiny,and whenIput myhandon

her arm she swallows hard. “I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you say

something?”

“Youhadenoughtoworryabout.”

“But it’s your marriage!” I can’t help looking at Ashton and

Charlie’s wedding photo from two years ago, which sits next to my

juniorprompictureonourmantel.They were such a perfect couple,

people used to joke that they looked as though they came with the

frame.Ashtonhadbeensohappythatday,gorgeousandglowingand

giddy.

And relieved. I’d tried to squash the idea because I knew it was

catty, but I couldn’t help thinking Ashton had feared losing Charlie

rightuptillthedayshemarriedhim.Hewastremendousonpaper—

handsome,goodfamily,headedtoStanfordLaw—andourmotherhad

beenthrilled.Itwasn’tuntilthey’dbeenmarriedayearthatInoticed

AshtonalmostneverlaughedwhenCharliewasaround.

“It’sbeenoverforawhile,Addy.Ishouldhaveleftsixmonthsago,

butIwastoomuchofacoward.Ididn’twanttobealone,Iguess.Or

admitI’dfailed.I’llfindmyownplaceeventually,butI’llbeherefora

while.” She shoots me a wry look. “All right. I’ve made my true

confession.Nowyoutellmesomething.WhydidyouliewhenOfficer

Budapestaskedaboutbeinginthenurse’sofficethedaySimondied?”

Iletgoofherarm.“Ididn’t—”

“Addy.Comeon.Youstartedplayingwithyourhairassoonashe

brought it up. You always do that when you’re nervous.” Her tone’s

matter-of-fact,notaccusing.“I don’t believeforonesecondyou took

thoseEpiPens,sowhatareyouhiding?”

Tearsprick myeyes.I’msotired,suddenly,ofallthehalf-truths

I’ve piled up over the past days and weeks. Months. Years. “It’s so

stupid,Ash.”

“Tellme.”

“Ididn’tgoformyself.IwenttogetTylenolforJake,becausehe

hadaheadache.AndIdidn’twanttosaysoinfrontofyoubecauseI

knewyou’dgivemethatlook.”

“Whatlook?”

“Youknow.ThatwholeAddy-you’re-such-a-doormatlook.”

“Idon’tthinkthat,”Ashtonsaysquietly.Afattearrollsdownmy

cheek,andshereachesovertobrushitaway.

“Youshould.Iam.”

“Not anymore,” Ashton says, and that does it. I start flat-out

bawling, curled in the fetal position in a corner of the couch with

Ashton’sarmsaroundme.Idon’tevenknowwhoorwhatI’mcrying

for:Jake,Simon,myfriends,mymother,mysister,myself.Allofthe

above,Iguess.

WhenthetearsfinallystopI’mrawandexhausted,myeyelidshot

andmyshoulderssorefromshakingforsolong.ButIfeellighterand

cleaner too, like I’ve purged something that’s been making me sick.

Ashton gets me a pile of Kleenex and gives me a minute to wipe my

eyes and blow my nose. When I’ve finally wadded up all the damp

tissues and tossed them into a corner wastebasket, she takes a small

sipofherbeerandwrinkleshernose.“Thisdoesn’ttasteasgoodasI

thoughtitwould.Comeon,let’sridebikes.”

Ican’tsaynotohernow.SoItrailafterhertotheparkahalfmile

from our house, where there’s a whole row of rental bikes. Ashton

figures out the sign-up deal, swiping her credit card to release two

bikes.Wedon’thavehelmets,butwe’rejustgoingaroundtheparkso

itdoesn’treallymatter.

Ihaven’triddenabikeinyearsbutIguessit’struewhattheysay:

youdon’tforgethow.Afterawobblystartwetakeoffonthewidepath

through the park and I have to admit, it’s kind of fun. The breeze

flutters through my hair as my legs pump and my heart rate

accelerates. It’s the first time in a week I haven’t felt half-dead. I’m

surprisedwhenAshtonstopsandsays,“Hour’sup.”Shecatchessight

ofmyfaceandasks,“Shouldwerentforanotherhour?”

I grin at her. “Yeah, okay.” We get tired about halfway through,

though, and return the bikes so we can go to a café and rehydrate.

Ashton gets our drinks while I find seats, and I scroll through my

messageswhileIwaitforher.Ittakesalotlesstimethanitusedto—I

only have a couple from Cooper, asking if I’m going to Olivia’s party

tonight.

OliviaandIhavebeenfriendssincefreshmanyear,butshehasn’t

spokentomeallweek.PrettysureI’mnotinvited,Itext.

“OnlyGirl”trillsoutwithCooper’sresponse.Imakeamentalnote

that when all this is over and I have a minute to think straight, I’m

going to change my text tone to something less annoying. That’sBS.

They’reyourfriendstoo.

Sittingthisoneout,Iwrite.Havefun.Atthispoint,I’mnoteven

sadaboutbeingexcluded.It’sjustonemorething.

Cooperdoesn’tgetit.IguessIshouldthankhim;ifhe’ddropped

melikeeveryoneelse,Vanessawouldhavegonenuclearonmebynow.

Butshedoesn’tdarecrossthehomecomingking,evenwhenhe’sbeen

accusedofsteroiduse.Schoolopinionissplitdownthemiddleabout

whetherhediditornot,buthe’snotsayingeitherway.

IwonderifIcouldhavedonethesame—bluffedandbrazenedmy

waythroughthiswholenightmarewithouttellingJakethetruth.Then

Ilookatmysister,chucklingwiththeguybehindthecoffeecounterin

a way she never did with Charlie, and remember how careful and

containedIalwayshadtobearoundJake.IfIwasgoingtotheparty

tonight I’d have to wear something he picked out, stay as late as he

wanted,andnottalktoanyonewhomightmakehimmad.

Imisshimstill.Ido.ButIdon’tmissthat.

Bronwyn

Saturday,October6,10:30a.m.

My feet fly over the familiar path as my arms and legs match the

rhythmofthemusicblaringinmyears.Myheartacceleratesandthe

fears that have been crowding my brain all week recede, replaced by

purephysicaleffort.WhenIfinishmyrunI’mdrainedbutpumpedfull

ofendorphins,andfeelalmostcheerfulasIheadforthelibrarytopick

upMaeve.It’sourusualSaturday-morningroutine,butIcan’tfindher

inanyofhertypicalspotsandhavetotexther.

Fourthfloor,shereplies,soIheadforthechildren’sroom.

She’ssittingonatinychairnearthewindow,tappingawayatone

of the computers. “Revisiting your childhood?” I ask, sinking to the

floorbesideher.

“No,”Maevesays,hereyesonthescreen.Shelowershervoiceto

almostawhisper.“I’mintheadminpanelforAboutThat.”

Ittakesasecondforwhatshesaidtoregister,andwhenitdoesmy

heart takes a panicky leap. “Maeve, what the hell? What are you

doing?”

“Looking around. Don’t freak out,” she adds with a sideways

glanceatme.“I’mnotdisturbinganything,butevenifIwere,nobody

wouldknowit’sme.I’matapubliccomputer.”

“Usingyourlibrarycard!”Ihiss.Youcan’tgetonlineherewithout

enteringyouraccountnumber.

“No.Usinghis.”Maeveinclinesherheadtowardasmallboyafew

tablesoverwithastackofpicturebooksinfrontofhim.Istareather

incredulously, and she shrugs. “I didn’t take it from him. He left it

lyingoutandIwrotedownthenumbers.”

The little boy’s mother joins him then, smiling as she catches

Maeve’s eye. She’d never guess my sweet-faced sister just committed

identitytheftagainsthersix-year-old.

Ican’tthinkofanythingtosayexcept“Why?”

“Iwantedtoseewhatthepoliceareseeing,”Maevesays.“Ifthere

wereanyotherdraftposts,otherpeoplewhomight’vewantedtokeep

Simonquiet.”

Iinchforwardinspiteofmyself.“Werethere?”

“No, but there is something odd. About Cooper’s post. It’s date-

stamped days after everyone else’s, for the night before Simon died.

There’sanearlierfilewithhisnameonit,butit’sencryptedandIcan’t

openit.”

“So?”

“Idon’tknow.Butit’sdifferent,whichmakesitinteresting.Ineed

to come back with a thumb drive and download it.” I blink at her,

tryingtopinpointtheexactmomentwhenshemorphedintoahacker-

investigator.“There’ssomethingelse.Simon’susernameforthesiteis

AnarchiSK.IGoogleditandcameupwithabunchof4chanthreadshe

postedtoconstantly.Ididn’thavetimetoreadthem,butweshould.”

“Why?”Iaskassheloopsherbackpackoverhershoulderandgets

toherfeet.

“Becausesomething’sweirdaboutallthis,”Maevesaysmatter-of-

factly,leadingmeoutthedooranddownthestairs.“Don’tyouthink?”

“Understatement of the year,” I mutter. I stop in the empty

stairwell,soshedoestoo,halfturningwithaquestioninglook.“Maeve,

how’d you even get into Simon’s admin panel? How did you know

wheretolook?”

A small smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “You’re not the

only one who grabs confidential information off computers other

peoplewereusing.”

I gape at her. “So you—so Simon was posting About That at

school?Andleftitopen?”

“Ofcoursenot.Simonwassmart.Hedidithere.Notsureifitwas

aone-timethingorifhepostedfromthelibraryallthetime,butIsaw

him one weekend last month when you were running. He didn’t see

me.Iloggedintothecomputerafterhimandgottheaddressfromthe

browserhistory.Ididn’tdoanythingwithitatfirst,”shesays,meeting

my incredulous look with a calm gaze. “Just put it aside for future

reference.Istartedtryingtogetinafteryoucamebackfromthepolice

station. Don’t worry,” she adds, patting me on the arm. “Not from

home.Nobodycantraceit.”

“Okay,but…whytheinterestintheapp?BeforeSimonevendied?

Whatwereyougoingtodo?”

Maevepursesherlipsthoughtfully.“Ihadn’tfiguredthatpartout.

I thought maybe I’d start wiping it clean right after he posted, or

switchallthetexttoRussian.Ordismantlethewholething.”

I shift my feet and stumble a little, grabbing the railing for

support.“Maeve,isthisbecauseofwhathappenedfreshmanyear?”

“No.”Maeve’sambereyesgethard.“Bronwyn,you’retheonewho

still thinks about that. Not me. I just wanted the stupid hold he had

over the entire school to stop. And, well”—she lets out a short,

humorlesslaughthatechoesagainsttheconcretewallsofthestairwell

—“Iguessitdid.”Shestartsbackdownthestairswithlongstridesand

pushes hard on the exit when she gets to the bottom. I follow her

silently, trying to wrap my brain around the fact that my sister was

keepingasecretfrommesimilartotheoneIkeptfromher.Andthat

bothofthemtiebacktoSimon.

Maeve gives me a sunny smile when we get outside, as if the

conversationwejusthadneverhappened.“BayviewEstatesisonour

wayhome.Shouldwepickupyourforbiddentechnology?”

“We could try.” I’ve told Maeve all about Nate, who called this

morningtosayhe’dleaveaphoneinthemailboxof5BayviewEstate

Road.It’spartofanewdevelopmentofhalf-builthouses,andthearea

tendstobe deserted onweekends.“I’m notsurehowearly Nategets

movingonaSaturday,though.”

We reach Bayview Estates in less than fifteen minutes, turning

intoastreetfilledwithboxy,half-finishedhouses.Maeveputsahand

on my arm as we approach number 5. “Let me go,” she says with a

forbiddingair,eyesdartingarounddramaticallyasthoughtheBayview

Policecoulddescendwithsirensblaringatanyminute.“Justincase.”

“Haveatit,”Imutter.We’reprobablytooearlyanyway.It’sbarely

eleven.

ButMaevereturnswavingasmallblackdevicewithatriumphant

flourish,laughingwhenIyankitfromher.“Eagermuch,nerd?”When

Ipoweritupthere’sonemessage,andIopenittoapictureofayellow-

brown lizard sitting placidly on a rock in the middle of a large cage.

Actuallizard,readsthecaption,andIlaughoutloud.

“OhmyGod,”Maevemutters,peeringovermyshoulder.“Private

jokes.You’resoooointohim,aren’tyou?”

Idon’thavetoanswerher.It’sarhetoricalquestion.

Cooper

Saturday,October6,9:20p.m.

By the time I get to Olivia’s party, nearly everyone’s out of it.

Somebody’spukinginthebushesasIpushopenthefrontdoor.Ispot

Keely huddled next to the stairs with Olivia, having one of those

intenseconversationsgirlsgetintowhenthey’rewasted.Afewjuniors

aretokinguponthecouch.Vanessa’sinacornertryingtopawatNate,

whocouldn’tlooklessinterestedashescanstheroombehindher.If

Vanessawereaguy,somebodywould’vereportedherbynowforallthe

unsolicitedgropingshedoes.MyeyesbrieflymeetNate’s,andweboth

lookawaywithoutacknowledgingeachother.

IfinallyfindJakeonthepatiowithLuis,who’sheadedinsidefor

more drinks. “Whaddya want?” Luis asks, clapping me on the

shoulder.

“Whateveryou’regetting.”ItakeaseatnexttoJake,who’slisting

sidewaysinhischair.

“Whassup, killer?” he slurs, and sputters out a laugh. “Are you

gettingtiredofmurderjokesyet?’CauseI’mnot.”

I’m surprised Jake is this drunk; he usually holds back during

football season. But I guess his week’s been almost as bad as mine.

That’swhatIcametotalktohimabout,althoughasIwatchhimswat

hazilyatabug,I’mnotsureIshouldbother.

Itryanyway.“How’reyoudoing?Beenalousyfewdays,huh?”

Jakelaughs again,butthistimenotasthoughhefindsanything

funny.“That’ssoCooperofyou,man.Don’ttalkaboutyourshitweek,

justcheckinonmine.You’reagoddamnsaint,Coop.Youreallyare.”

TheedgeinhisvoicewarnsmeIshouldn’ttakethebait,butIdo.

“Youmadatmeforsomething,Jake?”

“Why would I be? It’s not like you’re defending my whore ex-

girlfriendtoanybodywho’lllisten.Oh,wait.That’sexactlywhatyou’re

doing.”

Jake narrows his eyes at me, and I realize I can’t have the

conversation I came to have. He’s in no frame of mind to talk about

easing up on Addy at school. “Jake, I know Addy’s in the wrong.

Everybodyknowsit.Shemadeastupidmistake.”

“Cheating isn’t a mistake. It’s a choice,” Jake says furiously, and

for a second he sounds stone-cold sober. He drops his empty beer

bottle on the ground and cocks his head with an accusing glare.

“Where the hell is Luis? Hey.” He grabs the arm of a passing

sophomoreandplucksanunopenedbeeroutofhishand,twistingthe

capoffandtakingalongsip.“WhatwasIsaying?Ohyeah.Cheating.

That’sachoice,Coop.Youknow,mymomcheatedonmydadwhenI

was in junior high. Screwed up our whole family. Threw a grenade

rightinthemiddleand—”Heflingsanarm,spillinghalfhisbeer,and

makesawhooshsound.“Everythingexploded.”

“I didn’t know that.” I’d met Jake when I moved to Bayview in

eighth grade, but we didn’t start hanging out till high school. “Sorry,

man.Thatmakesitevenworse,huh?”

Jakeshakeshishead,eyesglittering.“Addyhasnocluewhatshe’s

done.Ruinedeverything.”

“Butyourdad…forgaveyour mom, right?They’restilltogether?”

It’s a stupid question. I was at his house a month ago for a cookout

beforeallthisstarted.Hisdadwasgrillinghamburgersandhismom

wastalkingtoAddyandKeelyaboutanewmanicureplacethatopened

inBayviewCenter.Likenormal.Likealways.

“Yeah, they’re together. Nothing’s the same, though. It’s never

beenthesame.”Jake’sstaringinfrontofhimwithsuchdisgustthatI

don’t know what to say. I feel like a jerk for telling Addy she should

come,andI’mgladshedidn’tlistentome.

Luis returns and hands us both a beer. “You going to Simon’s

tomorrow?”heasksJake.

I think I can’t possibly have heard Luis right, but Jake says, “I

guess.”

Luiscatchesmyconfusedlook.“Hismomaskedabunchofusto

comeoverand,like,takesomethingtorememberhimbybeforethey

pack his stuff. Creeps me out since I barely knew the guy, but she

seemstothinkwewerefriendssowhatcanyousay,right?”Hetakesa

sipofhisbeerandcocksaneyebrowatme.“Guessyou’renotinvited?”

“Nope,”Isay,feelingalittlesick.ThelastthingIwanttodoispick

through Simon’s things in front of his grieving parents, but if all my

friendsaregoing,theslight’sprettyclear.I’mundersuspicion,andnot

welcome.

“Simon, man.” Jake shakes his head solemnly. “He was freaking

brilliant.”HeholdshisbeerupandforasecondIthinkhe’sgoingto

pouritontothepatioinahomeboysalute,butherefrainsanddrinksit

instead.

Olivia joins us, wrapping one arm around Luis’s waist. Guess

those two are back on again. She pokes me with her free hand and

holds up her phone, her face bright with that excited look she gets

when she’s about to share a great piece of gossip. “Cooper, did you

knowyou’reintheBayviewBlade?”

Thewayshesaysit,I’mprettysurethey’renotcoveringbaseball.

Thisnightkeepsgettingbetter.“Hadnoidea.”

“Sunday edition, online tonight. All about Simon. They’re not…

accusing you, exactly, but the four of you are named as persons of

interest,andtheymentionthatstuffSimonwasgonnapostaboutyou.

There’repicturesofyou all.And,um,it’sbeensharedafewhundred

timesalready.So.”Oliviahands me her phone. “It’souttherenow,I

guess.”

Nate

Monday,October8,2:50p.m.

IheartherumorsbeforeIseethenewsvans.Threeofthemparkedout

front of the school with reporters and camera crews waiting for last

belltoring.They’renotallowedonschoolproperty,butthey’reasclose

astheycanget.

Bayview High is loving this. Chad Posner finds me after last

period to tell me people are practically lining up to be interviewed

outside.“They’reaskingaboutyou,man,”hewarns.“Youmightwanna

headout theback. They’renotallowedintheparkinglot,soyoucan

cutthroughthewoodsonyourbike.”

“Thanks.”ItakeoffandscanthehallwayforBronwyn.Wedon’t

talk much at school to avoid—as she says in her lawyer voice—the

appearanceofcollusion.ButI’llbetthiswillfreakherout.Ispotherat

her locker with Maeve and one of her friends, and sure enough she

looksreadytothrowup.Whensheseesmeshewavesmecloser,not

eventryingtopretendshehardlyknowsme.

“Didyouhear?”sheasks,andInod.“Idon’tknowwhattodo.”A

horrified realization crosses her face. “I guess we have to drive past

them,don’twe?”

“I’lldrive,”Maevevolunteers.“Youcan, like,hideinthebackor

something.”

“Or we can stay here till they leave,” her friend suggests. “Wait

themout.”

“Ihatethis,”Bronwynsays.Maybeit’sthewrongtimetonotice,

but I like how her face floods with color whenever she feels strongly

aboutsomething.Itmakesherlooktwiceasaliveasmostpeople,and

moredistractingthanshealreadydoesinashortdressandboots.

“Come with me,” I say. “I’m taking my bike out back to Boden

Street.I’llbringyoutothemall.Maevecanpickyouuplater.”

BronwynbrightensasMaevesays,“That’llwork.I’llcomefindyou

inhalfanhouratthefoodcourt.”

“Areyousurethat’sagoodidea?”mutterstheothergirl,givingme

ahardlook.“Iftheycatchyoutogetherit’llbetentimesworse.”

“Theywon’tcatchus,”Isayshortly.

I’mnotpositiveBronwyn’sonboard,butshenodsandtellsMaeve

she’ll see her soon, meeting her friend’s annoyed glance with a calm

smile. I feel this stupid rush of triumph, like she chose me, even

thoughshebasicallychosenotwindinguponthefiveo’clocknews.But

shewalksclosetomeasweheadoutthebackdoortotheparkinglot,

not seeming to care about the stares. At least they’re the kind we’ve

gottenusedto.Nomicrophonesorcamerasinvolved.

Ihandhermyhelmetandwaitforhertosettleherselfonmybike

andloopherarmsaroundme.Tootightagain,butIdon’tmind.Her

death grip, along with how her legs look in that dress, is why I

engineeredthisescapeinthefirstplace.

We’re not in the woods long before the narrow trail I’m taking

widens into a dirt path that runs past a row of houses behind the

school.Itakebackroadsforacoupleofmilesuntilwemakeittothe

mall,andeasemybikeintoaparkingspotasfarfromtheentranceasI

canget.Bronwyntakesthe helmet off andhandsittome,squeezing

myarmasshedoes.Sheswingsherlegsontothepavement,hercheeks

flushedandherhairtousled.“Thanks,Nate.Thatwasniceofyou.”

I didn’t do it to be nice. My hand reaches out and catches her

around the waist, pulling her toward me. And then I stop, not sure

whattodonext.I’moffmygame.Ifanyonehadaskedmetenminutes

ago,IwouldhavesaidIdon’thavegame.Butnowitoccurstomethat

Iprobablydo,andit’snotgivingashit.

When I’m still sitting and she’s standing we’re almost the same

height. She’s close enough for me to notice that her hair smells like

greenapples.Ican’tstoplookingatherlipswhileIwaitforhertoback

away. She doesn’t, and when I raise my eyes to hers it feels like the

breathisyankedrightoutofmylungs.

Twothoughtsrunthroughmyhead.One,Iwanttokisshermore

thanIwantair.Andtwo,ifIdoI’mboundtoscreweverythingupand

she’llstoplookingatmethatway.

Avanscreechesintothespotnexttousandwebothjump,bracing

fortheChannel7Newscameracrew.Butit’sanordinarysoccer-mom

vanfilledwithscreamingkids.WhentheytumbleoutBronwynblinks

andmovesofftotheside.“Nowwhat?”sheasks.

Now wait till they’re gone and get back here. But she’s already

walkingtoward theentrance.“Buymeagiantpretzelforsavingyour

ass,” I say instead. She laughs and I wonder if she’s thankful for the

interruption.

Wewalkpastthepottedpalmsthatframethefrontentrance,and

Ipullthedooropenforastressed-lookingmotherwithtwoscreaming

toddlersinadoublestroller.Bronwynflashesherasympatheticsmile

but as soon as we’re inside it disappears and she ducks her head.

“Everyone’s staring at me. You were smart not to have your class

picturetaken.That photointheBayviewBladedidn’tevenlooklike

you.”

“Nobody’s staring,” I tell her, but it’s not true. The girl folding

sweaters at Abercrombie & Fitch widens her eyes and pulls out her

phonewhenwepassby.“Eveniftheywere,allyou’dhavetodoistake

yourglassesoff.Instantdisguise.”

I’mkidding,butshepullsthemoffandreachesintoherbagfora

bright-blue case she snaps them into. “Good idea, except I’m blind

without them.” I’ve seen Bronwyn without glasses only once before,

when they got knockedoff by a volleyballinfifth-gradegymclass.It

was the first time I’d noticed her eyes weren’t blue like I always

thought,butaclear,brightgray.

“I’llguideyou,”Itellher.“That’safountain.Don’twalkintoit.”

BronwynwantstogototheApplestore,whereshesquintsatiPod

Nanos for her sister. “Maeve’s starting to run now. She keeps

borrowingmineandforgettingtochargeit.”

“You know that’s a rich-girl problem nobody else cares about,

right?”

She grins, unoffended. “I need to make a playlist to keep her

motivated.Anyrecommendations?”

“Idoubtwelikethesamemusic.”

“Maeve and I have varied musical taste. You’d be surprised. Let

me see your library.” I shrug and unlock my phone, and she scrolls

throughiTuneswithanincreasinglyfurrowedbrow.“Whatisallthis?

Whydon’tI recognizeanything?”Thensheglancesatme. “Youhave

‘VariationsontheCanon’?”

Itakethephonefromherandputitbackinmypocket.IforgotI’d

downloadedthat.“Ilikeyourversionbetter,”Isay,andherlipscurve

intoasmile.

Weheadforthefoodcourt,makingsmalltalkaboutstupidstuff

likewe’reacoupleofordinaryteenagers.Bronwyninsistsonactually

buyingmeapretzel,althoughIhavetohelphersinceshecan’tseetwo

feetinfrontofherface.WesitbythefountaintowaitforMaeve,and

Bronwyn leans across the table so she can meet my eyes. “There’s

somethingI’vebeenmeaningtotalktoyouabout.”Iraisemybrows,

interested, until she says, “I’m worried about the fact that you don’t

havealawyer.”

Iswallowahunkofpretzelandavoidhereyes.“Why?”

“Becausethiswholething’sstartingtoimplode.Mylawyerthinks

thenewscoverageisgoingtogoviral.Shemademesetallmysocial

media accounts to private yesterday. You should do that too, by the

way. If you have any. I couldn’t find you anywhere. Not that I was

stalking you. Just curious.” She gives herself a little shake, like she’s

tryingtogetherthoughtsbackontrack.“Anyway.Thepressure’son,

andyou’realreadyonprobation,soyou…youneedsomebodygoodin

yourcorner.”

You’retheobviousoutlierandscapegoat.That’swhatshemeans;

she’sjusttoopolitetosayit.Ipushmychairawayfromthetableand

tipitbackwardontwo legs.“That’sgoodnewsfor you,right?Ifthey

focusonme.”

“No!” She’s so loud, people at the next table look over, and she

lowershervoice.“No,it’sawful.ButIwasthinking.Haveyouheardof

UntilProven?”

“What?”

“Until Proven. It’s that pro bono legal group that started at

California Western. Remember, they got that homeless guy who was

convicted of murder released because of mishandled DNA evidence

thatledthemtotherealkiller?”

I’mnotsureI’mhearinghercorrectly.“Areyoucomparingmetoa

homelessguyondeathrow?”

“That’s only one example of a high-profile case. They do other

stufftoo.Ithoughtitmightbeworthcheckingthemout.”

SheandOfficerLopezwouldreallygetalong.They’rebothpositive

you can fix any problem with the right support group. “Sounds

pointless.”

“WouldyoumindifIcalledthem?”

Ireturnmychairtothefloorwithabang,mytemperrising.“You

can’trunthislikeit’sstudentcouncil,Bronwyn.”

“Andyoucan’tjustwaittoberailroaded!”Sheputsherpalmsflat

onthetableandleansforward,eyesblazing.

Jesus.She’sapaininmyassandIcan’trememberwhyIwanted

to kiss her so badly a few minutes ago. She’d probably turn it into a

project. “Mind your own business.” It comes out harsher than I

intended, but I mean it. I’ve made it through most of high school

withoutBronwynRojasrunningmylife,andIdon’tneedhertostart

now.

Shecrossesherarmsandglaresatme.“I’mtryingtohelpyou.”

That’s when I realize Maeve is standing there, looking back and

forth between us like she’s watching the world’s least entertaining

ping-ponggame.“Um.Isthisabadtime?”shesays.

“It’sagreattime,”Isay.

Bronwyn stands abruptly, putting her glasses on and hiking her

bag over her shoulder. “Thanks for the ride.” Her voice is as cold as

mine.

Whatever. I get up and head for the exit without answering,

feeling a dangerous combination of pissed off and restless. I need a

distraction but never know what the hell to do with myself now that

I’m out of the drug business. Maybe stopping was just delaying the

inevitable.

I’malmostoutsidewhensomeonetugsonmyjacket.WhenIturn,

armswraparoundmyneckandtheclean,brightscentofgreenapples

drifts around me as Bronwyn kisses my cheek. “You’re right,” she

whispers,herbreathwarminmyear.“I’msorry.It’snotmybusiness.

Don’tbemad,okay?Ican’tgetthroughthisifyoustoptalkingtome.”

“I’mnotmad.”ItrytounfreezesoIcanhugherbackinsteadof

standing there like a block of wood, but she’s already gone, hurrying

afterhersister.

Addy

Tuesday,October9,8:45a.m.

SomehowBronwynandNatemanagedtododgethecameras.Cooper

andIweren’taslucky.Wewerebothonthefiveo’clocknewsonallthe

major San Diego channels: Cooper behind the wheel of his Jeep

Wrangler, me climbing into Ashton’s car after I’d abandoned my

brand-new bike at school and sent her a panicked text begging for a

ride.Channel7Newsended upwithaprettyclear shotofme,which

they put side by side with an old picture of eight-year-old me at the

Little Miss Southeast San Diego pageant. Where, naturally, I was

secondrunner-up.

Atleasttherearen’tanyvanswhenAshtonpullsuptodropmeoff

atschoolthenextday.“Callmeifyouneedarideagain,”shesays,and

Igiveheraquick,strangleholdhug.IthoughtI’dbemorecomfortable

showing sisterly affection after last weekend’s cryfest, but it’s still

awkwardandImanagetosnagmybraceletonhersweater.“Sorry,”I

mutter,andshegivesmeapainedgrin.

“We’llgetbetteratthateventually.”

I’vegottenusedtostares,sothefactthatthey’veintensifiedsince

yesterdaydoesn’tfazeme.WhenIleaveclassinthemiddleofhistory,

it’sbecauseIfeelmyperiodcomingonandnotbecauseIhavetocry.

But when I arrive in the girls’ room, someone else is. Muffled

soundscomefromthelaststallbeforewhoever’stheregetscontrolof

herself.Itakecareofmybusiness—falsealarm—andwashmyhands,

staringatmytiredeyesandsurprisinglybouncyhair.Nomatterhow

awfultherestofmylifeis,myhairstillmanagestolookgood.

I’mabouttoleave,buthesitateandheadfortheotherendofthe

restroom.Ileandownandseescuffed blackcombatbootsunderthe

laststalldoor.

“Janae?”

Noanswer.Irapmyknucklesagainstthedoor.“It’sAddy.Doyou

needanything?”

“Jesus,Addy,”Janaesaysinastrangledvoice.“No.Goaway.”

“Okay,”Isay,butIdon’t.“Youknow,I’musuallytheoneinthat

stallbawlingmyeyesout.SoIhavealotofKleenexifyouneedsome.

Also Visine.” Janae doesn’t say anything. “I’m sorry about Simon. I

don’tsupposeitmeansmuchgiveneverythingyou’veheard,but…Iwas

shockedbywhathappened.Youmustmisshimalot.”

Janaestayssilent,andIwonderifI’vestuckmyfootinmymouth

again. I’d always thought Janae was in love with Simon and he was

oblivious. Maybe she’d finally told him the truth before he died, and

gotrejected.Thatwouldmakethiswholethingevenworse.

I’mabouttoleavewhenJanaeheavesadeepsigh.Thedooropens,

revealing her blotchy face and black-on-black clothing. “I’ll take that

Visine,”shesays,wipingatherraccooneyes.

“Youshouldtake theKleenex,too,” Isuggest,pressingbothinto

herhand.

She snorts out something like a laugh. “How the mighty have

fallen,Addy.You’venevertalkedtomebefore.”

“Did that bother you?” I ask, genuinely curious. Janae never

struck me as someone who wanted to be part of our group. Unlike

Simon,whowasalwaysprowlingaroundtheedges,lookingforaway

in.

JanaewetsaKleenexunderthesinkanddabsathereyes,glaring

atmeinthemirrorthewholetime.“Screwyou,Addy.Seriously.What

kindofquestionisthat?”

I’m not as offended as I’d normally be. “I don’t know. A stupid

one,Iguess?I’monlyjustrealizingIsuckatsocialcues.”

Janae squirts a stream of Visine into both eyes and her raccoon

circles reappear. I hand her another Kleenex so she can repeat the

wipingprocess.“Why?”

“TurnsoutJake’stheonewhowaspopular,notme.Iwasriding

coattails.”

Janaetakesastepbackfromthemirror.“IneverthoughtI’dhear

yousaythat.”

“ ‘Iamlarge,Icontainmultitudes,’ ”Itellher,andhereyeswiden.

“Song of Myself, right? Walt Whitman. I’ve been reading it since

Simon’sfuneral.Idon’tunderstandmostofit,butit’scomfortingina

weirdway.”

Janae keeps dabbing at her eyes. “That’s what I thought. It was

Simon’sfavoritepoem.”

I think about Ashton and how she’s kept me sane over the past

couple of weeks. And Cooper, who’s defended me at school even

thoughthere’snorealfriendshipbetweenus.“Doyouhaveanybodyto

talkto?”

“No,”Janaemutters,andhereyesfillagain.

I know from experience she won’t thank me for continuing the

conversation. At some point we need to suck it up and get to class.

“Well,ifyouwanttotalktome—Ihavealotoftime.Andspacenextto

meinthe cafeteria.So,open invitationorwhatever.Anyway,I really

amsorryaboutSimon.Seeyou.”

All things considered, I think that went pretty well. She stopped

insultingmetowardtheend,anyway.

Ireturntohistorybutit’salmostover,andafterthebellringsit’s

time for lunch—my least favorite part of the day. I’ve told Cooper to

stopsittingwithme,becauseIcan’tstandthehardtimeeveryoneelse

gives him, but I hate eating alone. I’m about to skip and go to the

librarywhenahandplucksatmysleeve.

“Hey.” It’s Bronwyn, looking surprisingly fashionable in a fitted

blazerandstripedflats.Herhair’sdown,spillingoverhershouldersin

glossydarklayers,andInoticewithastabofenvyhowclearherskin

is. No giant pimples for her, I’ll bet. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen

Bronwyn looking this good, and I’m so distracted that I almost miss

hernextwords.“Doyouwanttoeatlunchwithus?”

“Ah…”Itiltmyheadather.I’vespentmoretimewithBronwynin

the past two weeks than I have the last three years at school, but it

hasn’texactlybeensocial.“Really?”

“Yeah.Well.Wehavesomestuffincommonnow,so…”Bronwyn

trailsoff,hereyes flicking awayfrommine,andI wonder ifsheever

thinksImightbetheonebehindallthis.Shemust,becauseIthinkit

abouthersometimes.Butinanevil-genius,cartoon-villainsortofway.

Nowthatshe’sstandinginfrontofmewithcuteshoesandatentative

smile,itseemsimpossible.

“All right,” I say, and follow Bronwyn to a table with her sister,

Yumiko Mori, and some tall, sullen-looking girl I don’t know. It’s

betterthanskippinglunchatthelibrary.

—

WhenIgetoutfrontafterthelastbell,there’snothing—nonewsvans,

noreporters—soItextAshtonthatshedoesn’thavetopickmeup,and

taketheopportunitytoridemybikehome.Istopattheextralongred

lightonHurleyStreet,restingmyfeetonthepavementasIlookatthe

storesinthestripmalltomyright:cheapclothes,cheapjewelry,cheap

cellular.Andcheaphaircuts.Nothinglikemyusualsalonindowntown

San Diego, which charges sixty dollars every six weeks to keep split

endsatbay.

Myhairfeelshotandheavyundermyhelmet,weighingmedown.

Before the light changes I angle my bike off the road and over the

sidewalkintothemallparkinglot.Ilockmybikeontherackoutside

Supercuts,pulloffmyhelmet,andgoinside.

“Hi!” The girl behind the register is only a few years older than

me,wearingaflimsyblacktanktopthatexposescolorfulflowertattoos

coveringherarmsandshoulders.“Areyouhereforatrim?”

“Acut.”

“Okay.We’renotsuperbusy,soIcantakeyourightnow.”

Shedirectsmetoacheapblackchairthat’slosingitsstuffing,and

we both gaze at my reflection in the mirror as she runs her hands

throughmyhair.“Thisissopretty.”

Istareattheshininglocksinherhands.“Itneedstocomeoff.”

“Acoupleinches?”

Ishakemyhead.“Allofit.”

Shelaughsnervously.“Toyourshoulders,maybe?”

“Allofit,”Irepeat.

Hereyeswiden in alarm.“Oh,you don’t meanthat.Your hair is

beautiful!” She disappears from behind me and reappears with a

supervisor. They stand there conferring for a few minutes in hushed

tones.Halfthesalonisstaringatme.Iwonderhowmanyofthemsaw

theSanDiegonewslastnight,andhowmanythinkI’mjustanoverly

hormonalteenagegirl.

“Sometimespeoplethinktheywantadramaticcut,buttheydon’t

really,”thesupervisorstartscautiously.

Idon’tletherfinish.I’mbeyondtiredofpeopletellingmewhatI

want.“Doyouguysdohaircutshere?OrshouldIgosomewhereelse?”

Shetugsatalockofherownbleached-blondhair.“I’dhateforyou

toregretthis.Ifyouwantadifferentlook,youcouldtry—”

Shearslieacrossthecounterinfrontofme,andIreachforthem.

Beforeanyonecanstopme,Igrabathickhandfulofhairandchopthe

wholethingoffabovemyear.Gaspsrunthroughthesalon,andImeet

thetattooedgirl’sshockedeyesinthemirror.

“Fixit,”Itellher.Soshedoes.

Bronwyn

Friday,October12,7:45p.m.

Four days after we’re featured on the local news, the story goes

nationalonMikhailPowersInvestigates.

Iknewitwascoming,sinceMikhail’sproducershadtriedtoreach

my family all week. We never responded, thanks to basic common

senseandalsoRobin’slegaladvice.Natedidn’teither,andAddysaid

sheandCooperbothrefusedtotalkaswell.Sotheshowwillbeairing

infifteenminuteswithoutcommentaryfromanyofthepeopleactually

involved.

Unlessoneofusislying.Whichisalwaysapossibility.

Thelocalcoveragewasbadenough.Maybeitwasmyimagination,

but I’m pretty sure Dad winced every time I was referred to as “the

daughter of prominent Latino business leader Javier Rojas.” And he

left the room when one station reported his nationality as Chilean

instead of Colombian. The whole thing made me wish, for the

hundredth time since this started, that I’d just taken that D in

chemistry.

MaeveandIaresprawledonmybedwatchingtheminutesonmy

alarmclocktickbyuntilmydebutasanationaldisgrace.Orrather,I

am, and she’s combing through the 4chan links she found through

Simon’sadminsite.

“Checkthisout,”shesays,anglingherlaptoptowardme.

The long discussion thread covers a school shooting that

happenedlastspringafewcountiesover.Asophomoreboyconcealed

a handguninhisjacketandopenedfirein the hallway after the first

bell.Sevenstudentsandateacherdiedbeforetheboyturnedthegun

on himself. I have to read a few of the comments more than once

before I realize the thread isn’t condemning the boy, but celebrating

him.It’sabunchofsickoscheeringonwhathedid.

“Maeve.”Iburrowmyheadinmyarms,notwantingtoreadany

more.“Whatthehellisthis?”

“SomeforumSimonwasalloverafewmonthsback.”

Iraisemyheadtostareather.“Simonpostedthere?Howdoyou

know?”

“HeusedthatAnarchiSKnamefromAboutThat,”Maevereplies.

I scan the thread, but it’s too long to pick out individual names.

“Areyousureit’sSimon?Maybeotherpeopleusethesamename.”

“I’vebeenspot-checkingposts,andit’sdefinitelySimon,”shesays.

“HereferencesplacesinBayview,talksaboutclubshewasinatschool,

mentionshiscar afewtimes.” Simondrovea 1970sVolkswagenBug

that he was freakishly proud of. Maeve leans against the cushions,

chewingonherbottomlip.“There’salottogothrough,butI’mgoing

toreadthewholethingwhenIhavetime.”

Ican’tthinkofanythingI’dliketodoless.“Why?”

“Thethread’sfullofweirdpeoplewithaxestogrind,”Maevesays.

“Simon might’ve made some enemies there. Worth looking into,

anyway.”Shetakesherlaptopbackandadds,“Igotthatencryptedfile

ofCooper’satthelibrarytheotherday,butIcan’tgetitopen.Yet.”

“Girls.” My mother’s voice is strained as she calls upstairs. “It’s

time.”

That’s right. My entire family is watching Mikhail Powers

Investigates together. Which is a circle of hell even Dante never

imagined.

Maeve shuts her laptop as I heave myself to my feet. There’s a

slightbuzzingfrominsidemyendtable,andIopenthedrawertopull

outmyNatephone.Enjoytheshow,histextsays.

Notfunny,Ireply.

“Putthataway,”Maevesayswithmockseverity.“Nowisnotthe

time.”

We head downstairs to the livingroom,whereMomhasalready

settledintoanarmchairwithanexceptionallyfullglassofwine.Dad’s

infullEveningExecutivemode,wearinghisfavoritecasualfleecevest

andsurroundedbyahalf-dozencommunicationdevices.Acommercial

forpapertowelsflashesacrossthetelevisionscreenasMaeveandIsit

sidebysideonthecouchandwaitforMikhailPowersInvestigatesto

start.

Theshowfocusesontruecrimeandit’sprettysensationalistic,but

more credible than similar shows because of Mikhail’s hard-news

background. He spent years as an anchor with one of the major

networks,andbringsacertaingravitastotheproceedings.

He always reads the beginning hook in his deep, authoritative

voicewhilegrainypolicephotosplayacrossthescreen.

Ayoungmotherdisappears.Adoublelifeexposed.Andoneyear

later,ashockingarrest.Hasjusticefinallybeenserved?

A high-profile couple dead. A dedicated daughter suspected.

CouldherFacebookaccountholdthekeytothekiller’sidentity?

I know the formula, so it shouldn’t be any surprise when it’s

appliedtome.

A high school student’s mysterious death. Four classmates with

secretstohide.Whenthepolicekeeprunningintodeadends,what’s

next?

Dreadstartsspreadingthroughme:mystomachaches,mylungs

compress,evenmymouthhasahorribletaste.Foralmosttwoweeks

I’vebeenquestionedandscrutinized,whisperedaboutandjudged.I’ve

had to deflect questions about Simon’s allegations with police and

teachers,andwatchtheireyeshardenastheyreadbetweenthelines.

I’vewaitedforanothershoetodrop;fortheTumblrtoreleaseavideo

ofmeaccessingMr.Camino’sfiles,orforthepolicetofilecharges.But

nothing’sfeltquitesorawandrealaswatchingmyclasspictureappear

overMikhailPowers’sshoulderonnationaltelevision.

There’sfootageofMikhailandhisteam inBayview,buthedoes

most of his reporting from behind a sleek chrome desk in his Los

Angelesstudio.Hehassmoothdarkskinandhair,expressiveeyes,and

themostperfectlyfittedwardrobeI’veeverseen.Ihavenodoubtthat

ifhe’dmanagedtocatchmealone,I’dhavespilledallsortsofthingsI

shouldn’t.

“But who are the Bayview Four?” Mikhail asks, staring intently

intothecamera.

“Youguyshaveaname,”Maevewhispers,butnotquietlyenough

thatMomdoesn’thear.

“Maeve,thereisnothingfunnyaboutthis,”shesaystightlyasthe

cameracutstovideoofmyparents’offices.

Ohno.They’restartingwithme.

Honor student Bronwyn Rojas comes from a high-achieving

familytraumatizedbytheiryoungestchild’slingeringillness.Didthe

pressuretomeasureupcompelhertocheatandtakeYaleoutofher

reachforever?FollowedbyaspokespersonfromYaleconfirmingthat

Ihavenot,infact,appliedyet.

Weallgetourturn.MikhailexaminesAddy’sbeautypageantpast,

speaks with baseball analysts about the prevalence of high school

juicingandits potentialimpacton Cooper’scareer,anddigsthrough

theparticularsofNate’sdrugbustandprobationsentence.

“It’s not fair,” Maeve breathes into my ear. “They’re not saying

anythingabouthowhisdad’sadrunkandhismom’sdead.Where’sthe

context?”

“Hewouldn’twantthat,anyway,”Iwhisperback.

Icringemywaythroughtheshowuntilaninterviewwithalawyer

fromUntilProven.Sincenoneofourlawyersagreedtotalk,Mikhail’s

teamtappedUntilProvenassubject-matterexperts.Thelawyerthey

speakwith,EliKleinfelter,doesn’tlookeventenyearsolderthanme.

Hehaswildcurlyhair,asparsegoatee,andintensedarkeyes.

“Here’s what I’d say, if I were their lawyer,” he says, and I lean

forwarddespitemyself.“Alltheattention’sonthesefourkids.They’re

gettingdraggedthroughthemudwithnoevidencetyingthemtoany

crime after weeks of investigation. But there was a fifth kid in the

room,wasn’tthere?Andheseemslikethetypewhomight’vehadmore

than four enemies. So you tell me. Who else had a motive? What

story’snotbeingtold?That’swhereI’dbelooking.”

“Exactly,”Maevesays,drawingouteachsyllable.

“Andyoucan’tassumeSimonwastheonlypersonwithaccessto

theAboutThatadminpanel,”Elicontinues.“Anybodycould’vegotten

intothatbeforehediedandeitherviewedorchangedthoseposts.”

IlookatMaeve,butthistimeshedoesn’tsayanything.Juststares

atthescreenwithahalfsmileonherface.

I can’t stop thinking about Eli’s words for the rest of the night.

EvenwhenI’monthephonewithNate,halfwatchingBattleRoyale,

whichisbetterthanalotofthemoviesNatelikes.ButbetweenMikhail

PowersInvestigates andourtriptothemallon Monday—which I’ve

been thinking about nonstop in those spare moments when I’m not

thinking about going to jail—I can’t concentrate. Too many other

thoughtscompeteforbrainspace.

Natewasabouttokissme,wasn’the?AndIwantedhimto.So

whydidn’twe?

Elifinallysaidit.Whyisn’tanyonelookingatothersuspects?

IwonderifNateandIareofficiallyfriend-zonednow.

Mikhail Powers does serial investigations, so this will only get

worse.

NateandIwouldbehorribletogetheranyway.Probably.

DidPeoplemagazineseriouslyjustemailme?

“What’s going on in that big brain of yours, Bronwyn?” Nate

finallyasks.

Too much, and most of it I probably shouldn’t share. “I want to

talktoEliKleinfelter,”Isay.“Notaboutyou,”IaddwhenNatedoesn’t

reply.“Justingeneral.I’mintriguedbyhowhethinks.”

“Youalreadyhavealawyer.Thinkshe’dwantyougettingasecond

opinion?”

Iknowshewouldn’t.Robinisallaboutcontainmentanddefense.

Don’tgiveanybodyanythingtheycanuseagainstyou.“Idon’twant

himtorepresentmeoranything.Ijustwantaconversation.MaybeI’ll

trytocallhimnextweek.”

“Younevershutoff,doyou?”

It doesn’t sound like a compliment. “No,” I admit, wondering if

I’ve killed whatever weird attraction Nate might’ve once felt toward

me.

Nate’ssilentaswewatchShogofakeShuya’sandNoriko’sdeaths.

“Thisisn’tbad,”hefinallysays.“ButyoustillowemefinishingRingu

inperson.”

Tinyelectricalsparkszipthroughmybloodstream.Attractionnot

dead, then? Maybe on life support. “I know. That’s logistically

challenging,though.Especiallynowthatwe’renotorious.”

“Therearen’tanynewsvansherenow.”

I’ve thought about this. Maybe a few dozen times since he first

askedme.AndwhileIdon’tunderstandmuchaboutwhat’sgoingon

between Nate and me, I do know this: whatever happens next won’t

involvemedrivingtohishouseinthemiddleofthenight.Istarttotell

him all my excellent practical reasons, like how the Volvo’s noisy

enginewillwakemyparents,whenhesays,“Icouldcomegetyou.”

Iblowoutasighandstareattheceiling.I’mnogoodatnavigating

these situations, probably because they’ve only ever happened in my

head. “I feel weird going to your house at one in the morning, Nate.

Like,it’s…differentfromwatchingamovie.AndIdon’tknowyouwell

enough to, um, not watch a movie with you.” Oh God. This is why

peopleshouldn’twaituntiltheirsenioryearofhighschooltodate.My

wholefaceburns,andasIwaitforhimtoanswer,I’mdeeplythankful

hecan’tseeme.

“Bronwyn.”Nate’svoiceisn’tasmockingasI’dexpected.“I’mnot

trying to not-watch a movie with you. I mean, sure, if you were into

that,Iwouldn’tsayno.Believeme.ButthemainreasonIinvitedyou

over after midnight is that my house sucks during the day. For one

thing,youcanseeit.WhichIdon’trecommend.Foranother,mydad’s

around.I’dratheryounot…youknow.Tripoverhim.”

Myheartkeepsmissingbeats.“Idon’tcareaboutthat.”

“Ido.”

“Okay.” I don’t fully understand Nate’s rules for managing his

world,butforonceI’m goingtomindmyown businessandnotgive

my opinion about what does and doesn’t matter. “We’ll figure

somethingelseout.”

Cooper

Saturday,October13,4:35p.m.

There’s no good place to break up with someone, but at least their

livingroomisprivateandtheydon’thavetogoanywhereafterward.So

that’swhereIgiveKeelythenews.

It’snotbecauseofwhatNonnysaid.It’sbeencomingforawhile.

Keely’sgreatinadozendifferentwaysbutnotforme,andIcan’tdrag

herthroughallthisknowingthat.

Keelywantsanexplanation,and I don’t haveagoodone.“Ifit’s

because of the investigation, I don’t care!” she says tearfully. “I’m

behindyounomatterwhat.”

“It’snotthat,”Itellher.It’snotonlythat,anyway.

“AndIdon’tbelieveawordofthatawfulTumblr.”

“Iknow,Keely.Iappreciatethat,Ireallydo.”Therewasanother

postthismorning,crowingaboutthemediacoverage:

TheMikhailPowersInvestigatessitehasthousandsofcommentsaboutthe

BayviewFour.(Kindofadullname,bytheway.Would’veexpectedbetterfrom

atop-rankednewsmagazine.)Somecallforjailtime.Somerailabouthow

spoiledandentitledkidsaretoday,andhowthisisanotherexampleofthat.

It’sagreatstory:fourgood-looking,high-profilestudentsallbeing

investigatedformurder.Andnobody’swhattheyseem.

Thepressure’sonnow,BayviewPolice.Maybeyoushouldbelookinga

littlecloseratSimon’soldentries.Youmightfindsomeinterestinghintsabout

theBayviewFour.

Justsaying.

Thatlastpartmademybloodruncold.Simonhadneverwritten

about me before, but I don’t like the implication. Or the sick, heavy

feelingthatsomethingelseiscoming.Andsoon.

“Thenwhyareyoudoingthis?”Keelyhasherheadinherhands,

tears running down her face. She’s a pretty crier; nothing red or

splotchy about her. She peers at me with swimming dark eyes. “Did

Vanessasaysomething?”

“Did—what?Vanessa?Whatwouldshesay?”

“She’s being a bitch about me still talking to Addy and she was

goingtotellyousomethingyoushouldn’tevencareabout,becauseit

happenedbeforeweweredating.”Shelooksatmeexpectantly,andmy

blankexpressionseemstomakehermad.“Ormaybeyoushouldcare,

so you’d care about something related to me. You’re so holier-than-

thou about how Jake is acting,Cooper,butatleasthehasemotions.

He’snotarobot.It’snormaltobejealouswhenthegirlyoucareabout

iswithsomeoneelse.”

“Iknow.”

Keelywaitsabeatbeforegivingasarcasticlittlelaugh.“That’sit,

huh?You’renotevenalittlebitcurious.You’renotworriedaboutme,

orprotectiveofme.Youjustdon’tgiveashit.”

We’re at the point where nothing I say will be right. “I’m sorry,

Keely.”

“IhookedupwithNate,”shesaysabruptly,eyeslockedonmine.

AndIhavetoadmit,thatsurprisesme.“AtLuis’spartythelastnightof

junioryear.SimonwasfollowingmearoundallnightandIwassickof

it.NateshowedupandIfigured,whatthehell.He’shot,right?Evenif

heisatotaldegenerate.”Shesmirksatme,atraceofbitternessinher

face.“Wejustkissed,mostly.Thatnight.Thenyouaskedmeoutafew

weeks later.” She gives me that intense look again, and I’m not sure

whatshe’stryingtogetacross.

“SoyouwerewithmeandNateatthesametime?”

“Wouldthatbotheryou?”

She wants something from me out of this conversation. I wish I

couldfigureit outandlet herhaveit, becauseIknow Ihaven’tbeen

fairtoher.Herdarkeyesarefastenedonmine,hercheeksflushed,her

lipsslightlyparted.Shereallyisbeautiful,andifItoldherI’dmadea

mistake,she’dtakemebackandI’dkeepbeingthemostenviedguyat

Bayview. “I guess I wouldn’t like it—” I start, but she interrupts me

withahalflaugh,halfsob.

“OhmyGod,Cooper.Yourface.Youseriouslycouldnotcareless.

Well,fortherecord,IstoppeddoinganythingwithNateassoonasyou

asked me out.” She’s crying again, and I feel like the world’s biggest

jerk.“Youknow,Simonwould’vegivenanythingifI’dchosenhim.You

didn’tevenknowitwasachoice.Peoplealwayspickyou,don’tthey?

Theyalwayspicked me, too.Untilyou came alongandmademefeel

invisible.”

“Keely,Inevermeant—”

She’snotlisteningtomeanymore.“You’venevercared,haveyou?

Youjustwantedtherightaccessoryforscoutingseason.”

“That’snotfair—”

“It’sallabiglie,isn’tit,Cooper?Me,yourfastball—”

“I’veneverusedsteroids,”Iinterrupt,suddenlyangry.

Keely gives another strangled laugh. “Well, at least you’re

passionateaboutsomething.”

“I’mgonnago.”Istandabruptly,adrenalinecoursingthroughme

asIstalkoutherdoorbeforeIsaysomethingIshouldn’t.Igottested

after Simon’s accusations came to light, and I was clean. And I was

testedonceoverthesummeraspartofanextensivephysicaltheUCSD

sports medicine center did before putting together my training

regimen.Butthat’sit,andsinceplentyofsteroidsdisappearfromyour

systemwithinweeks,Ican’tescapethetaintentirely.I’vetoldCoach

Ruffalothere’snotruthtotheaccusations,andsofarhe’ssittingtight

oncontactinganycolleges.We’repartofthenewscyclenow,though,

sothingswon’tstayquietforlong.

And Keely’s right—I’ve been a lot more worried about that than

aboutourrelationship.IoweherabetterapologythantheoneIjust

half-assed.ButIdon’tknowhowtogiveit.

Addy

Monday,October15,12:15p.m.

Sexismisaliveandwellintrue-crimecoverage,becauseBronwynandI

aren’t nearly as popular with the general public as Cooper and Nate.

EspeciallyNate.Allthetweengirls posting about us on social media

love him. They couldn’t care less that he’s a convicted drug dealer,

becausehe’sgotdreamyeyes.

Samegoesforschool.BronwynandIarepariahs—otherthanher

friends, her sister, and Janae, hardly anyone talks to us. They just

whisperbehindourbacks.ButCooper’sasgoldenasever.AndNate—

well,it’snotlikeNatewaseverpopular,exactly.He’sneverseemedto

carewhatpeoplethink,though,andhestilldoesn’t.

“Seriously,Addy,stoppullingthatstuffup.Idon’twanttoseeit.”

Bronwyn rolls her eyes at me,butshedoesn’treallylookmad.I

guess we’re almost friends now, or as friendly as you can get when

you’renotonehundredpercentsuretheotherpersonisn’tframingyou

formurder.

She won’t play along with my obsessive need to track our news

stories, though. And I don’t show her everything, especially not the

horriblecommenterstossingracialslursatherfamily.That’sanextra

layerofsuckshedoesn’tneed.Instead,IshowJanaeoneofthemore

positive articles I’ve found. “Look. The most-shared article on

BuzzFeedisCooperleavingthegym.”

Janaelooksawful.She’slostmoreweightsinceIfirstranintoher

in the bathroom, and she’s jumpier than ever. I’m not sure why she

eatslunchwithus,sincemostofthetimeshedoesn’tsayaword.But

sheglancesgamelyatmyphone.“It’sagoodpictureofhim,Iguess.”

Kate shoots me a severe look. “Would you put that away?” I do,

butinmyheadI’mgivingherthefingerthewholetime.Yumiko’sall

right,butKatealmostmakesmemissVanessa.

No.That’sacompleteandutterlie.IhateVanessa.Hatehowshe’s

mean-girledherwayintothecenterofmyformergroupandhowshe’s

glommed on to Jake like they’re a couple. Even though I don’t see

muchinterestonhispart.Choppingmyhairoffwaslikegivingupon

Jake,sincehewouldn’thavenoticedmethreeyearsagowithoutit.But

just because I’ve abandoned hope doesn’t mean I’ve stopped paying

attention.

After lunch I head for earth science, settling myself on a bench

nexttoalabpartnerwhobarelyglancesinmydirection.“Don’tgettoo

comfortable,”Ms.Marawarns.“We’remixingthingsuptoday.You’ve

all been with your partners for a while, so let’s rotate.” She gives us

complicated directions—some people move left, others right, and the

restofusstaystill—andIdon’tpaymuchattentiontotheprocessuntil

IwindupnexttoTJ.

Hisnoselooksalotbetter,butIdoubtit’lleverbestraightagain.

Hegivesmeasheepishhalfsmileashepullsthetrayofrocksinfront

ofuscloser.“Sorry.Thisisprobablyyourworstnightmare,right?”

Don’t flatter yourself, TJ, I think. He’s got nothing on my

nightmares.Allthosemonthsofangstyguiltaboutsleepingwithhim

in hisbeachhouseseemliketheyhappened in another lifetime. “It’s

fine.”

WeclassifyrocksinsilenceuntilTJsays,“Ilikeyourhair.”

Isnort.“Yeah,right.”WiththepossibleexceptionofAshton,who’s

biased, nobody likes my hair. My mother is appalled. My former

friends laughed openly when they saw me the next day. Even Keely

smirked. She’s moved right on to Luis, like if she can’t have Cooper,

she’ll settle for his catcher instead. Luis dumped Olivia for her, but

nobodyblinkedaneyeaboutthat.

“I’mserious. Youcanfinallyseeyourface.Youlooklikeablond

EmmaWatson.”

That’sfalse.Butniceofhimtosay,Iguess.Iholdarockbetween

mythumbandforefingerandsquintatit.“Whatdoyouthink?Igneous

orsedimentary?”

TJshrugs.“Ican’ttellthedifference.”

Itakeaguessandsorttherockintotheigneouspile.“TJ,ifIcan

managetocareaboutrocks,I’mprettysureyoucanputinmoreofan

effort.”

Heblinksatmeinsurprise,thengrins.“Thereyouare.”

“What?”

Everyone seems absorbed in their rocks, but he lowers his voice

anyway.“Youwerereallyfunnywhenwe—um,thatfirsttimewehung

out. On the beach. But whenever I saw you after that you were so…

passive.AlwaysagreeingwithwhateverJakesaid.”

Igloweratthetrayinfrontofme.“That’sarudethingtosay.”

TJ’svoiceismild.“Sorry.ButIcouldneverfigureoutwhyyou’d

fadeintothebackgroundthatway.Youwerealotoffun.”Hecatches

myglareandaddshastily,“Not like that. Or, well, yes, like that, but

also…Youknowwhat?Nevermind.I’llstoptalkingnow.”

“Great idea,” I mutter, scooping up a handful of rocks and

dumpingtheminfrontofhim.“Sortthese,wouldyou?”

It’s not that TJ’s “fade into the background” comment stings. I

knowit’strue.Ican’twrapmyheadaroundtherest,though.Nobody’s

eversaidI’mfunnybefore.Orfun.IalwaysfiguredTJwasstilltalking

to me because he wouldn’t mind getting me alone again. I never

thought he might’ve actually enjoyed hanging out during the

nonphysicalpartoftheday.

Wefinishtherestoftheclassinsilenceexcepttoagreeordisagree

onrockclassification,andwhenthebellringsIgrabmybackpackand

headforthehallwithoutabackwardlook.

Until the voice behind me stops me like I’ve slammed into an

invisiblewall.“Addy.”

MyshoulderstenseasIturn.Ihaven’ttriedtalkingtoJakesince

heblewmeoffathislocker,andI’mafraidofwhathe’sgoingtosayto

menow.

“How’veyoubeen?”heasks.

Ialmostlaugh.“Oh,youknow.Notgood.”

Ican’treadJake’sexpression.Hedoesn’tlookmad,buthe’snot

smilingeither.Heseemsdifferentsomehow.Older?Notexactly,but…

lessboyish,maybe.He’sbeenstaringrightthroughmeforalmosttwo

weeks,andIdon’tunderstandwhyI’msuddenlyvisibleagain.“Things

must be getting intense,” he says. “Cooper’s totally clammed up. Do

you—” He hesitates, shifting his backpack from one shoulder to the

other.“Doyouwanttotalksometime?”

MythroatfeelslikeIswallowedsomethingsharp.DoI?Jakewaits

forananswer,andImentallyshakemyself.OfcourseIdo.That’sall

I’vewantedsincethishappened.“Yes.”

“Okay.Maybethisafternoon?I’lltextyou.”Heholdsmygaze,still

not smiling, and adds, “God, I can’t get used to your hair. You don’t

evenlooklikeyourself.”

I’mabouttosayIknowwhenIrememberTJ’swords.Youwere

so…passive.AlwaysagreeingwithwhateverJakesaid.“Well,Iam,”I

sayinstead,andtakeoffdownthehallbeforehecanbreakeyecontact

first.

Nate

Monday,October15,3:15p.m.

Bronwyn settles herself on the rock next to me, smoothing her skirt

overherkneesandlookingoverthetreetopsinfrontofus.“I’venever

beentoMarshall’sPeakbefore,”shesays.

I’mnotsurprised.Marshall’sPeak—whichisn’treallyapeak,more

ofarocky outcroppingoverlookingthewoodswecutthroughonour

way out of school—is Bayview’s so-called scenic area. It’s also a

popularspotfordrinking,drugs,andhookups,although not atthree

o’clockonaMonday afternoon. I’mprettysure Bronwyn hasnoclue

whathappenshereonweekends.“Hoperealitylivesuptothehype,”I

say.

Shesmiles.“ItbeatsgettingambushedbyMikhailPowers’screw.”

We had another sneak-out-the-back routine when they showed up at

the front of school today. I’m surprised they haven’t wised up to

stakingoutthewoodsyet.Drivingtothemallagainseemedlikeabad

ideagivenhowhighourprofile’srisenoverthepastweek,soherewe

are.

Bronwyn’s eyes are down, watching a line of ants carry a leaf

acrosstherocknexttous.Shelicksherlipslikeshe’snervous,andI

shiftalittlecloser.Mostofmytimewithherisspentonthephone,and

Ican’ttellwhatshe’sthinkinginperson.

“IcalledEliKleinfelter,”shesays.“FromUntilProven.”

Oh.That’swhatshe’sthinking.Ishiftback.“Okay.”

“Itwasaninterestingconversation,”shesays.“Hewasniceabout

hearing from me, didn’t seem surprised at all. He promised he

wouldn’ttellanybodyI’dcalledhim.”

For all her brains, Bronwyn can be like a little kid sometimes.

“What’s that worth?” I ask. “He’s not your lawyer. He can talk to

MikhailPowersaboutyouifhewantsmoreairtime.”

“Hewon’t,”Bronwynsayscalmly,likeshe’sgotitallfiguredout.

“Anyway,Ididn’t tellhimanything.Wedidn’t talkaboutmeatall. I

justaskedhimwhathethoughtoftheinvestigationsofar.”

“And?”

“Well, he repeated some of what he said on TV. That he was

surprised there wasn’t more talk about Simon. Eli thought anyone

who’drunthekindofappSimondid,foraslongashedid,would’ve

madeplentyofenemieswho’dlovetousethefourofusasscapegoats.

He said he’d check into some of the most damaging stories and the

kids they covered. And he’d look into Simon generally. Like Maeve’s

doingwiththe4chanstuff.”

“Thebestdefenseisagoodoffense?”Iask.

“Right.Healsosaidourlawyersaren’tdoingenoughtopickapart

the theory that nobody else could’ve poisoned Simon. Mr. Avery, for

one.” A note of pride creeps into her voice. “Eli said the exact same

thingIdid,thatMr.Averyhadthebestopportunityofanyonetoplant

thephonesanddoctorthecups.Butotherthanquestioninghimafew

times,thepolicearemostlyleavinghimalone.”

Ishrug.“What’shismotive?”

“Technophobia,” Bronwyn says, and glares at me when I laugh.

“It’sathing.Anyway,thatwasjustoneidea.Elialsomentionedthecar

accident as a time when everybody was distracted and someone

could’veslippedintotheroom.”

Ifrownather.“Weweren’tatthewindowthatlong.Wewould’ve

heardthedooropen.”

“Would we? Maybe not. His point is, it’s possible. And he said

somethingelseinteresting.”Bronwynpicksupasmallrockandjuggles

it meditatively in her hand. “He said he’d look into the car accident.

Thatthetimingwassuspect.”

“Meaning?”

“Well, it goes back to his earlier point that someone could’ve

openedthedoorwhilewewatchedthecars.Someonewhoknewitwas

goingtohappen.”

“Hethinksthecaraccidentwasplanned?”Istareather,andshe

avoidsmygazeasshe heavestherockoverthe treesbeneathus.“So

you’resuggestingsomebodyengineeredafenderbenderintheparking

lotsotheycoulddistractus,slipintodetention,anddumppeanutoil

into Simon’s cup? That they couldn’t possibly have known he had if

they weren’t already in the room? Then leave Simon’s cup lying

around,becausethey’restupid?”

“It’snotstupidifthey’retryingtoframeus,”Bronwynpointsout.

“Butitwouldbestupidforoneofustoleaveitthere,insteadoffinding

awaytogetridofit.Chancesweregoodnobodywouldhavesearched

usrightafter.”

“It still doesn’t explain how anybody outside the room would

knowSimonhadacupofwaterinthefirstplace.”

“Well, it’s like the Tumblr post said. Simon was always drinking

water, wasn’t he? They could have been outside the door, watching

throughthewindow.That’swhatElisays,anyway.”

“Oh,well,ifElisaysso.”I’mnotsurewhythisguy’salegalgodin

Bronwyn’seyes.Hecan’tbemorethantwenty-five.“Soundslikehe’s

fullofdipshittheories.”

I’mgettingreadyforanargument,butBronwyndoesn’ttakethe

bait.“Maybe,” shesays,tracingherfingersovertherockbetweenus.

“ButI’vebeenthinkingaboutthisalotlatelyand…Idon’tthinkitwas

anyoneinthatroom,Nate. Ireallydon’t.I’vegottentoknow Addya

littlebitthisweek”—sheraisesapalmatmyskepticallook—“andI’m

not saying I’m suddenly an Addy expert or anything, but I honestly

can’tpictureherdoinganythingtoSimon.”

“WhataboutCooper?Thatguy’sdefinitelyhidingsomething.”

“Cooper’s not a killer.” Bronwyn sounds positive, and for some

reasonthatpissesmeoff.

“You know this how? Because you guys are so close? Face it,

Bronwyn,noneofusreallyknoweachother.Hell,youcould’vedoneit.

You’resmartenoughtoplansomethingthismessedupandgetaway

withit.”

I’mkidding,butBronwyngoesrigid.“Howcanyousaythat?”Her

cheeksgetred,givingherthatflushedlookthatalwaysunsettlesme.

She’llsurpriseyouonedaywithhowprettysheis.Mymotherusedto

saythataboutBronwyn.

Mymotherwaswrong,though. There’snothingsurprisingabout

it.

“Elisaidithimself,right?”Isay.“Anything’spossible.Maybeyou

broughtmeheretoshovemedownthehillandbreakmyneck.”

“Youbroughtmehere,”Bronwynpointsout.Hereyeswiden,and

Ilaugh.

“Oh,comeon.Youdon’tactuallythink—Bronwyn,we’rebarelyon

an incline. Pushing you off this rock isn’t much of an evil plan if all

you’ddoistwistyourankle.”

“That’snotfunny,”Bronwynsays,butasmiletwitchesatherlips.

Theafternoonsun’smakingherglow,puttingglintsofgoldinherdark

hair,andforasecondIalmostcan’tbreathe.

Jesus.Thisgirl.

Istandandholdoutmyhand.Shegivesmeaskepticallook,but

takesitandletsmepullhertoherfeet.Iputmyotherhandintheair.

“BronwynRojas,Isolemnlyswearnottomurderyoutodayoratany

pointinthefuture.Deal?”

“You’reridiculous,”shemutters,goingevenredder.

“Itconcernsmeyou’reavoidingapromisenottomurderme.”

Sherollshereyes.“Doyousaythattoallthegirlsyoubringhere?”

Huh.MaybesheknowsMarshall’sPeak’sreputationafterall.

I move closer until there’s only a couple of inches between us.

“You’restillnotansweringmyquestion.”

Bronwyn leans forward and brings her lips to my ear. She’s so

closeIcanfeelherheartbeatingwhenshewhispers,“Ipromisenotto

murderyou.”

“That’s hot.” I mean it as a joke, but my voice comes out like a

growlandwhenherlipspartIkissherbeforeshecanlaugh.Ashockof

energy shoots through me as I cup her face in my hands, my fingers

graspinghercheeksandthelineofherjaw.Itmustbetheadrenaline

that’s making my heart pound so fast. The whole nobody-else-could-

possibly-understand-this bond. Or maybe it’s her soft lips and green

apple–scentedhair,andthewayshewindsherarmsaroundmyneck

likeshecan’tstandtoletgo.EitherwayIkeepkissingheraslongas

sheletsme,andwhenshestepsawayItrytopullherbackbecauseit

wasn’tenough.

“Nate, my phone,” she says, and for the first time I notice a

persistent,janglytexttone.“It’smysister.”

“Shecanwait,”Isay,tanglingahandinherhairandkissingalong

herjawlinetoherneck.Sheshiversagainstmeandmakesalittlenoise

inherthroat.WhichIlike.

“It’s just…” She runs her fingertips across the back of my neck.

“Shewouldn’tkeeptextingifitweren’timportant.”

Maeve’s our excuse—she and Bronwyn are supposed to be at

Yumiko’shousetogether—andIreluctantlystepbacksoBronwyncan

reach down and dig her phone out of her backpack. She looks at the

screenanddrawsinaquick,sharpbreath.“OhGod.Mymom’strying

toreachmetoo.Robinsaysthepolicewantmetocometothestation.

To,quote,‘followuponacoupleofthings.’Unquote.”

“Probablythesamebullshit.”Imanagetosoundcalmeventhough

it’snothowIfeel.

“Did they call you?” she asks. She looks like she hopes they did,

andhatesherselfforit.

I didn’t hear my phone, but pull it out of my pocket to check

anyway.“No.”

Shenodsandstartsfiringofftexts.“ShouldIhaveMaevepickme

uphere?”

“Havehermeetusatmyhouse.It’shalfwaybetweenhereandthe

station.” As soon as I say it I kind of regret it—I still don’t want

Bronwynanywherenearmyhousewhenit’slightout—butit’sthemost

convenientoption.Andwedon’thavetogoinside.

Bronwynbitesherlip.“Whatifreportersarethere?”

“They won’t be. They’ve figured out no one’s ever around.” She

stilllooksworried,soIadd,“Look,wecanparkatmyneighbor’sand

walkover.Ifanyone’sthere,I’lltakeyousomeplaceelse.Buttrustme,

it’llbefine.”

BronwyntextsMaevemyaddressandwewalktotheedgeofthe

woodswhereIleftmybike.Ihelpherwiththehelmetandsheclimbs

behindme,wrappingherarmsaroundmywaistasIstarttheengine.

Idriveslowlydownnarrow,twistyside roads until we reach my

street.Myneighbor’srustedChevroletsitsinherdriveway,intheexact

same spot it’s been for the past five years. I park next to it, wait for

Bronwyntodismount,andtakeherhandaswemakeourwaythrough

theneighbor’syardtomine.AswegetcloserIseeourhousethrough

Bronwyn’seyes,andwishI’dbotheredtomowthelawnatsomepoint

inthelastyear.

Suddenlyshestopsinhertracksandletsoutagasp,butshe’snot

lookingatourknee-lengthgrass.“Nate,there’ssomeoneatyourdoor.”

Istoptooandscanthestreetforanewsvan.Thereisn’tone,justa

beat-upKiaparkedinfrontofourhouse.Maybethey’regettingbetter

atcamouflage.“Stayhere,”ItellBronwyn,butshecomeswithmeasI

getclosertomydrivewayforabetterlookatwhoever’satthedoor.

It’snotareporter.

My throat goes dry and my head starts to throb. The woman

pressingthebellturnsaround,andhermouthfallsopenalittlewhen

she sees me. Bronwyn goes still beside me, her hand dropping from

mine.Ikeepwalkingwithouther.

I’msurprisedhownormalmyvoicesoundswhenIspeak.“What’s

up,Mom?”

Bronwyn

Monday,October15,4:10p.m.

Maeve pulls into the driveway seconds after Mrs. Macauley turns

around. I stand rigid, my hands clenched at my sides and my heart

pounding,staringatthewomanIthoughtwasdead.

“Bronwyn?”Maevelowersherwindowandsticksherheadoutof

thecar.“Youready?MomandRobinarealreadythere.Dad’stryingto

get off work, but he’s got a board meeting. I had to do some

maneuvering about why you weren’t answering your phone. You’re

sicktoyourstomach,okay?”

“That’s accurate,” I mutter. Nate’s back is to me. His mother is

talking, staring at him with ravenous eyes, but I can’t hear anything

she’ssaying.

“Huh?”Maevefollowsmygaze.“Who’sthat?”

“I’ll tell you in the car,” I say, tearing my eyes away from Nate.

“Let’sgo.”

I climb into the passenger seat of our Volvo, where the heat is

blastingbecauseMaeve’salwayscold.Shebacksoutofthedrivewayin

her careful, just-got-my-license way, talking the whole time. “Mom’s

doingthatwholeMomthing,whereshe’spretendingnottobefreaked

out but she totally is,” she says, and I’m half listening. “I guess the

policearen’tgivingmuchinformation.Wedon’tevenknowifanyone

elseisgoingtobethere.IsNatecoming,doyouknow?”

I snap back to attention. “No.” For once I’m glad Maeve likes to

maintainbroiler-oventemperatureswhiledriving,becauseit’skeeping

thecoldinchingupmyspineatbay.“He’snotcoming.”

Maeveapproachesastopsignandbrakesjerkily,glancingoverat

me.“What’sthematter?”

I close my eyes and lean against the headrest. “That was Nate’s

mother.”

“Whatwas?”

“The woman at the door just now. At Nate’s house. It was his

mother.”

“But…”Maevetrailsoff,andIcantellbythesoundoftheblinker

thatshe’sabouttomakeaturnandneedstoconcentrate.Whenthecar

straightensagainshesays,“Butshe’sdead.”

“Apparentlynot.”

“Idon’t—butthat’s—”Maevesputtersforafewseconds.Ikeepmy

eyesclosed.“So…what’sthedeal?Didhenotknowshewasalive?Or

didhelieaboutit?”

“Wedidn’texactlyhavetimetodiscussit,”Isay.

But that’s the million-dollar question. I remember hearing three

yearsagothroughthegrapevinethatNate’smotherhaddiedinacar

accident.Welostmymom’sbrotherthe sameway,andIfeltalot of

empathy for Nate, but I’d never asked him about it back then. I did

overthepastfewweeks,though.Natedidn’tliketotalkaboutit.Allhe

said washehadn’theardanythingabouthis mother since she flaked

ontakinghimtoOregon,untilhegotnewsthatshe’ddied.Henever

mentionedafuneral.Ormuchofanything,really.

“Well.” Maeve’s voice is encouraging. “Maybe it’s some kind of

miracle. Like it was all a horrible misunderstanding and everybody

thoughtshewasdeadbutreallyshe…hadamnesia.Orwasinacoma.”

“Right,”Isnort.“AndmaybeNatehasaneviltwinwho’sbehindit

all. Because we’re living in a telenovela.” I think about Nate’s face

before he walked away from me. He didn’t seem shocked. Or happy.

Helooked…stoic.HeremindedmeofmyfathereverytimeMaevehad

arelapse.Asthoughanillnesshe’dbeendreadinghadcomeback,and

hewasjustgoingtohavetodealwithitnow.

“We’rehere,”Maevesays,pullingtoacarefulstop.Iopenmyeyes.

“You’reinthehandicappedspace,”Itellher.

“I’m not staying, just dropping you off. Good luck.” She reaches

overandsqueezesmyhand.“I’msureit’llbefine.Allofit.”

Iwalkslowlyinsideandgivemynametothewomanbehindthe

glasspartitioninthelobby,whodirectsmetoaconferenceroomdown

thehall.WhenIenter,mymother,Robin,andDetectiveMendozaare

allalreadyseatedatasmallroundtable.Myheartsinksattheabsence

of Addy or Cooper, and at the sight of a laptop in front of Detective

Mendoza.

Momgivesmeaworriedlook.“How’syourstomach,honey?”

“Notgreat,”Isaytruthfully,slippinginto a chair beside her and

droppingmybackpackonthefloor.

“Bronwynisn’twell,”RobinsayswithacoollooktowardDetective

Mendoza.She’sinasharpnavysuitandalong,multistrandnecklace.

“This should be a discussion between you and me, Rick. I can loop

Bronwynandherparentsinasneeded.”

Detective Mendoza presses a key on the laptop. “We won’t keep

youlong.Alwaysbetterto talk face toface,inmyopinion.Bronwyn,

are you aware Simon used to have a companion website for About

That,wherehe’dwritelongerposts?”

Robin interrupts before I can speak. “Rick, I’m not letting

Bronwynansweranyquestionsuntilyoutellmewhyshe’shere.Ifyou

havesomethingtoshowortellus,pleasegettothatfirst.”

“Ido,”DetectiveMendozasays,rotatingthelaptopsoitfacesme.

“Oneofyourclassmatesalertedustoapostthatraneighteenmonths

ago,Bronwyn.Doesthislookfamiliar?”

My mother moves her chair next to me as Robin leans over my

shoulder.Ifocusmyeyesonthescreen,butIalreadyknowwhatI’m

abouttoread.I’veworriedforweeksthatitmightcomeup.

SomaybeIshouldhavesaidsomething.Butit’stoolatenow.

Newsflash:LV’send-of-the-yearpartyisn’tacharityevent.Justsowe’reclear.

You’dbeexcusedforthinkingso,though,withfroshattendanceatanall-time

high.

Regularreaders(andifyou’renotone,whatthehelliswrongwithyou?)

knowItrytocutthekidssomeslack.Childrenareourfutureandallthat.Butlet

medoalittlePSAforonenew(andfleeting,I’mgonnaguess)arrivaltothe

socialscene:MR,whodoesn’tseemtorealizeSCisoutofherleague.

He’snotinthemarketforapuppy,kid.Stopwiththefollowing.It’spathetic.

And,guys,don’tgivemethatpoor-little-thing-had-cancercrap.Not

anymore.Mcanputonherbig-girlpantieslikeanyoneelseandlearnafew

basicrules:

1. VarsitybasketballplayerswithcheerleadergirlfriendsareOFFTHEMARKET.Ishouldn’t

havetoexplainthis,butapparentlyIdo.

2. Twobeersaretoomanywhenyou’realightweight,becauseitleadsto:

3. TheworstdisplayofawkwardkitchentabledancingI’veeverseen.Seriously,M.Never

again.

4. Ifthatonebeermakesyouthrowup,trynottodoitinyourhosts’washingmachine.

That’sjustrude.

Let’scardatthedoorfromnowon,okay,LV?Atfirstit’sfunny,butthenit’s

justsad.

I stay still in my chair and try to keep my face impassive. I

remember that post like it was yesterday: how Maeve, who’d been

giddyfromherfirstcrushandherfirstparty,eventhoughneitherhad

goneexactlyasplanned,foldedintoherselfaftershereadSimon’spost

andrefusedtogooutagain.IrememberalltheimpotentrageI’dfelt,

thatSimonwassocasuallycruel,justbecausehecouldbe.Becausehe

hadawillingaudiencethatateitup.

AndIhatedhimforit.

Ican’tlookatmymother,whohasnoideaanyofthishappened,

soIfocusonRobin.Ifshe’ssurprisedorconcerned,shedoesn’tshow

it.“Allright.I’vereadit.Tellmewhatyouthinkthesignificanceofthis

is,Rick.”

“I’dliketohearthatfromBronwyn.”

“No.”Robin’svoicecrackslikeavelvetwhip,softbutunyielding.

“Explainwhywe’rehere.”

“ThispostappearstobewrittenaboutBronwyn’ssister,Maeve.”

“Whatmakesyouthinkthat?”Robinasks.

Mymotherchokesoutafurious,disbelievinglaugh,andIfinally

sneakalookather.Herfaceisbrightred,hereyesburning.Hervoice

shakeswhenshespeaks.“Isthisforreal?Youbringusheretoshowus

thishorriblepostwrittenbya—Ihavetosay,aboywhoquiteclearly

had issues—and for what? What are you hoping to accomplish,

exactly?”

DetectiveMendozatiltshisheadinherdirection.“I’msurethisis

difficult to read, Mrs. Rojas. But between the initials and the cancer

diagnosis, it’s obvious Simon was writing about your younger

daughter. There’s no other current or past student at Bayview High

who fits that profile.” He turns toward me. “This must have been

humiliating for your sister, Bronwyn. And from what other kids at

school have told us recently, she’s never really participated in social

activitiessincethen.DidthatmakeyouresentSimon?”

Mymotheropenshermouthtospeak,butRobinputsahandon

herarmandcutsheroff.“Bronwynhasnocomment.”

Detective Mendoza’s eyes gleam, and he looks as though he can

barelyrestrainhimselffromgrinning.“Oh, but she does. Or she did,

anyway.Simonunpublishedtheblogmorethanayearago,butallthe

postsandcommentsarestillrecordedonthebackend.”Hepullsthe

laptopbackandpressesafewkeys,thenspinsittowarduswithanew

window open. “You have to give your email address to leave a

comment.Thisisyours,right,Bronwyn?”

“Anybody can leave another person’s email address,” Robin says

quickly. Then she leans over my shoulder again, and reads what I

wroteattheendofsophomoreyear.

Fuckoffanddie,Simon.

Addy

Monday,October15,4:15p.m.

TheroadfrommyhousetoJake’sisaprettysmoothrideuntilIturn

ontoClarendonStreet.It’samajorintersection,andIhavetogettothe

farleftwithoutthehelpofabikelane.WhenIfirststartedridingagain

Iusedtoheadforthesidewalkandcrosswiththelight,butnowIwhiz

acrossthreelanesoftrafficlikeapro.

I cruise into Jake’s driveway and push the kickstand down as I

dismount,pullingoffmyhelmetandloopingitacrossmyhandlebars.I

run a hand through my hair as I approach the house, but it’s a

pointlessgesture.I’vegottenusedtothecutandsometimesIevenlike

it,butshortofgrowingitafootandahalfovernight,there’snothingI

candotoimproveitinJake’seyes.

I ring the doorbell and step back, uncertainty humming through

myveins.Idon’tknowwhyI’mhereorwhatI’mhopingfor.

ThedoorclicksandJakepullsitopen.Helooksthesameasever—

tousle-hairedandblue-eyed,inaperfectlyfittedT-shirtthatshowsoff

hisfootballseasonworkoutstogreateffect.“Hey.Comein.”

I instinctively turn toward the basement, but that’s not where

we’re headed. Instead, Jake leads me into the formal living room,

where I’ve spent less than an hour total since I started dating Jake

morethanthreeyearsago.Ilowermyselfontohisparents’leathersofa

and my still-sweaty legs stick to it almost immediately. Who decided

leatherfurniturewasagoodidea?

Whenhesitsdownacrossfromme,hismouthsetsinsuchahard

linethatIcantellthiswon’tbeareconciliationconversation.Iwaitfor

crushingdisappointmenttohit,butitdoesn’t.

“Soyourideabikenow?”heasks.

Of all the conversations we could have, I’m not sure why he’s

startingwiththisone.“Idon’thaveacar,”Iremindhim.Andyouused

todrivemeeverywhere.

He leans forward with his elbows on his knees—such a familiar

gesturethatIalmostexpecthimtostartchattingaboutfootballseason

like he would have a month ago. “How’s the investigation going?

Coopernevertalksaboutitanymore.Youguysstillallunderthegun,

orwhat?”

I don’t want to talk about the investigation. The police have

questioned me a couple of times over the past week, always finding

new ways to ask me about the missing EpiPens in the nurse’s office.

Mylawyertellsmetherepetitivequestioningmeanstheinvestigation’s

going nowhere, not that I’m their main suspect. It’s none of Jake’s

business,though,soItellhimastupid,made-upstoryabouthowthe

fourofussawDetectiveWheelereatinganentireplatefulofdoughnuts

inaninterrogationroom.

Jake rolls his eyes when I’m done. “So basically, they’re getting

nowhere.”

“Bronwyn’s sister thinks people should be looking at Simon

more,”Isay.

“WhySimon?He’sdead,forcryingoutloud.”

“Because it might turn up suspects the police haven’t thought of

yet. Other people who had a reason for wanting Simon out of the

picture.”

Jakeblowsoutanannoyedsighandflingsanarmacrosstheback

ofhischair.“Blame the victim,youmean?Whathappenedto Simon

wasn’t his fault. If people didn’t pull such sneaky, bullshit moves,

About That wouldn’t even have existed.” He narrows his eyes at me.

“Youknowthatbetterthananyone.”

“Still doesn’t make him a great guy,” I counter, with a

stubbornness that surprises me. “About That hurt a lot of people. I

don’t understand why he kept it up for so long. Did he like people

being afraid of him? I mean, you were friends with him growing up,

right?Washealwaysthatway?Isthatwhyyoustoppedhangingout?”

“AreyoudoingBronwyn’sinvestigativeworkforhernow?”

Ishesneeringatme?“I’mascuriousassheis.Simon’skindofa

centralfigureinmylifenow.”

Hesnorts.“Ididn’tinviteyouheretoarguewithme.”

I stare at him, searching for something familiar in his face. “I’m

notarguing.We’rehavingaconversation.”ButevenasIsayit,Itryto

rememberthelasttimeItalkedtoJakeanddidn’tagreeonehundred

percentwithwhateverhesaid.Ican’tcomeupwithathing.Ireachup

andplaywiththebackofmyearring,pullingituntilitalmostcomes

offandthenslidingitonagain.It’sanervoushabitI’vedevelopednow

that I don’t have hair to wind around my fingers. “So why did you

invitemehere?”

Hislipcurlsashiseyesflickawayfromme.“Leftoverconcern,I

guess. Plus, I deserve to know what’s happening. I keep getting calls

fromreportersandI’msickofit.”

Hesoundslikehe’swaitingforanapology.ButI’vealreadygiven

enough of those. “So am I.” He doesn’t say anything, and as silence

falls I’m acutely aware of how loud the clock over his fireplace is. I

count sixty-three ticks before I ask, “Will you ever be able to forgive

me?”

I’m not even sure what kind of forgiveness I want anymore. It’s

hardtoimaginegoingbacktobeingJake’sgirlfriend.Butitwouldbe

niceifhestoppedhatingme.

His nostrils flare and his mouth pulls into a bitter twist. “How

couldI?Youcheatedonmeandliedaboutit,Addy.You’renotwhoI

thoughtyouwere.”

I’m startingtothinkthat’sagoodthing.“I’mnotgoingtomake

excuses,Jake.Iscrewedup,butnotbecauseIdidn’tcareaboutyou.I

guessIneverthoughtIwasworthyofyou.ThenIprovedit.”

Hiscoldgazedoesn’twaver.“Don’tplaythepoor-mecard,Addy.

Youknewwhatyouweredoing.”

“Okay.” All of a sudden I feel like I did when Detective Wheeler

firstinterrogatedme:Idon’thavetotalktoyou.Jakemightbegetting

satisfactionfrompickingatthescabofourrelationship,butI’mnot.I

standup,myskinmakingafaintpeelingsoundasitunsticksfromthe

sofa. I’m sure I’ve left two thigh-shaped imprints behind. Gross, but

whocaresanymore.“IguessI’llseeyouaround.”

Iletmyselfoutandclimbontomybike,puttingonmyhelmet.As

soonasit’sclippedtightIpushupthekickstandandI’mpedalinghard

down Jake’s driveway. Once my heart finds a comfortable pounding

rhythm, I remember how it almost beat out of my chest when I

confessed to cheating on Jake. I’d never felt so trapped in my life. I

thoughtI’dfeelthesamewayinhislivingroomtoday,waitingforhim

totellmeagainI’mnotgoodenough.

But I didn’t, and I don’t. For the first time in a long time, I feel

free.

Cooper

Monday,October15,4:20p.m.

My life isn’t mine anymore. It’s been taken over by a media circus.

There aren’t reporters in front of my house every day, but it’s a

common-enough occurrence that my stomach hurts whenever I get

closetohome.

ItrynottogoonlinemorethanIhaveto.Iusedtodreamabout

my name being a trending search on Google, but for pitching a no-

hitter in the World Series. Not for possibly killing a guy with peanut

oil.

Everyone says, Just keep your head down. I’ve been trying, but

onceyou’reunderamicroscopenothingslipsbypeople.LastFridayat

schoolIgotoutofmycarthesametimeAddygotoutofhersister’s,

thebreezerufflinghershorthair.Wewerebothwearingsunglasses,a

pointlessattemptatblendingin,andgaveeachotherourusualtight-

lipped, still-can’t-believe-this-is-happening smile. We hadn’t gone

morethanafewstepsbeforewesawNatestrideovertoBronwyn’scar

andopenthedoor,beingallexaggeratedlypoliteaboutit.Hesmirked

as she got out, and she gave him a look that made Addy and me

exchangeglancesbehindourshades.Thefourofusendedupalmostin

aline,walkingtowardthebackentrance.

Thewholethingbarelytookaminute—justenoughtimeforoneof

our classmates to record a phone video that wound up on TMZ that

night.Theyranitinslo-mowiththesong“Kids”byMGMTplayingin

thebackground,likewe’resomekindofhiphighschoolmurderclub

withoutacareintheworld.Thethingwentviralwithinaday.

Thatmightbetheweirdestthingabout all this. Plenty of people

hateusandwantusinjail,buttherearejustasmany—ifnotmore—

wholoveus.AllofasuddenIhaveaFacebookfanpagewithoverfifty

thousandlikes.Mostlygirls,accordingtomybrother.

Theattentionslowssometimes,butitneverreallystops.Ithought

I’davoidedittonightwhenIleftmyhousetomeetLuisatthegym,but

as soon as I arrive a pretty, dark-haired woman with a face full of

makeuphurriestowardme.MyheartsinksbecauseI’mfamiliarwith

hertype.I’vebeenfollowedagain.

“Cooper, do you have a few minutes? Liz Rosen with Channel

Seven News. I’d love your perspective on all this. A lot of people are

rootingforyou!”

Idon’tanswer,brushingpastherthroughthegym’sentrance.She

clicksaftermeinherhighheels,acameramantrailinginherwake,but

the guy at the front desk stops them both. I’ve been going there for

yearsandthey’vebeen prettycoolthroughall this. Idisappeardown

thehallwhileheargueswithherthatno,shecan’tbuyamembership

onthespot.

Luis and I bench-press for a while, but I’m preoccupied with

what’swaitingoutsideformewhenwe’redone.Wedon’ttalkaboutit,

but in the locker room afterward he says, “Give me your shirt and

keys.”

“What?”

“I’ll be you, head out of here in your cap and sunglasses. They

won’tknowthedifference.Takemycarandgetthehelloutofhere.Go

home,goout,whatever.Wecanswapcarsagainatschooltomorrow.”

I’mabouttotellhimthat’llneverwork.Hishair’salotdarkerthan

mine,andhe’satleastashadetanner.Thenagain,withalong-sleeved

shirtandacapon,itmightnotmatter.Worthashot,anyway.

SoIhoverinthehallwayasLuisstridesoutthefrontdoorinmy

clothestothebrightlightsofcameras.Mybaseballcapsitslowonhis

foreheadandhishandshieldshisfaceasheclimbsintomyJeep.He

peelsoutoftheparkinglotandacoupleofvansfollow.

I put on Luis’s hat and sunglasses, then get into his Honda and

flingmygymbagacrosstheseat.Ittakesafewtriestostarttheengine,

butonceitroarsIpulloutoftheparkinglotandtakebackroadsuntil

I’monthehighwaytowardSanDiego.WhenI’mdowntownIcirclefor

halfanhour,stillparanoidsomeone’sfollowingme.EventuallyImake

my way to the North Park neighborhood, pulling in front of an old

factorythatwasrenovatedintocondoslastyear.

Theneighborhood’strendy,withlotsof well-dressed kids a little

older than me filling the sidewalk. A pretty girl in a flowered dress

almost doubles over laughing at something the guy next to her says.

SheclutcheshisarmastheypassLuis’scarwithoutlookingmyway,

andIfeelabone-deepsenseofloss.Iwaslikethemafewweeksago,

andnowI’m…not.

Ishouldn’tbehere.Whatifsomeonerecognizesme?

Ipullakeyoutofmygymbagandwaitforabreakinthesidewalk

crowds.I’moutofLuis’scarandinthefrontdoorsofast,Idon’tthink

anyonecould’veseenme.Iduckintotheelevatorandtakeittothetop

floor,lettingoutasighofreliefwhenitdoesn’tstoponce.Thehallway

echoeswithemptysilence;allthehipsterswholiveheremustbeout

fortheafternoon.

Exceptone,Ihope.

When I knock, I only half expect an answer. I never called or

texted to say I was coming. But the door cracks open, and a pair of

startledgreeneyesmeetmine.

“Hey.”Krisstepsasidetoletmein.“Whatareyoudoinghere?”

“Hadtogetoutofmyhouse.”Iclosethedoorbehindmeandtake

offmyhatandsunglasses,tossingthemonanentrytable.Ifeelsilly,

likeakidwho’sbeencaughtplayingspy.Exceptpeoplearefollowing

me.Justnotrightthissecond.“Plus,Iguessweshouldtalkaboutthe

wholeSimonthing,huh?”

“Later.” Kris hesitates a fraction of a second, then leans forward

and pulls me roughly toward him, pressing his lips against mine. I

closemyeyesandtheworldaroundmefades,likeitalwaysdoes,when

Islidemyhandsintohishairandkisshimback.

Nate

Monday,October15,4:30p.m.

My mother’s upstairs, trying to have a conversation with my father.

Goodluckwiththat.I’monourcouchwithmyburnerphoneinhand,

wonderingwhatIcantexttoBronwyntokeepherfromhatingme.Not

sureSorryIliedaboutmymombeingdeadisgoingtocutit.

It’snotlikeIwantedherdead.ButIthoughtsheprobablywas,or

would be soon. And it was easier than saying, or thinking, the truth.

She’s a coke addict who ran off to some commune in Oregon and

hasn’t talked to me since. So when people started asking where my

motherwas,Ilied.Bythetimeithitmehowfuckeduparesponsethat

was,itwastoolatetotakeitback.

Nobody’s ever really cared, anyway. Most of the people I know

don’t pay attention to what I say or do, as long as I keep the drugs

coming.ExceptOfficerLopez,andnowBronwyn.

Ithoughtabouttellingher,afewtimeslateatnightwhilewewere

talking. But I could never figure out how to start the conversation. I

stillcan’t.

Iputmyphoneaway.

The stairs creak as my mother comes down, brushing her hands

onthefrontofherpants.“Yourfather’snotinanyshapetotalkright

now.”

“Shocking,”Imutter.

Shelooksbotholderandyoungerthansheusedto.Herhair’salot

grayer and shorter, but her face isn’t so ragged and drawn. She’s

heavier,whichIguessisgood.Meansshe’seating,anyway.Shecrosses

overtoStan’sterrariumandgivesmeasmall,nervoussmile.“Niceto

seeStan’sstillaround.”

“Notmuchhaschangedsincewelastsawyou,”Isay,puttingmy

feetonthecoffeetableinfrontofme.“Sameboredlizard,samedrunk

dad, same falling-apart house. Except now I’m being investigated for

murder.Maybeyouheardaboutthat?”

“Nathaniel.”Mymothersitsinthearmchairandclaspsherhands

infrontofher.Hernailsareasbittenoffasever.“I—Idon’tevenknow

wheretostart.I’vebeensoberforalmostthreemonthsandI’vewanted

tocontactyoueverysinglesecond.ButIwassoafraidIwasn’tstrong

enoughyetandI’dletyoudownagain.ThenIsawthenews.I’vebeen

comingbythelastfewdays,butyou’reneverhome.”

Igestureatthecrackedwallsandsaggingceiling.“Wouldyoube?”

Her face crumples. “I’m sorry, Nathaniel. I hoped…I hoped your

fatherwouldstepup.”

You hoped. Solid parenting plan. “At least he’s here.” It’s a low

blow,andnotaringingendorsementsincetheguybarelymoves,butI

feelentitledtoit.

My mother nods her head jerkily while cracking her knuckles.

God, I forgot she did that. It’s fucking annoying. “I know. I have no

righttocriticize.Idon’texpectyoutoforgiveme.Orbelieveyou’llget

anythingbetter thanwhat you’reused tofrom me.But I’mfinally on

meds that work and don’t make me sick with anxiety. It’s the only

reasonIcouldfinishrehabthistime.Ihaveawholeteamofdoctorsin

Oregonwho’vebeenhelpingmestaysober.”

“Mustbenice.Tohaveateam.”

“It’smorethanIdeserve,Iknow.”Herdowncasteyesandhumble

tonearepissingmeoff.ButI’mprettysureanythingshedidwouldpiss

meoffrightnow.

Igettomyfeet.“Thishasbeengreat,butIneedtobesomewhere.

You can let yourself out, right? Unless you want to hang with Dad.

Sometimeshewakesuparoundten.”

Ohcrap.Nowshe’scrying.“I’msorry,Nathaniel.Youdeserveso

much better than the two of us. My God, just look at you—I can’t

believe how handsome you’ve gotten. And you’re smarter than both

your parents put together. You always were. You should be living in

oneofthosebighousesinBayviewHills,nottakingcareofthisdump

onyourown.”

“Whatever, Mom. It’s all good. Nice to see you. Send me a

postcardfromOregonsometime.”

“Nathaniel, please.” She stands and tugs at my arm. Her hands

look twenty years older than the rest of her—soft and wrinkled,

coveredwith brownspots andscars.“Iwanttodosomethingtohelp

you.Anything.I’mstayingintheMotelSixonBayRoad.CouldItake

yououttodinnertomorrow?Onceyou’vehadsometimetoprocessall

this?”

Processthis.Christ.Whatkindofrehab-speakisshespewing?“I

don’tknow.Leaveanumber,I’llcallyou.Maybe.”

“Okay.”She’snoddinglikeapuppetagainandI’mgoingtoloseit

ifIdon’tgetawayfromhersoon.“Nathaniel,wasthatBronwynRojasI

sawearlier?”

“Yeah,”Isay,andshesmiles.“Why?”

“It’sjust…well,ifthat’swhoyou’rewith,wecan’thavemessedyou

uptoobadly.”

“I’mnotwith Bronwyn. We’remurdercosuspects,remember?”I

say,andletthedoorslambehindme.Whichisself-defeating,because

whenitcomesoffitshinges,again,I’mtheonewho’llhavetofixit.

OnceI’moutside,Idon’tknowwheretogo.Igetonmybikeand

headfordowntownSanDiego,thenchangemymindandgetonI-15

North.Andjustkeepriding,stoppingafteranhourtofillupmytank.I

pull out my burner phone while I’m doing it and check messages.

Nothing. I should call Bronwyn, see how things went at the police

station. She’s gotta be fine, though. She has that expensive lawyer,

along with parents who are like guard dogs between her and people

tryingtomesswithher.Andanyway,whatthehellwouldIsay?

Iputmyphoneaway.

IrideforalmostthreehoursuntilIhitwidedesertroads dotted

withscrubbybushes.Eventhoughit’sgettinglate,it’shotterherenear

theMojaveDesert,andIstoptotakeoffmyjacketasIcruisecloserto

JoshuaTree.TheonlyvacationIeverwentonwithmyparentswasa

campingtripherewhen I wasnineyearsold.I spent thewholetime

waiting for something bad to happen: for our ancient car to break

down,formymothertostartscreamingorcrying,formydadtogostill

andsilentlikehealways did when wegottobe too much forhimto

take.

Itwasalmostnormal,though.Theywereastensewitheachother

asever,butkeptthearguingtoaminimum.Mymotherwasongood

behavior,maybebecauseshehadathingforthoseshort,twistedtrees

thatwereeverywhere.“Thefirstseven yearsoftheJoshuatree’s life,

it’s just a vertical stem. No branches,” she told me while we were

hiking. “It takes years before it blooms. And every branching stem

stopsgrowingafter itblossoms,soyou’vegotthiscomplexsystemof

deadareasandnewgrowth.”

I used to think about that, sometimes, when I wondered what

partsofhermightstillbealive.

—

It’spastmidnightbythe timeIgetbacktoBayview.I thoughtabout

gettingonI-15andridingthroughthenight,asfarasIcouldgountilI

dropped from exhaustion. Let my parents have whatever fucked-up

reunionthey’reabouttogetintoontheirown.LettheBayviewPolice

comefindmeiftheyeverwanttotalktomeagain.Butthat’swhatmy

motherwoulddo.SointheendIcameback,checkedmyphones,and

followedupontheonlytextIhad:apartyatChadPosner’shouse.

When I get there Posner’s nowhere to be found. I end up in his

kitchen,nursingabeerandlisteningtotwogirlsgoonandonabouta

TVshowI’veneverseen.It’sboringanddoesn’ttakemymindoffmy

mother’ssuddenreappearance,orBronwyn’spolicesummons.

Oneofthegirlsstartstogiggle.“Iknowyou,”shesays,pokingme

in the side. She giggles harder and flattens her palm against my

stomach.“YouwereonMikhailPowersInvestigates,weren’tyou?One

ofthekidswhomaybekilledthatguy?”She’shalf-drunkandstaggers

assheleanscloser.ShelookslikealotofthegirlsImeetatPosner’s

parties:prettyinaforgettableway.

“OhmyGod,Mallory,”herfriendsays.“That’ssorude.”

“Notme,”Isay.“Ijustlooklikehim.”

“Liar.” Mallory tries to poke me again, but I step out of reach.

“Well,Idon’tthinkyoudidit.NeitherdoesBrianna.Right,Bri?”Her

friendnods.“Wethinkitwasthegirlwiththeglasses.Shelookslikea

stuck-upbitch.”

My hand tightens around my beer bottle. “I told you, that’s not

me.Soyoucandropit.”

“Shhorry,”Malloryslurs,tiltingherheadandshakingbangsoutof

hereyes.“Don’tbesuchagrouch.IbetIcancheeryouup.”Sheslides

ahandintoherpocketandpullsoutacrumpledbaggiefilledwithtiny

squares.“Wannagoupstairswithusandtripforawhile?”

Ihesitate.I’ddoalmostanythingtogetoutofmyheadrightnow.

It’s the Macauley family way. And everybody already thinks I’m that

guy.

Almost everybody. “Can’t,” I say, pulling out my burner phone

andstartingtoshouldermywaythroughthecrowd.ItbuzzesbeforeI

get outside. When I look at the screen and see Bronwyn’s number—

eventhoughshe’stheonlyonewhoevercallsmeonthisphone—Ifeel

amassivesenseofrelief.LikeI’vebeenfreezingandsomeonewrapped

ablanketaroundme.

“Hey,”BronwynsayswhenIpickup.Hervoiceisfaraway,quiet.

“Canwetalk?”

Bronwyn

Tuesday,October16,12:30a.m.

I’m nervous about sneaking Nate into the house. My parents are

alreadyfuriouswithmefornottellingthemaboutSimon’sblogpost—

bothnowandbackwhenitactuallyhappened.Wegotoutofthepolice

stationwithoutmuchtrouble,though.Robingavethishaughtyspeech

thatwasall,Stopwastingourtimewithmeaninglessspeculationthat

youcan’tprove,andthatwouldn’tbeactionableevenifyoudid.

Iguessshewasright,becausehereIam.AlthoughI’mgrounded

until,asmymothersays,Istop“underminingmyfuturebynotbeing

transparent.”

“Youcouldn’thavehackedintoSimon’soldblogwhileyouwereat

it?”ImutteredtoMaevebeforeshewenttobed.

Shelookedgenuinelychagrined.“Hetookitdownsolongago!I

didn’tthinkitevenexistedanymore.AndIneverknewyouwrotethat

comment.Itwasn’tposted.”Sheshook herheadatmewith asortof

exasperatedfondness.“YouwerealwaysmoreupsetaboutthatthanI

was,Bronwyn.”

Maybe she’s right. It occurred to me, as I lay in my dark room

debating whether I should call Nate, that I’ve spent years thinking

Maevewasalotmorefragilethansheactuallyis.

Now I’m downstairs in our media room, and when I get a text

fromNatethathe’satthehouse,Iopenthebasementdoorandstick

myheadoutside.“Overhere,”Icallsoftly,andashadowyfigurecomes

around the corner next to our bulkhead. I retreat back into the

basement,leavingthedooropenforNatetofollowme.

Hecomesinwearingaleatherjacketoveratorn,rumpledT-shirt,

hishairfallingsweatyacrosshisforeheadfromthehelmet.Idon’tsay

anything until I’ve led him into the media room and closed the door

behindus.Myparentsarethreefloorsawayandasleep,buttheadded

bonusofasoundproofroomcan’tbeoverstatedatatimelikethis.

“So.”Isitinonecornerofthecouch,kneesbentandarmscrossed

overmylegslikeabarrier.Natetakesoffhisjacketandtossesitonthe

floor,loweringhimselfontheoppositeend.Whenhemeetsmyeyes,

hisarecloudedwithsomuchmiserythatIalmostforgettobeupset.

“How’ditgoatthepolicestation?”heasks.

“Fine.Butthat’snotwhatIwanttotalkabout.”

He drops his eyes. “I know.” Silence stretches between us and I

wanttofillitwithadozenquestions,butIdon’t.“YoumustthinkI’m

anasshole,”hesaysfinally,stillstaringatthefloor.“Andaliar.”

“Whydidn’tyoutellme?”

Nate exhales a slow breath and shakes his head. “I wanted to. I

thoughtaboutit.Ididn’tknowhowtostart.Thingis—itwasthislieI

toldbecauseitwaseasierthanthetruth.AndbecauseIhalfbelievedit,

anyway. I didn’t think she’d ever come back. Then once you say

something like that, how do you unsay it? You look like a fucking

psychoatthatpoint.”He raises his eyes again,lockingonminewith

suddenintensity.“I’mnot,though.Ihaven’tliedtoyouaboutanything

else. I’m not dealing drugs anymore, and I didn’t do anything to

Simon.Idon’tblameyouifyoudon’tbelieveme,butIsweartoGod

it’strue.”

AnotherlongsilencedescendswhileItrytogathermythoughts.I

should be angrier, probably. I should demand proof of his

trustworthiness,eventhoughIhavenoideawhatthatwouldlooklike.

Ishouldasklotsofpointedquestionsdesignedtoferretoutwhatever

otherlieshe’stoldme.

But the thing is, I do believe him. I won’t pretend I know Nate

inside and out after a few weeks, but I know what it’s like to tell

yourselfaliesooftenthatitbecomesthetruth.Ididit,andIhaven’t

hadtomuddlethroughlifealmostcompletelyonmyown.

AndI’veneverthoughthehaditinhimtokillSimon.

“Tellmeaboutyourmom.Forreal,okay?”Iask.Andhedoes.We

talk for over an hour, but after the first fifteen minutes or so, we’re

mainly covering old ground. I start feeling stiff from sitting so long,

andliftmyarmsovermyheadinastretch.

“Tired?”Nateasks,movingcloser.

Iwonderifhe’snoticedthatI’vebeenstaringathismouthforthe

pasttenminutes.“Notreally.”

Hereachesoutandpullsmylegsoverhislap,tracingacircleon

my left knee with his thumb. My legs tremble, and I press them

togethertomakeitstop.Hiseyesflicktowardmine,thendown.“My

motherthoughtyouweremygirlfriend.”

MaybeifIdosomethingwithmyhandsIcanmanagetoholdstill.

Ireachupandtanglemyfingersintothehaironthenapeofhisneck,

smoothingthesoftwavesagainsthiswarmskin.“Well.Imean.Isthat

outofthequestion?”

OhGod.Iactuallysaidit.Whatifitis?

Nate’shandmovesdownmyleg,almostabsently.Likehehasno

ideahe’sturningmy entirebodyintojelly.“Youwanta drug-dealing

murder suspect who lied about his not-dead mother as your

boyfriend?”

“Former drug dealer,” I correct. “And I’m not in a position to

judge.”

Helooksupwithahalfsmile,buthiseyesarewary.“Idon’tknow

howtobewithsomebodylikeyou,Bronwyn.”Hemustseemyfacefall,

becausehequicklyadds,“I’mnotsayingIdon’twantto.I’msayingI

thinkI’dscrewitup.I’veonlyeverbeen…youknow.Casualaboutthis

kindofthing.”

I don’t know. I pull my hands back and twist them in my lap,

watching my pulse jump under the thin skin of my wrist. “Are you

casualnow?Withsomebodyelse?”

“No,”Natesays.“Iwas.WhenyouandIfirststartedtalking.But

notsincethen.”

“Well.”I’mquietforafewseconds,weighingwhetherI’maboutto

makeagiantmistake.Probably,butIplowaheadanyway.“I’dliketo

try. If you want to. Not because we’re thrown together in this weird

situation and I think you’re hot, although I do. But because you’re

smart,andfunny,andyoudotherightthingmoreoftenthanyougive

yourselfcreditfor.Ilikeyourhorribletasteinmoviesandthewayyou

neversugarcoatanythingandthefactthat you have an actual lizard.

I’dbeproudtobeyourgirlfriend,eveninanonofficialcapacitywhile

we’re,youknow,beinginvestigatedformurder.Plus,Ican’tgomore

thanafewminuteswithoutwantingtokissyou,so—there’sthat.”

Natedoesn’treply at first,andI worry I’veblownit. Maybethat

was too much information. But he’s still running his hand down my

leg, and finally he says, “You’re doing better than me. I never stop

thinkingaboutkissingyou.”

Hetakesoffmyglassesandfoldsthem,puttingthemontheside

tablenexttothecouch.Hishandonmyfaceisfeatherlightasheleans

incloseandpullsmymouthtowardhis.Iholdmybreathasourlips

connect, and the soft pressuresendsa warmachehummingthrough

my veins. It’ssweetandtender,differentfromthehot,needykissat

Marshall’sPeak.Butitstillmakesmedizzy.I’mshakingalloverand

press my hands against his chest to try to get that under control,

feelingahardplaneofmusclethroughhisthinshirt.Nothelping.

My lips part in a sigh that turns into a small moan when Nate

slides his tongue to meet mine. Our kisses grow deeper and more

intense, our bodies so tangled I can’t tell where mine stops and his

starts.IfeellikeI’mfalling,floating,flying.Allatonce.Wekissuntil

mylipsaresoreandmyskinsparkslikeI’vebeenlitbyafuse.

Nate’shandsaresurprisinglyPG.Hetouchesmyhairandfacea

lot,andeventuallyheslidesahandundermyshirtandrunsitovermy

back and oh God, I might have whimpered. His fingers dip into the

waistband of my shorts and a shiver goes through me, but he stops

there.Theinsecuresideofmewondersifhe’snotasattractedtomeas

Iamtohim,orasheistoothergirls.Except…I’vebeenpressedagainst

himforhalfanhourandIknowthat’snotit.

Hepullsbackandlooksatme,histhickdarklashessweepinglow.

God,hiseyes.They’reridiculous.“Ikeeppicturingyourfatherwalking

in,”hemurmurs.“Hekindascaresme.”Isighbecause,truthbetold,

that’sbeenin thebackofmymind too.Eventhoughthere’sbarely a

fivepercentchance,it’sstilltoomuch.

Naterunsafingerovermylips.“Yourmouthissored.Weshould

takeabreakbeforeIdopermanentdamage.Plus,Ineedto,um,calm

down a little.” He kisses my cheek and reaches for his jacket on the

floor.

Myheartdrops.“Areyouleaving?”

“No.” He takes his phone out of his pocket and pulls up Netflix,

thenhandsmemyglasses.“WecanfinallyfinishwatchingRingu.”

“Damn it. I thought you’d forgotten about that.” My

disappointment’sfakethistime,though.

“Comeon,thisisperfect.”NatestretchesonthecouchandIcurl

nexttohimwithmyheadonhisshoulderashepropshisiPhoneinthe

crook of his arm. “We’ll use my phone instead of that sixty-inch

monsteron yourwall. Youcan’tbescaredofanythingonsuchatiny

screen.”

Honestly, I don’t care what we do. I just want to stay wrapped

aroundhimforaslongaspossible,fightingsleepandforgettingabout

therestoftheworld.

Cooper

Tuesday,October16,5:45p.m.

“Pass the milk, would you, Cooperstown?” Pop jerks his chin at me

during dinner, his eyes drifting toward the muted television in our

livingroom,wherecollegefootballscoresscrollalongthebottomofthe

screen.“Sowhat’dyoudowithyournightoff?”Hethinksit’shilarious

thatLuisposedasmeafterthegymyesterday.

Ihandoverthecartonandpicturemyselfansweringhisquestion

honestly.Hung out withKris,theguyI’m in love with.Yeah,Pop,I

saidguy.No,Pop,I’mnotkidding.He’sapremedfreshmanatUCSD

whodoesmodelingontheside.Totalcatch.You’dlikehim.

And then Pop’s head explodes. That’s how it always ends in my

imagination.

“Justdrovearoundforawhile,”Isayinstead.

I’mnotashamedofKris.I’mnot.Butit’scomplicated.

Thingis,Ididn’trealizeIcouldfeelthatwayaboutaguytillImet

him.Imean,yeah,Isuspected.SinceIwaselevenorso.ButIburied

those thoughts as far down as I could because I’m a Southern jock

shootingforanMLBcareer and that’s nothowwe’resupposedto be

wired.

I really did believe that for most of my life. I’ve always had a

girlfriend. But it was never hard to hold off till marriage like I was

raised.Ionly recently understoodthatwas more ofanexcuse than a

deeplyheldmoralbelief.

I’ve been lying to Keely for months, but I did tell her the truth

aboutKris.Imethimthroughbaseball,althoughhedoesn’tplay.He’s

friends with another guy I made the exhibition rounds with, who

invitedusbothtohisbirthdayparty.AndheisGerman.

Ijustleftoutthepartaboutbeinginlovewithhim.

I can’t admit that to anybody yet. That it’s not a phase, or

experimentation, or distraction from pressure. Nonny was right. My

stomachdoesflipswhenKriscallsortextsme.Everysingletime.And

whenI’mwithhimIfeellikearealperson,nottherobotKeelycalled

me:programmedtoperformasexpected.

But Cooper-and-Kris only exists in the bubble of his apartment.

Moving it anyplace else scares the hell out of me. For one thing, it’s

hard enough making it in baseball when you’re a regular guy. The

number of openly gay players who are part of a major league team

standsatexactlyone.Andhe’sstillintheminors.

Foranotherthing:Pop.MywholebrainseizeswhenIimaginehis

reaction.He’sthekindofgoodoldboywhocallsgaypeople“fags”and

thinkswespendallourtimehittingonstraightguys.Theonetimewe

sawanewsstoryaboutthegaybaseballplayer,hesnortedindisgust

and said, Normal guys shouldn’t have to deal with that crap in the

lockerroom.

If I tell him about Kris and me, seventeen years of being the

perfect son would be gone in an instant. He’d never look at me the

same. The way he’s looking at me now, even though I’m a murder

suspectwho’sbeenaccusedofusingsteroids.Thathecanhandle.

“Testing tomorrow,” he reminds me. I have to get tested for

steroidseverydamnweeknow.InthemeantimeIkeeppitching,and

no,myfastballhasn’tgottenanyslower.BecauseIhaven’tbeenlying.I

didn’tcheat.Istrategicallyimproved.

ItwasPop’sidea.Hewantedmetoholdbackalittlejunioryear,

not give my all, so there’d be more excitement around me during

showcaseseason.Andtherewas.PeoplelikeJoshLangleynoticedme.

Butnow,ofcourse,itlookssuspicious.Thanks,Pop.

Atleasthefeelsguiltyaboutit.

Iwassure,whenthepolicegotreadytoshowmetheunpublished

AboutThatpostslastmonth,thatIwasgoingtoreadsomethingabout

Krisandme.I’dbarelyknownSimon,onlytalkedwithhimone-on-one

afewtimes.ButanytimeIgotnearhimI’dworryabouthimlearning

mysecret.Lastspringatjuniorpromhe’dbeendrunkoffhisass,and

whenIranintohiminthebathroomheflunganarmaroundmeand

pulled me so close I practically had a panic attack. I was sure that

Simon—who’dneverhadagirlfriendasfarasIknew—realizedI was

gayandwasputtingthemovesonme.

Ifreakedoutsobad,IhadVanessadisinvitehimtoherafter-prom

party. And Vanessa, who never passes up a chance to exclude

somebody, was happy to do it. I let it stand even after I saw Simon

hittingonKeelylaterwiththekindofintensityyoucan’tfake.

Ihadn’tletmyselfthinkaboutthatsinceSimondied;howthelast

timeI’dtalkedtohim,IactedlikeajerkbecauseIcouldn’tdealwith

whoIwas.

Andtheworstpartis,evenafterallthis—Istillcan’t.

Nate

Tuesday,October16,6:00p.m.

WhenI getto Glenn’sDinerhalfanhourafterI’msupposedtomeet

mymother,herKiaisparkedrightoutfront.Scoreoneforthenewand

improvedversion,Iguess.Iwouldn’thavebeenatallsurprisedifshe

didn’tshow.

Ithoughtaboutdoingthesame.Alot.Butpretendingshedoesn’t

existhasn’tworkedoutallthatwell.

I park my bike a few spaces away from her car, feeling the first

drops of rain hit my shoulders before I enter the restaurant. The

hostess looks up with a polite, quizzical expression. “I’m meeting

somebody.Macauley,”Isay.

Shenodsandpointstoacornerbooth.“Rightoverthere.”

Ican tellmymother’salreadybeenthereforawhile.Hersoda’s

almostemptyandshe’stornherstrawwrappertoshreds.WhenIslide

intotheseatacrossfromher,Ipickupamenuandscanitcarefullyto

avoidhereyes.“Youorder?”

“Oh, no. I was waiting for you.” I can practically feel her willing

me to look up. I wish I weren’t here. “Do you want a hamburger,

Nathaniel?YouusedtoloveGlenn’shamburgers.”

Idid,andIdo,butnowIwanttoorderanythingelse.“It’sNate,

okay?”Isnap mymenushutand stareatthe graydrizzlepeltingthe

window.“Nobodycallsmethatanymore.”

“Nate,”shesays,butmynamesoundsstrange coming fromher.

One of those words you say over and over until it loses meaning. A

waitresscomesbyandIorderaCokeandaclubsandwichIdon’twant.

MyburnerphonebuzzesinmypocketandIpullitouttoatextfrom

Bronwyn.Hopeit’sgoingok.Ifeelajoltofwarmth,butputthephone

backwithoutanswering.Idon’thavethewordstotellBronwynwhat

it’sliketohavelunchwithaghost.

“Nate.” My mother clears her throat around my name. It still

soundswrong.“Howis…Howareyoudoinginschool?Doyoustilllike

science?”

Christ.Doyoustilllikescience?I’vebeeninremedialclassessince

ninthgrade,buthowwouldsheknow?Progressreportscomehome,I

fake my father’s signature, and they go back. Nobody ever questions

them. “Can you pay for this?” I ask,gesturingaroundthetable.Like

the belligerent asshole I’ve turned into in the past five minutes.

“BecauseIcan’t.Soifyou’reexpectingthatyoushouldtellmebefore

thefoodcomes.”

Herfacesags,andIfeelapointlessstaboftriumph.“Nath—Nate.

I would never…well. Why should you believe me?” She pulls out a

wallet and puts a couple of twenties on the table, and I feel like shit

until I think about the bills I keep tossing into the trash instead of

paying.NowthatI’mnotearninganything,myfather’sdisabilitycheck

barelycoversthemortgage,utilities,andhisalcohol.

“Howdoyouhavemoneywhenyou’vebeeninrehabformonths?”

ThewaitressreturnswithaglassofCokeforme,andmymother

waitsuntilsheleavestoanswer.“OneofthedoctorsatPine Valley—

that’s the facility I’ve been in—connected me with a medical

transcriptioncompany.Icanworkanywhere,andit’sverysteady.”She

brushes her hand against mine and I jerk away. “I can help you and

yourfatherout,Nate.Iwill.Iwantedtoaskyou—ifyouhavealawyer,

fortheinvestigation?Wecouldlookintothat.”

Somehow,Imanagenottolaugh.Whatevershe’smaking,it’snot

enoughtopayalawyer.“I’mgood.”

Shekeepstrying,askingaboutschool,Simon,probation,mydad.

Italmostgetstome,becauseshe’sdifferentthanIremember.Calmer

and more even-tempered. But then she asks, “How’s Bronwyn

handlingallthis?”

Nope.EverytimeIthinkaboutBronwynmybodyreactslikeI’m

backonthecouchinhermediaroom—heartpounding,bloodrushing,

skintingling.I’mnotabouttoturntheonegoodthingthat’scomeout

ofthismess intoyetanotherawkwardconversation withmymother.

Whichmeanswe’veprettymuchrunoutofthingstosay.ThankGod

thefood’sarrivedsowecanstoptryingtopretendthelastthreeyears

never happened. Even though my sandwich tastes like nothing, like

dust,it’sbetterthanthat.

My mother doesn’t take the hint. She keeps bringing up Oregon

andherdoctorsandMikhailPowersInvestigatesuntilIfeelasifI’m

about to choke. I pull at the neck of my T-shirt like that’ll help me

breathe, but it doesn’t. I can’t sit here listening to her promises and

hoping it’ll all work out. That she’ll stay sober, stay employed, stay

sane.Juststay.

“I have to go,” I say abruptly, dropping my half-eaten sandwich

ontomyplate.Igetup,bangingmykneeagainsttheedgeofthetable

sohardIwince,andwalkoutwithoutlookingather.Iknowshewon’t

comeafterme.That’snothowsheoperates.

When I get outside I’m confused at first because I can’t see my

bike.It’swedgedbetweenacoupleofhugeRangeRoversthatweren’t

therebefore.Imakemywaytowardit,thensuddenlyaguywho’sway

overdressed for Glenn’s Diner steps in front of me with a blinding

smile.IrecognizehimrightawaybutlookthroughhimasifIdon’t.

“NateMacauley?MikhailPowers.You’reahardmantofind,you

knowthat?Thrilledtomakeyouracquaintance.We’reworkingonour

follow-up broadcast to the Simon Kelleher investigation and I’d love

yourtake.HowaboutIbuyyoua coffeeinsideandwetalkfora few

minutes?”

I climb onto my bike and strap on my helmet like I didn’t hear

him.Igetreadytobackup, butacoupleofproducer typesblockmy

way.“Howaboutyoutellyourpeopletomove?”

Hissmile’saswideasever.“I’mnotyourenemy,Nate.Thecourt

ofpublicopinionmatters inacaselikethis.Whatdo you sayweget

themonyourside?”

My mother appears in the parking lot, her mouth falling open

when she sees who’s next to me. I slowly reverse my bike until the

peopleinmywaymoveandI’vegotaclearpath.Ifshewantstohelp

me,shecantalktohim.

Bronwyn

Wednesday,October17,12:25p.m.

AtlunchonWednesday,AddyandIaretalkingaboutnailpolish.She’s

afontofinformationonthesubject.“Withshortnailslikeyours,you

want something pale, almost nude,” she says, examining my hands

withaprofessionalair.“But,like,superglossy.”

“Idon’treallywearnailpolish,”Itellher.

“Well, you’re getting fancier, aren’t you? For whatever reason.”

She arches a brow at my careful blow-dry, and my cheeks heat as

Maevelaughs.“Youmightwanttogiveitatry.”

It’samundane,innocuousconversation compared to yesterday’s

lunch,whenwecaughtuponmypolice visit,Nate’smother,andthe

factthatAddygotcalledtothestationseparatelytoanswerquestions

aboutthemissingEpiPensagain.Yesterdayweweremurdersuspects

withcomplicatedpersonallives,buttodaywe’rejustbeinggirls.

Untilashrillvoicefromafewtablesoverpiercestheconversation.

“It’slikeItoldthem,”VanessaMerrimansays.“Whichperson’srumor

isdefinitelytrue?Andwhichperson’stotallyfallenapartsinceSimon

died?That’syourmurderer.”

“What’ssheonaboutnow?”Addymutters,nibblinglikeasquirrel

atanoversizedcrouton.

Janae,whodoesn’ttalkmuchwhenshesitswithus,dartsalookat

Addyandsays,“Youhaven’theard?MikhailPowers’screwisoutfront.

Abunchofkidsaregivinginterviews.”

My stomach drops, and Addy shoves her tray away. “Oh, great.

That’sallIneed,VanessaonTVyakkingabouthowguiltyIam.”

“Nobody really thinks it was you,” Janae says. She nods toward

me. “Or you. Or…” She watches as Cooper heads for Vanessa’s table

with a tray balanced in one hand, then spots us and changes course,

seatinghimselfattheedgeofours.Hedoesthatsometimes;sitswith

Addy for a few minutes at the beginning of lunch. Long enough to

signalhe’snotabandoningherliketherestofherfriends,butnotso

long that Jake gets pissed. I can’t decide whether it’s sweet or

cowardly.

“What’s up, guys?” he asks, starting to peel an orange. He’s

dressedinasagebutton-downthatbrightenshishazeleyes,andhe’s

got a baseball-cap tan from the sun hitting his cheeks more than

anything else. Somehow, instead of making him look uneven, it only

addstotheCooperClayglow.

IusedtothinkCooperwasthehandsomestguyatschool.Hestill

mightbe,butlatelythere’ssomethingalmostKendoll–likeabouthim

—alittleplasticandconventional.Ormaybemytasteshavechanged.

“HaveyougivenyourMikhailPowersinterviewyet?”Ijoke.

Before he can answer, a voice speaks over my shoulder. “You

should.Goahead andbethe murderclubeverybody thinksyouguys

are.RiddingBayviewHighofitsasshats.”LeahJacksonperchesonthe

tablenexttoCooper.Shedoesn’tnoticeJanae,whoturnsbrickredand

stiffensinherchair.

“Hello, Leah,” Cooper says patiently. As though he’s heard it

before.WhichIguesshedid,atSimon’smemorialservice.

Leah scans the table, her eyes landing on me. “You ever gonna

admit you cheated?” Her tone’s conversational and her expression is

almostfriendly,butIstillfreeze.

“Hypocritical, Leah.” Maeve’s voice rings out, surprising me.

WhenIturn,hereyesareblazing.“Youcan’tcomplainaboutSimonin

onebreathandrepeathisrumorinthenext.”

LeahgivesMaeveasmallsalute.“Touché,Rojastheyounger.”

ButMaeve’sjustgettingwarmedup.“I’msickoftheconversation

never changing. Why doesn’t anybody talk about how awful About

Thatmadethisschoolsometimes?”ShelooksdirectlyatLeah,hereyes

challenging.“Whydon’t you?They’rerightoutside, youknow.Dying

foranewangle.Youcouldgiveittothem.”

Leahrecoils.“I’mnottalkingtothemediaaboutthat.”

“Whynot?”Maeveasks.I’veneverseenherlikethis;she’salmost

fierceasshestaresLeahdown.“Youdidn’tdoanythingwrong.Simon

did.Hediditforyears,andnoweverybody’ssaintinghimforit.Don’t

youhaveaproblemwiththat?”

Leah stares right back, and I can’t make out the expression that

crossesherface.It’salmost…triumphant?“ObviouslyIdo.”

“Sodosomethingaboutit,”Maevesays.

Leah stands abruptly, pushing her hair over her shoulder. The

movementliftshersleeve and exposes acrescent-shapedscaronher

wrist.“MaybeIwill.”Shestalksoutthedoorwithlongstrides.

Cooperblinksafterher.“Dang,Maeve.Remindmenottogeton

yourbadside.”Maevewrinkleshernose,andIrememberthefilewith

Cooper’snameonitshestillhasn’tmanagedtodecrypt.

“Leah’snotonmybadside,”shemutters,tappingfuriouslyonher

phone.

I’malmostafraidtoask.“Whatareyoudoing?”

“SendingSimon’s4chanthreadstoMikhailPowersInvestigates,”

shesays.“They’rejournalists,right?Theyshouldlookintoit.”

“What?”Janaeburstsout.“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”

“Simonwasalloverthesediscussionthreadsfullofcreepypeople

cheering on school shootings and stuff like that,” Maeve says. “I’ve

beenreadingthemfordays.Otherpeoplestartedthem,buthejumped

right in and said all kinds of awful things. He didn’t even care when

thatboykilledallthosepeopleinOrangeCounty.”She’sstilltapping

awaywhenJanae’shandshootsoutandlocksaroundherwrist,almost

knockingherphonefromherhand.

“Howwouldyouknowthat?”shehisses,andMaevefinallysnaps

outofthezonetorealizeshemight’vesaidtoomuch.

“Lethergo,” Isay.WhenJanaedoesn’t, Ireachoutand pryher

fingersoffMaeve’swrist.They’reicycold.Janaepushesherchairback

withaloudscrape,andwhenshegetstoherfeetshe’sshakingallover.

“None of you knew anything about him,” she says in a choked

voice,andstompsawayjustlikeLeah did.Exceptshe’sprobablynot

about to give Mikhail Powers a sound bite. Maeve and I exchange

glances as I drum my fingers on the table. I can’t figure Janae out.

Most days, I’m not sure why she sits with us when we must be a

constantreminderofSimon.

Unlessit’stohearconversationsliketheonewejusthad.

“I gotta go,” Cooper says abruptly, as though he’s used up his

allotted non-Jake time. He lifts his tray, where the bulk of his lunch

liesuntouched,andsmoothlymakeshiswaytohisusualtable.

So our crew is back to being all girls, and stays that way for the

rest of lunch. The only other guy who’d sit with us never bothers

makinganappearanceinthecafeteria.ButIpassNateinthehallway

afterward, and all the questions bubbling in my brain about Simon,

Leah,andJanaedisappearwhenhegivesmeafleetinggrin.

BecauseGod,it’sbeautifulwhenthatboysmiles.

Addy

Friday,October19,11:12a.m.

It’s hot on the track, and I shouldn’t feel like running very hard. It’s

onlygymclass,afterall.Butmyarmsandlegspumpwithunexpected

energyasmylungsfillandexpand,asifallmyrecentbikeridinghas

given me reserves that need a release. Sweat beads my forehead and

pastesmyT-shirttomyback.

IfeelajoltofprideasIpassLuis—who,granted,isbarelytrying—

andOlivia,who’sonthetrackteam.Jake’saheadofmeandtheideaof

catchinghimseemsridiculousbecauseobviouslyJakeismuchfaster

thanme,andbiggerandstrongertoo,andthere’snowayIcangainon

him except I am. He’s not a speck anymore; he’s close, and if I shift

lanesandkeepthispacegoingIcanalmost,probably,definitely—

Mylegsflyoutfromunderme.Thecopperytasteofbloodfillsmy

mouth as I bite into my lip and my palms slam hard against the

ground. Tiny stones shred my skin, embedding in raw flesh and

explodingintodozensoftinycuts.MykneesareinagonyandIknow

beforeIseethickreddotsonthegroundthatmyskin’sburstopenon

bothofthem.

“Ohno!”Vanessa’svoiceringswithfakeconcern.“Poorthing!Her

legsgaveout.”

Theydidn’t.WhilemyeyeswereonJake,someone’sfoothooked

myankleandbroughtmedown.Ihaveaprettygoodideawhose,but

can’t say anything because I’m too busy trying to suck air into my

lungs.

“Addy, are you okay?” Vanessa keeps her fake voice on as she

kneels next to me, until she’s right next to my ear and whispers,

“Servesyouright,slut.”

I’dlovetoanswerher,butIstillcan’tbreathe.

WhenourgymteacherarrivesVanessabacksoff,andbythetimeI

haveenoughairtotalkshe’sgone.Thegymteacherinspectsmyknees,

turns my hands over, clucks at the damage. “You need the nurse’s

office. Get those cuts cleaned up and some antibiotics on you.” She

scans the crowd that’s gathered around me and calls, “Miss Vargas!

Helpherout.”

IguessIshouldbegratefulit’snotVanessaorJake.ButI’vebarely

seen Janae since Bronwyn’s sister called Simon out a couple of days

ago. As I limp toward school Janae doesn’t look at me until we’re

almost at the entrance. “What happened?” she asks as she opens the

door.

BynowIhaveenoughbreathtolaugh.“Vanessa’sversionofslut-

shaming.” I turnleftinsteadofrightatthestairwell,headingforthe

lockerroom.

“You’resupposedtogotothenurse’s,”Janaesays,andIfluttermy

hand at her. I haven’t darkened the nurse’s doorstep in weeks, and

anyway, my cuts are painful but superficial. All I really need is a

shower. I limp to a stall and peel off my clothes, stepping under the

warmsprayandwatchingbrown-and-redwaterswirldownthedrain.I

stayintheshoweruntilthewater’sclearandwhenIstepout,atowel

wrappedaroundme,Janae’sthereholdingapackofBand-Aids.

“Igottheseforyou.Yourkneesneedthem.”

“Thanks.” I lower myself onto a bench and press flesh-colored

stripsacrossmyknees,whichsureenougharegettingslickwithblood

again. My palms sting and they’re scraped pink and raw, but there’s

nowhereIcanputaBand-Aidthatwillmakeadifference.

Janae sits as far away as possible from me on the bench. I put

three Band-Aids on my left knee and two on my right. “Vanessa’s a

bitch,”shesaysquietly.

“Yeah,”Iagree,standingandtakingacautiousstep.Mylegshold

up,soIheadfor mylockerandpulloutmy clothes.“ButI’mgetting

whatIdeserve,right?That’swhateverybodythinks.Iguessit’swhat

Simon would’ve wanted. Everything out in the open for people to

judge.Nosecrets.”

“Simon…” Janae’s got that strangled sound to her voice again.

“He’s not…He wasn’t like they said. I mean, yes, he went overboard

withAboutThat,andhewrotesomeawfulthings.Butthepastcouple

years have been rough. He tried so hard to be part of things and he

never could. I don’t think…” She stumbles over her words. “When

Simonwashimself,hewouldn’thavewantedthisforyou.”

She sounds really sad about it. But I can’t bring myself to care

aboutSimonnow.Ifinishdressingandlookattheclock.There’sstill

twenty minutes left in gym class, and I don’t want to be here when

Vanessa and her minions descend. “Thanks for the Band-Aids. Tell

them I’m still at the nurse’s, okay? I’m going to the library till next

period.”

“Okay,”Janaesays.She’sslumpedonthebench,lookinghollowed

outandexhausted, andasIhead forthedoor sheabruptlycallsout,

“Doyouwanttohangoutthisafternoon?”

Iturntoherinsurprise.Ihadn’tthoughtwewereatthatpointin

our…acquaintance,Iguess.Friendshipstillseemslikeastrongword.

“Um,yeah.Sure.”

“Mymom’shavingherbookclub,so…maybeIcouldcometoyour

house?”

“All right,” I say, picturing my own mother’s reaction to Janae

afterbeingusedtoahousefullofpretty-perkyKeelysandOlivias.The

thoughtbrightensmeup,andwemakeplansforJanaetostopbyafter

school.OnawhimI textaninvitationtoBronwyn,butI forgotshe’s

grounded. Plus, she has piano lessons. Spontaneous downtime isn’t

reallyherthing.

—

I’ve barely stowed my bike under the porch after school when Janae

arrives dragging her oversized backpack like she came to study. We

makeexcruciatingsmalltalkwithmymother,whoseeyeskeeproving

from Janae’s multiple piercings to her scuffed combat boots, until I

bringherupstairstowatchTV.

“DoyoulikethatnewNetflixshow?”Iask,aimingtheremoteat

my television and sprawling across my bed so Janae can take the

armchair.“Thesuperheroone?”

Shesitsgingerly,likeshe’safraidthepinkplaidwillswallowher

whole.“Yeah,okay,”shesays,loweringherbackpacknexttoherand

lookingatall theframedphotographs onmywall. “You’rereallyinto

flowers,huh?”

“Not exactly. My sister has a new camera I was playing around

with,and…Itookalotofoldpicturesdownrecently.”They’reshoved

beneathmyshoeboxesnow:adozenmemoriesofmeandJakefrom

thepastthreeyears,andalmostasmanywithmyfriends.Ihesitated

over one—me, Keely, Olivia, and Vanessa at the beach last summer,

wearinggiantsunhatsandgoofygrinswithabrilliantblueskybehind

us.Ithadbeenarare,fungirls’dayout,butaftertodayI’mmoreglad

thaneverthatIbanishedVanessa’sstupidsmirktothecloset.

Janaefiddleswiththestraptoherbackpack.“Youmustmisshow

thingswerebefore,”shesaysinalowvoice.

I keep my eyes trained on the screen while I consider her

comment.“Yesandno,”Isayfinally.“Imisshoweasyschoolusedto

be. But I guess nobody I hung out with ever really cared about me,

right? Or things would have been different.” I shift restlessly on the

bed and add, “I’m not gonna pretend it’s anything like what you’re

dealingwith.LosingSimonthatway.”

Janaeflushes anddoesn’tanswer,andIwishIhadn’tbroughtit

up.Ican’tfigureouthowtointeractwithher.Arewefriends,orjusta

couple of people without better options? We stare silently at the

television until Janae clears her throat and says, “Could I have

somethingtodrink?”

“Sure.” It’s almost a relief to escape the silence that’s settled

betweenus,untilIrunintomymotherinthekitchenandhaveaterse,

ten-minute-longconversationaboutthekindoffriendsyouhavenow.

When I finally get back upstairs, two glasses of lemonade in hand,

Janae’sgotherbackpackonandshe’shalfwayoutthedoor.

“Idon’tfeelwellsuddenly,”shemumbles.

Great.Evenmyunsuitablefriendsdon’twanttohangoutwithme.

ItextBronwyninfrustration,notexpectingananswersinceshe’s

probably in the middle of Chopin or something. I’m surprised when

shemessagesmebackrightaway,andevenmoresurprisedatwhatshe

writes.

Becareful.Idon’ttrusther.

Cooper

Sunday,October21,5:25p.m.

We’vealmostfinisheddinnerwhenPop’sphonerings.Helooksatthe

number and picks up immediately, the lines around his mouth

deepening. “This is Kevin. Yeah. What, tonight? Is that really

necessary?”Hewaitsabeat.“Allright.We’llseeyouthere.”Hehangs

upandblowsoutanirritatedsigh.“Wegottameetyourlawyeratthe

police station in half an hour. Detective Chang wants to talk to you

again.”HeholdsupahandwhenIopenmymouth.“Idon’tknowwhat

about.”

Iswallowhard.Ihaven’tbeenquestionedinawhile,andI’dbeen

hopingthewholethingwasfadingaway.IwanttotextAddyandseeif

she’s getting brought in too, but I’m under strict orders not to put

anythingabouttheinvestigationinwriting.CallingAddy’snotagreat

idea, either. So I finish my dinner in silence and drive to the station

withPop.

Mylawyer,Mary,isalreadytalkingwithDetectiveChangwhenwe

get inside. He beckons us toward the interrogation room, which is

nothinglikeyouseeonTV.Nobigpaneofglasswithatwo-waymirror

behindit.Justadrablittleroomwithaconferencetableandabunch

of folding chairs. “Hello, Cooper. Mr. Clay. Thanks for coming.” I’m

abouttobrushpasthimthroughthedoorwhenheputsahandonmy

arm.“Yousureyouwantyourfatherhere?”

I’m about to ask Why wouldn’t I? but before I can speak, Pop

starts blustering about how it’s his God-given right to be present

during questioning. He has this speech perfected and once he winds

up,heneedstofinish.

“Of course,” Detective Chang says politely. “It’s mainly a privacy

issueforCooper.”

The way he says that makes me nervous, and I look to Mary for

help.“Itshouldbefinetostartwithjustmeintheroom,Kevin,”she

says.“I’llbringyouinifneeded.”Mary’sokay.She’sinherfifties,no-

nonsense,andcanhandleboththepoliceandmyfather.Sointheend

it’sme,DetectiveChang,andMaryseatingourselvesaroundthetable.

My heart’s already pounding when Detective Chang pulls out a

laptop.“You’vealwaysbeenvocalaboutSimon’saccusationnotbeing

true,Cooper.Andthere’sbeennodropinyourbaseballperformance.

Which is inconsistent with the reputation of Simon’s app. It wasn’t

knownforpostinglies.”

I try to keep my expression neutral, even though I’ve been

thinkingthesamething.IwasmorerelievedthanmadwhenDetective

ChangfirstshowedmeSimon’ssite,becausealiewasbetterthanthe

truth.ButwhywouldSimonlieaboutme?

“Sowedugalittledeeper.Turnsoutwemissedsomethinginour

initialanalysisofSimon’sfiles.Therewasasecondentryforyouthat

was encrypted and replaced with the steroids accusation. It took a

whiletogetthatfilefiguredout,buttheoriginalishere.”Heturnsthe

screensoit’sfacingMaryandme.Weleanforwardtogethertoreadit.

EverybodywantsapieceofBayviewsouthpawCCandhe’sfinallybeen

tempted.He’ssteppingoutonthebeauteousKSwithahotGermanunderwear

model.Whatguywouldn’t,right?Exceptthenewloveinterestmodelsboxers

andbriefs,notbrasandthongs.Sorry,K,butyoucan’tcompetewhenyouplay

forthewrongteam.

Every part of me feels frozen except my eyes, which can’t stop

blinking.ThisiswhatIwasafraidI’dseeweeksago.

“Cooper.”Mary’svoiceis even.“There’snoneed to reacttothis.

Doyouhaveaquestion,DetectiveChang?”

“Yes.IstherumorSimonplannedtoprinttrue,Cooper?”

Mary speaks before I can. “There’s nothing criminal in this

accusation.Cooperdoesn’tneedtoaddressit.”

“Mary, you know that’s not the case. We have an interesting

situationhere.Fourstudentswithfourentriestheywanttokeepquiet.

One gets deleted and replaced with a fake. Do you know what that

lookslike?”

“Shoddyrumormongering?”Maryasks.

“Likesomeoneaccessed Simon’sfilesto getridofthis particular

entry.AndmadesureSimonwouldn’tbearoundtocorrectit.”

“Ineedafewminuteswithmyclient,”Marysays.

I feel sick. I’ve imagined breaking the news about Kris to my

parentsindozensofways,butnoneasflat-outhorribleasthis.

“Of course. You should know we’ll be requesting a warrant to

search more of the Clays’ home, beyond Cooper’s computer and cell

phone records. Given this new information, he’s a more significant

personofinterestthanhewaspreviously.”

Mary has a hand on my arm. She doesn’t want me to talk. She

doesn’thavetoworry.Icouldn’tifItried.

—

Disclosing information about sexual orientation violates

constitutional rights to privacy. That’s what Mary says, and she’s

threatenedtoinvolvetheAmericanCivilLibertiesUnionifthepolice

makeSimon’spostaboutmepublic.Whichwouldfallintothecategory

ofTooLittle,WayTooLate.

Detective Chang dances around it. They have no intention of

invading my privacy. But they have to investigate. It would help if I

toldthemeverything.Ourdefinitionsofeverythingaredifferent.His

includes me confessing that I killed Simon, deleted my About That

entry,andreplaceditwithafakeoneaboutsteroids.

Which makes no sense. Wouldn’t I have taken myself out of the

equationentirely?Orcomeupwithsomethinglesscareer-threatening?

LikecheatingonKeelywithanothergirl.Thatmight’vekilledtwobirds

withonestone,sotospeak.

“This changes nothing,” Mary keeps saying. “You have no more

proof than you ever did that Cooper touched Simon’s site. Don’t you

daredisclosesensitiveinformationinthenameofyourinvestigation.”

Thethingis, though,itdoesn’tmatter.It’sgettingout. Thiscase

hasbeenfullofleaksfromthebeginning.AndIcan’twaltzoutofhere

after being interrogated for an hour and tell my father nothing’s

changed.

WhenDetectiveChangleaves,hemakesitclearthey’llbedigging

deep into my life over the next few days. They want Kris’s number.

MarytellsmeIdon’thavetoprovideit,butDetectiveChangreminds

herthey’llsubpoenamycellphoneandgetitanyway.Theywanttotalk

toKeely,too.MarykeepsthreateningtheACLU,andDetectiveChang

keepstellingher,mildasskimmilk,thattheyneedtounderstandmy

actionsintheweeksleadinguptothemurder.

But we all know what’s really happening. They’ll make my life

miserableuntilIcavefromthepressure.

I sit with Mary in the interrogation room after Detective Chang

leaves, thankful there’s no two-way mirror as I bury my head in my

hands.LifeasIknewitisover,andprettysoonnobodywilllookatme

the same way. I was going to tell eventually, but—in a few years,

maybe?WhenIwasastarpitcheranduntouchable.Notnow.Notlike

this.

“Cooper.”Maryputsahandonmyshoulder.“Yourfatherwillbe

wonderingwhywe’restillinhere.Youneedtotalktohim.”

“Ican’t,”Isayautomatically.Cain’t.

“Yourfatherlovesyou,”shesaysquietly.

Ialmostlaugh.PoplovesCooperstown.HeloveswhenIstrikeout

the side and get attention from flashy scouts, and when my name

scrollsacrossthebottomofESPN.Butme?

Hedoesn’tevenknowme.

There’saknockonthedoorbeforeIcanreply.Poppokeshishead

inandsnapshisfingers.“Wedoneinhere?Iwannagethome.”

“Allset,”Isay.

“Thehellwasthatallabout?”hedemandsofMary.

“YouandCooperneed to talk,”shesays.Pop’s jaw tenses.What

the hell arewepayingyoufor? is written all over his face. “We can

discussnextstepsafterthat.”

“Fantastic,”Popmutters.Istandandsqueezemyselfthroughthe

narrowgapbetweenthetableandthewall,duckingpastMaryandinto

thehallway.Wewalkinsilence,oneinfrontoftheother,untilwepass

through the double glass doors and Mary murmurs a good-bye.

“Night,”Popsays,terselyleadingthewaytoourcaratthefarendof

theparkinglot.

Everything in me clenches and twists as I buckle myself next to

himintheJeep.HowdoIstart?WhatdoIsay?DoItellhimnow,or

wait till we’re home and I can tell Mom and Nonny and…Oh God.

Lucas?

“Whatwasallthatabout?”Popasks.“Whattooksolong?”

“There’snewevidence,”Isaywoodenly.

“Yeah?What’sthat?”

I can’t. I can’t. Not just the two of us in this car. “Let’s wait till

we’rehome.”

“This serious, Coop?” Pop glances at me as he passes a slow-

movingVolkswagen.“Youintrouble?”

Mypalmsstartsweating.“Let’swait,”Irepeat.

Ineedtotell Kris what’shappening,butIdon’tdaretext him. I

should go to his apartment and explain in person. Another

conversationthat’llkillsomepartofme.Krishasbeenoutsincejunior

high. His parents are both artists and it was never a big deal. They

wereprettymuchlike,Yeah, we knew. Whattookyousolong?He’s

neverpressuredme,butsneakingaroundisn’thowhewantstolive.

Istareoutthewindow,myfingerstappingonthedoorhandlefor

therestof theridehome.Pop pullsintothe drivewayandourhouse

looms in front of me: solid, familiar, and the last place I want to be

rightnow.

We head inside, Pop tossing his keys onto the hallway table and

catching sight of my mother in the living room. She and Nonny are

sittingnexttoeachotheronthecouchasthoughthey’vebeenwaiting

forus.“Where’sLucas?”Iask,followingPopintotheroom.

“Downstairs playing Xbox.” Mom mutes the television as Nonny

cocks her head to one side and fastens her eyes on me. “Everything

okay?”

“Cooper’sbeingallmysterious.”Pop’sglanceatmeishalfshrewd,

halfdismissive.Hedoesn’tknowwhethertotakemyobviousfreaking

out seriously or not. “You tell us, Cooperstown. What’s all the fuss

about?Theygotsomeactualevidencethistime?”

“They think they do.” I clear my throat and push my hands into

mykhakis.“Imean,theydo.Havenewinformation.”

Everybody’squiet,absorbingthat,untiltheynoticeI’mnotinany

hurrytocontinue.“Whatkindofnewinformation?”Momprompts.

“TherewasanentryonSimon’ssitethatwasencryptedbeforethe

policegotthere.Iguessit’swhatheoriginallymeanttopostaboutme.

Nothin’todowithsteroids.”Theregoesmyaccentagain.

Popneverlosthis,anddoesn’tnoticewhenminefadesinandout.

“Iknewit!”hesaystriumphantly.“Theyclearyou,then?”

I’m mute, my mind blank. Nonny leans forward, hands gripping

her skull-topped cane. “Cooper, what was Simon going to post about

you?”

“Well.”Acoupleofwordsisallit’lltaketomakeeverythinginmy

life Before and After. The air leaves my lungs. I can’t look at my

mother,andIsureashellcan’tlookatmyfather.SoIfocusonNonny.

“Simon.Somehow.Foundout.That.”God.I’verunoutoffillerwords.

Nonnytapshercaneonthefloorlikeshewantstohelpmealong.“I’m

gay.”

Pop laughs. Actually laughs, a relievedkindofguffaw,andslaps

me on the shoulder. “Jesus, Coop. Had me goingthereforaminute.

Seriously,what’sup?”

“Kevin.” Nonny grits the word through her teeth. “Cooper is not

joking.”

“Courseheis,” Popsays,still laughing.Iwatch hisface,because

I’mprettysureit’sthelasttimehe’lllookatmethewayhealwayshas.

“Right?”Hiseyesslideovertomine,casualandconfident,butwhenhe

seesmyfacehissmiledims.Thereitis.“Right,Coop?”

“Wrong,”Itellhim.

Addy

Monday,October22,8:45a.m.

Police cars line the front of Bayview High again. And Cooper’s

stumblingthroughthehalllikehehasn’tsleptindays.Itdoesn’toccur

tomethetwomightberelateduntilhepullsmeasidebeforefirstbell.

“Canwetalk?”

I peer at him more closely, unease gnawing at my stomach. I’ve

neverseenCooper’seyes look bloodshot before.“Yeah,sure.”Ithink

hemeanshereinthehallway,buttomysurpriseheleadsmeoutthe

backstaircaseintotheparkinglot,whereweleanagainstthewallnext

to thedoor.WhichmeansI’llbelate for homeroom, I guess, but my

attendance record is already so bad another tardy won’t make a

difference.“What’sup?”

Cooperrunsahandthroughhissandyhairuntilitsticksstraight

up,whichisnota thingIeverimaginedCooper’s haircoulddountil

justnow.“Ithinkthepoliceareherebecauseofme.Toaskquestions

aboutme.Ijust—wantedtotellsomebodywhybeforeeverythinggoes

tohell.”

“Okay.”Iputahandonhisforearm,andtenseinsurprisewhenI

feelitshaking.“Cooper,what’swrong?”

“Sothethingis…”Hepauses,swallowinghard.

Helookslikehe’sabouttoconfesssomething.ForasecondSimon

flashes through my mind: his collapse in detention and his red,

gaspingfaceashestruggledtobreathe.Ican’thelpbutflinch.ThenI

meetCooper’seyes—filmywithtears,butaskindasever—andIknow

thatcan’tbeit.“Thethingiswhat,Cooper?It’sallright.Youcantell

me.”

Cooperstaresatme,takinginthewholepicture—messyhairthat’s

spikingoddlybecauseIdidn’ttakethetimetoblow-dryit,so-soskin

fromallthestress,fadedT-shirtfeaturingsomebandAshtonusedto

like,becausewe’reseriouslybehindonlaundry—beforehereplies,“I’m

gay.”

“Oh.” It doesn’t register at first, and then it does. “Ohhh.” The

whole not-into-Keely thing suddenly makes sense. It seems like I

should say more than that, so I add, “Cool.” Inadequate response, I

guess, but sincere. Because Cooper’s pretty great except the way he’s

alwaysbeenalittleremote.Thisexplainsalot.

“SimonfoundoutI’mseeingsomeone.Aguy.Hewasgonnapost

itonAboutThatwitheveryoneelse’sentries.Itgotswitchedoutand

replacedwithafakeentryaboutmeusingsteroids.Ididn’tswitchit,”

headdshastily.“ButtheythinkIdid.Sothey’relookingintomehard-

corenow,whichmeansthewholeschoolwillknowprettysoon.Iguess

Iwantedto…tellsomebodymyself.”

“Cooper,noonewillcare—”Istart,butheshakeshishead.

“Theywill.Youknowtheywill,”hesays.Idropmyeyes,becauseI

can’tdenyit.“I’vebeenhidingmyheadunderarockaboutthiswhole

investigation,” he continues, his voice hoarse. “Hopin’ they’d chalk it

uptoanaccidentbecausethere’snorealproofaboutanything.NowI

keepthinkingaboutwhatMaevesaidaboutSimontheotherday—how

muchweirdstuffwasgoingonaroundhim.Youthinkthere’sanything

tothat?”

“Bronwyn does,” I say. “She wants the four of us to get together

andcomparenotes.ShesaysNatewill.”Coopernodsdistractedly,and

itoccurstomethatsincehe’sstillinJake’sbubblemostofthetime,

he’snotfullyuptospeedoneverythingthat’sbeengoingon.“Didyou

hear about Nate’s mom, by the way? How she’s, um, not dead after

all?”

I didn’t think Cooper could get any paler, but he manages.

“What?”

“Kindofalongstory,but—yeah.Turnsoutshewasadrugaddict

living in some kind of commune, but she’s back now. And sober,

supposedly.Oh,andBronwyngotcalledintothepolicestationbecause

of a creepy post Simon wrote about her sister sophomore year.

Bronwyn told him to drop dead in the comments section, so…you

know.Thatlookskindabadnow.”

“Thehell?”BytheincredulouslookonCooper’sface,I’vemanaged

to distract him from his problems. Then the late bell rings, and his

shoulderssag.“We’dbettergo.But,yeah.Ifyouguysgettogether,I’m

in.”

—

The Bayview Police set themselves up in a conference room with a

school liaison again, and start interviewing students one by one. At

firstthingsarekindofquiet,andwhenwegetthroughthedaywithout

anyrumorsI’mhopefulthatCooperwaswrongabouthissecretgetting

out.ButbymidmorningonTuesday,thewhispersstart.Idon’tknowif

it’s the kind of questions the police were asking, or who they were

talkingto, orjust agoodold-fashionedleak,butbeforelunchmyex-

friendOlivia—whohasn’tspokentomesinceJakepunchedTJ—runs

uptomylockerandgrabsmyarmwithalookofpureglee.

“Oh my God. Did you hear about Cooper?” Her eyes pop with

excitementasshelowershervoicetoapiercingwhisper.“Everyone’s

sayinghe’sgay.”

I pull away. If Olivia thinks I’m grateful to be included in the

gossipmill,she’swrong.“Whocares?”Isayflatly.

“Well, Keely does,” Olivia giggles, tossing her hair over her

shoulder.“Nowonder hewouldn’tsleep withher!Areyouheadedto

lunchnow?”

“Yeah.WithBronwyn.Seeyou.”Islammylockershutandspinon

myheelbeforeshecansayanythingelse.

In the cafeteria, I collect my food and head for our usual table.

Bronwyn looks pretty in a sweater-dress and boots, her hair loose

aroundhershoulders.HercheeksaresopinkIwonderifshe’swearing

makeupforachange,butifsheisit’sreallynatural.Shekeepslooking

atthedoor.

“Expectingsomeone?”Iask.

Sheturnsredder.“Maybe.”

I have a pretty good idea who she’s waiting for. Probably not

Cooper,althoughtherestoftheroomseemstobe.Whenhestepsinto

the cafeteria everything goes quiet, and then a low whispering buzz

runsthroughtheroom.

“Cooper Clay is Cooper GAY!” somebody calls out in a high,

falsetto voice, and Cooper freezes in the door as something flies

through the air and hits him across the chest. I recognize the blue

packagingimmediately:Trojancondoms.Jake’sbrand.Alongwithhalf

theschool,Iguess.Butitdidcomefromthedirectionofmyoldtable.

“Doin’ the butt, hey, pretty,” somebody else sings, and laughter

runsthroughtheroom.Someofit’smeanbutalotofit’sshockedand

nervous.Mostpeoplelookliketheydon’tknowwhattodo.I’mstruck

silent because Cooper’s face is the worst thing I’ve ever seen and I

want,sobadly,forthistonotbehappening.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” It’s Nate. He’s in the entrance next to

Cooper,whichsurprisesmesinceI’veneverseenhiminthecafeteria

before. The rest of the room is equally taken aback, quieting enough

thathiscontemptuousvoicecutsacrossthewhispersashesurveysthe

sceneinfrontofhim.“Youlosersseriouslygiveacrapaboutthis?Get

alife.”

A girl’s voice calls out “Boyfriend!” disguised with a fake cough.

Vanessa smirks as everyone around her dissolves into the kind of

laughterthat’sbeendirectedmywayoverthepastmonth:half-guilty,

half-gleeful,andallThankGodthisishappeningtoyouandnotme.

Theonly exceptionsareKeely,who’sbitingherlipandstaringatthe

floor, and Luis, who’s half standing with his forearms braced on the

table. One of the lunch ladies hovers in the doorway between the

kitchen and the cafeteria, seemingly torn between letting things play

outandgettingateachertointervene.

Nate zeroes in on Vanessa’s smug face without a trace of self-

consciousness. “Really? You’ve got something to say? I don’t even

knowyournameandyoutriedtostickyourhanddownmypantsthe

lasttimewewere ataparty.”More laughter, butthistimeit’s notat

Cooper’sexpense.“Infact,ifthere’saguyatBayviewyouhaven’ttried

thatwith,I’dlovetomeethim.”

Vanessa’smouthhangsopenasahandshootsupfromthemiddle

of the cafeteria. “Me,” calls a boy sitting at the computer-nerd table.

Hisfriendsalllaughnervouslyasthepulsingattentionoftheroom—

seriously,it’slikeawavemovingfromonetargettothenext—focuses

onthem.Nategiveshimathumbs-upandlooksbackatVanessa.

“Thereyougo.Trytomakethathappenandshutthehellup.”He

crosses to our table and dumps his backpack next to Bronwyn. She

standsup,windsherarmsaroundhisneck,andkisseshimlikethey’re

alonewhiletheentirecafeteriaeruptsintogaspsandcatcalls.Istareas

much as everyone else. I mean, I kind of guessed, but this is pretty

public. I’m not sure if Bronwyn’s trying to distract everyone from

Cooperorifshecouldn’thelpherself.Maybeboth.

Eitherway,Cooper’seffectivelybeenforgotten.He’smotionlessat

theentranceuntilIgrabhisarm.“Comesit.Thewholemurderclubat

onetable.Theycanstareatallofustogether.”

Cooper follows me, not bothering to get any food. We settle

ourselves at the table and awkward silence descends until someone

elseapproaches:Luiswithhistrayinhand,loweringhimselfintothe

lastemptychairatourtable.

“Thatwasbullshit,”hefumes,lookingattheemptyspaceinfront

ofCooper.“Aren’tyougonnaeat?”

“I’mnothungry,”Coopersaysshortly.

“Youshouldeatsomething.” Luisgrabsthe only untouchedfood

itemonhistrayandholdsitout.“Here,haveabanana.”

Everyone freezes for a second; then we all burst out laughing at

thesametime.IncludingCooper, who rests hischininhispalmand

massageshistemplewithhisotherhand.

“I’llpass,”hesays.

I’veneverseenLuissored.“Whycouldn’tithavebeenappleday?”

hemutters,andCoopergiveshimatiredsmile.

You find out who your real friends are when stuff like this

happens.TurnsoutIdidn’thaveany,butI’mgladCooperdoes.

Nate

Thursday,October25,12:20a.m.

Ieasemymotorcycleintothecul-de-sacattheendofBayviewEstates

andkillthemotor,stayingstillforaminutetocheckforanyhintthat

someone’snearby.It’squiet,soIclimboffandgiveahandtoBronwyn

soshecandothesame.

Theneighborhoodisstillahalf-finishedconstructionareawithno

streetlights, so Bronwyn and I walk in darkness to house number 5.

WhenwegetthereItrythefrontdoor,butit’slocked.Wecircletothe

backofthehouseandIjiggleeachwindowuntilIfindonethatopens.

It’slowenoughtothegroundthatIhaulmyselfineasily.“Gobackout

front;I’llletyouin,”Isayinalowvoice.

“IthinkI can doittoo,” Bronwyn says,preparingto pull herself

up.Shedoesn’thavethearmstrength,though,andIhavetoleanover

andhelpher.Thewindow’snotbigenoughfortwo,andwhenIletgo

andstepbacktogiveherroom,shescramblestherestofthewayand

landsonthefloorwithathud.

“Graceful,”Isayasshegetstoherfeetandbrushesoffherjeans.

“Shut up,” she mutters, looking around. “Should we unlock the

frontforAddyandCooper?”

We’reinanempty,under-constructionhouseaftermidnightfora

meetingoftheBayviewFour.It’slikeabadspymovie,butthere’sno

way all of us could get together anywhere else without drawing too

muchattention.Evenmydon’t-give-a-crapneighborsaresuddenlyin

mybusinessnowthatMikhailPowers’steamkeepscruisingdownour

street.

Plus,Bronwyn’sstillgrounded.

“Yeah,”Isay,andwefeelourwaythroughahalf-builtkitchenand

into a living room with a huge bay window. The moonlight streams

brightacrossthedoor,andItwistitsdeadboltopen.“Whattimedid

youtellthem?”

“Twelve-thirty,”shesays,pressingabuttononherApplewatch.

“Whattimeisit?”

“Twelve-twenty-five.”

“Good.Wehave five minutes.”Islide my handalongthe side of

herfaceandbackherupagainstthewall,pullingherlipstomine.She

leansintomeandwrapsherarmsaroundmyneck,openinghermouth

with a soft sigh. My hands travel down the curve of her waist to her

hips,findingastripofbareskinunderthehemofhershirt.Bronwyn

has this unbelievable stealth body under all her conservative clothes,

althoughI’vebarelygottentoseeanyofit.

“Nate,”shewhispersafterafewminutes,inthatbreathlessvoice

thatdrivesmewild.“Youweregoingtotellmehowthingswentwith

yourmom.”

Yeah.IguessIwas.Isawmymotheragainthisafternoonandit

was…allright.Sheshowedupontimeandsober.Shebackedoffasking

questions and gave me money for bills. But I spent the whole time

taking bets with myself on how long it’d last. Current odds say two

weeks.

BeforeIcananswer,though,thedoorcreaksandwe’renotalone

anymore. A small figure slips inside and shuts the door behind her.

The moonlight’s brightenoughthatIcanseeAddyclearly,including

the unexpected dark streaks in her hair. “Oh, good, I’m not the first

one,” she whispers, then puts her hands on her hips as she glares at

Bronwynandme.“Areyoutwomakingout?Seriously?”

“Did you dye your hair?” Bronwyn counters, pulling away from

me.“Whatcoloristhat?”ShereachesahandoutandexaminesAddy’s

bangs.“Purple?Ilikeit.Whythechange?”

“Ican’tkeepupwiththemaintenancerequirementsofshorthair,”

Addygrumbles,droppingabikehelmetonthefloor.“Itdoesn’tlookas

badwithcolormixedin.”Shecocksherheadatmeandadds,“Idon’t

needyourcommentaryifyoudisagree,bytheway.”

Iholdupmyhands.“Wasn’tgoingtosayaword,Addy.”

“Whendidyouevenstartknowingmyname,”shedeadpans.

Igrinather.“You’vegottenkindafeistysinceyoulostallthehair.

Andtheboyfriend.”

Sherollshereyes.“Wherearewedoingthis?Livingroom?”

“Yeah, but back corner. Away from the window,” Bronwyn says,

pickingherwaythroughconstructionsuppliesandsittingcross-legged

infrontofastonefireplace.IsprawlnexttoherandwaitforAddyto

follow,butshe’sstillpoisednearthedoor.

“I think I hear something,” she says, peering through the

peephole.SheopensthedooracrackandstepsasidetoletCooperin.

Addy leads him toward the fireplace but nearly goes flying when she

tripsonanextensioncord.“Ow!Damn it,thatwas loud.Sorry.”She

settlesherselfnexttoBronwyn,andCoopersitsbesideher.

“Howarethings?”BronwynasksCooper.

Herubsahandoverhisface.“Oh,youknow.Livin’thenightmare.

Myfatherwon’ttalktome,I’mgettingtornapartonline,andnoneof

the teams that were scouting me will return Coach Ruffalo’s calls.

OtherthanthatI’mgreat.”

“I’msosorry,”Bronwynsays,andAddygrabshishandandfoldsit

inbothofhers.

Heheavesasighbutdoesn’t pull away. “It iswhatitis,Iguess.

Let’sjustgettowhywe’rehere,huh?”

Bronwynclearsherthroat.“Well. Mainlyto…comparenotes?Eli

kepttalkingaboutlookingforpatternsandconnections,whichmakes

alotofsense.Ithoughtmaybewecouldgothroughsomeofthethings

weknow.Anddon’tknow.”Shefrownsandstartstickingthingsoffon

her fingers. “Simon was about to post some pretty shocking things

aboutallofus.Somebodygotusintothatroomtogetherwiththefake

cellphones.Simonwaspoisonedwhilewewerethere.Lotsofpeople

besides us had reasons to be mad at Simon. He was mixed up in all

kindsofcreepy4chanstuff.Whoknowswhatkindofpeoplehepissed

off.”

“Janae said he hated being an outsider and he was really upset

nothing more ever happened with Keely,” Addy says, looking at

Cooper. “Do you remember that? He started hitting on her during

juniorprom,andshecavedatapartyacoupleweekslaterandhooked

up with him for, like, five minutes. He thought it was actually going

somewhere.”

Cooper hunches his shoulders like he’s remembering something

he’drathernot.“Right.Huh.Iguessthat’sapattern.Oraconnection,

orwhatever.WithmeandNate,Imean.”

Idon’tgetit.“What?”

Hemeetsmyeyes.“WhenIbrokeupwithKeely,shetoldmeshe’d

hookedupwithyouatapartytogetridofSimon.AndIaskedherout

acoupleweeksafter.”

“YouandKeely?”Addystaresatme.“Sheneversaid!”

“Itwasjustacoupletimes.”Honestly,I’dforgottenallaboutit.

“Andyou’regoodfriendswithKeely.Oryouwere,”Bronwynsays

to Addy. She doesn’t seem fazed at the idea of Keely and me getting

together, and I have to appreciate how she doesn’t lose focus. “But I

have nothing to do with her. So…I don’t know. Does that mean

something,ordoesn’tit?”

“I don’t see how it could,” Cooper says. “Nobody except Simon

caredwhathappenedbetweenhimandKeely.”

“Keelymighthave,”Bronwynpointsout.

Cooperstiflesalaugh.“Youcan’tthinkKeelyhadanythingtodo

withthis!”

“We’re freewheeling here,” Bronwyn says, leaning forward and

proppingherchininherhand.“She’sacommonthread.”

“Yeah, but Keely has zero motive for anything. Shouldn’t we be

talking about people who hated Simon? Besides you,” Cooper adds,

and Bronwyn goes rigid. “I mean, for that blog post he wrote about

yoursister.Addytoldmeaboutit.Thatwaslow,reallylow.Ineversaw

itthefirsttimearound.I’dhavesaidsomethingifIdid.”

“Well,Ididn’tkillhimforit,”Bronwynsaystightly.

“I’mnotsaying—”Cooperstarts,butAddyinterrupts.

“Let’s stay on track. What about Leah, or even Aiden Wu? You

can’ttellmetheywouldn’thavelikedrevenge.”

Bronwynswallowsandlowershereyes.“IwonderaboutLeahtoo.

She’s been…Well, I have a connection to her I haven’t told you guys

about. She and I were partners in a Model UN competition, and by

mistakewetoldSimonawrongdeadlinethatgothimdisqualified.He

startedtorturingLeahonAboutThatrightafter.”

Bronwyn’stoldmethis,actually.It’sbeeneatingatherforawhile.

But it’s news to Cooper and Addy, who starts bobbing her head. “So

Leah’s got a reason to hate Simon and be mad at you.” Then she

frowns.“Butwhatabouttherestofus?Whydragusalong?”

I shrug. “Maybe we were just the secrets Simon had on hand.

Collateraldamage.”

Bronwynsighs.“Idon’tknow.Leah’s hotheaded, but not exactly

sneaky. I’m more confused about Janae’s deal.” She turns toward

Addy. “One of the strangest things about the Tumblr is how many

detailsitgotright.You’dalmosthavetobeoneofustoknowthatstuff

—orspendalotoftimewithus.Don’tyouthinkit’sweirdthatJanae

hangs out with us even though we’re accused of killing her best

friend?”

“Well, to be fair, I did invite her,” Addy says. “But she’s been

awfullyskittishlately.AnddidyouguysnoticesheandSimonweren’t

together as much as usual right before he died? I keep wondering if

somethinghappenedbetweenthem.”Sheleansbackandchewsonher

bottomlip.“Isupposeifanybodywould’veknownwhatsecretsSimon

wasabouttospillandhow to use them, it’dbeJanae.Ijust…Idon’t

know,youguys.I’mnotsureJanae’sgotitinhertodosomethinglike

this.”

“Maybe Simon rejected her and she…killed him?” Cooper looks

doubtfulbeforehefinishesthesentence.“Don’tseehow,though.She

wasn’tthere.”

Bronwynshrugs.“Wedon’tknowthatforsure.WhenItalkedto

Eli, he kept saying somebody could’ve planned the car accident as a

distraction to slip into the room. If you take that as a possibility,

anyonecould’vedoneit.”

I made fun of Bronwyn when she first brought that up, but—I

don’tknow.IwishI couldremembermoreaboutthatday,couldsay

for sure whether it’s even possible. The whole thing’s turned into a

blur.

“One of the cars was a red Camaro,” Cooper recalls. “Looked

ancient.Idon’tremembereverseeingitintheparkinglotbefore.Or

since.Whichisweirdwhenyouthinkaboutit.”

“Oh,comeon,”Addyscoffs.“That’ssofar-fetched.Soundslikea

lawyer with a guilty client grasping at straws. Someone new was

probablyjustpickingupakidthatday.”

“Maybe,”Coopersays.“Idunno.Luis’sbrotherworksinarepair

placedowntown.MaybeI’llaskhimifacarlikethatcamethrough,or

ifhecancheckwithsomeothershops.”HeholdsupahandatAddy’s

raised brows. “Hey, you’re not the police’s favorite new person of

interest,okay?I’mdesperatehere.”

We’renotgettinganywherewiththisconversation.ButI’mstruck

by a couple of things as I listen to them talk. One: I like all of them

more than I thought I would. Bronwyn’s obviously been the biggest

surprise, and like doesn’t cover it. But Addy’s turned into kind of a

badass,andCooper’snotasone-dimensionalasIthought.

Andtwo:Idon’tthinkanyofthemdidit.

Bronwyn

Friday,October26,8:00p.m.

Friday night my entire family settles in to watch Mikhail Powers

Investigates. I’m feeling more dread than usual, between bracing

myself for Simon’s blog post about Maeve and worrying that

somethingaboutNateandmewillmakeitintothebroadcast.Inever

should have kissed him at school. Although in my defense he was

unbelievablyhotatthatparticularmoment.

Anyway. We’re all nervous. Maeve curls next to me as Mikhail’s

thememusicplaysandphotosofBayviewflashacrossthescreen.

A murder investigation turns witch hunt. When police tactics

include revealing personal information in the name of evidence

collection,havetheygonetoofar?

Wait.What?

The camera zooms in on Mikhail, and he is pissed. I sit up

straighterashestares intothecameraand says, “ThingsinBayview,

California,turneduglythisweekwhenaclosetedstudentinvolvedin

theinvestigationwasoutedafteraroundofpolicequestioning,causing

a media firestorm that should concern every American who cares

aboutprivacyrights.”

AndthenIremember.MikhailPowersisgay.HecameoutwhenI

wasinjuniorhighanditwasabigdealbecauseithappenedaftersome

photosofhimkissingaguycirculatedonline.Itwasn’thischoice.And

fromthewayhe’scoveringthestorynow,he’sstillbitter.

BecausesuddenlytheBayviewPolicearethebadguys.Theyhave

noevidence,they’vedisruptedourlives,andthey’veviolatedCooper’s

constitutionalrights.They’reonthedefensiveasapolicespokesperson

claimstheywerecarefulintheirquestioningandnoleakscamefrom

thedepartment.ButtheACLUwantstogetinvolvednow.Andthere’s

EliKleinfelterfromUntilProvenagain,talkingabouthowpoorlythis

case has been handled from the beginning, with the four of us made

into scapegoats while nobody even asks who else might’ve wanted

SimonKelleherdead.

“Has everybody forgotten about the teacher?” he asks, leaning

forwardfrombehindanoverflowingdesk.“He’stheonlypersonwho

wasinthatroomwho’sbeingtreatedasawitnessinsteadofasuspect,

even though he had more opportunity than anyone. That can’t be

discounted.”

Maeveleansherheadnexttomineandwhispers,“Youshouldbe

workingforUntilProven,Bronwyn.”

Mikhail switches to the next segment: Will the real Simon

Kelleher please stand up? Simon’s class picture flashes across the

screenaspeoplereminisceabouthisgoodgradesandnicefamilyand

all the clubs he belonged to. Then Leah Jackson pops up on-screen,

standingonBayviewHigh’sfrontlawn.IturntoMaeve,eyeswide,and

shelooksequallyshocked.

“Shedidit,”shemurmurs.“Sheactuallydidit.”

Leah’sinterviewis followedbysegments withotherkids hurtby

Simon’s gossip, including Aiden Wu and a girl whose parents kicked

her out when news spread about her being pregnant. Maeve’s hand

findsmineasMikhaildropshislastbombshell—ascreencaptureofthe

4chandiscussionthreads,withSimon’sworstpostsabouttheOrange

Countyschoolshootinghighlighted:

Look,Isupportthenotionofviolentlydisruptingschoolsintheory,butthiskid

showedadepressinglackofimagination.Imean,itwasfine,Iguess.Itgotthe

jobdone.Butitwassoprosaic.Haven’tweseenthisahundredtimesnow?

Kidshootsupschool,shootsupself,filmateleven.Raisethestakes,forGod’s

sake.Dosomethingoriginal.

Agrenade,maybe.Samuraiswords?Surprisemewhenyoutakeouta

bunchofassholelemmings.That’sallI’masking.

I think back to Maeve texting away that day Janae got so upset

withheratlunch.“Soyoureallydidsendthattotheshow?”Iwhisper.

“Ireallydid,”shewhispersback.“Ididn’tknowthey’dusethem,

though.Nobodyevergotbacktome.”

Bythetimethebroadcastfinishes,theBayviewPolicearethereal

villains, followed closely by Simon. Addy, Nate, and I are innocent

bystanders caught in a cross fire we don’t deserve, and Cooper’s a

saint.Thewholething’sastunningreversal.

—

I’m not sure you could call it journalism, but Mikhail Powers

Investigates definitely has an impact over the next few days.

Somebody starts a Change.org petition to drop the investigation that

collects almost twenty thousand signatures. The MLB and local

collegesgetheataboutwhethertheydiscriminateagainstgayplayers.

The tone of the media coverage shifts, with more questions being

raisedaboutthepolice’shandlingofthecasethanaboutus.Andwhen

Ireturn toschool onMonday,peopleactuallytalktomeagain.Even

EvanNeiman,who’sbeenactinglikewe’venevermet,sidlesuptome

atthelastbellandasksifI’mgoingtoMathletepractice.

Maybemylifewon’teverbefullynormalagain,butbytheendof

theweekIstarttohopeit’llbelesscriminal.

FridaynightI’monthephonewithNateasusual,readinghimthe

latestTumblrpost.Eventhatseemslikeit’sabouttogiveup:

Beingaccusedofmurderisturningintoamonumentaldrag.Imean,sure,the

TVcoverageisinteresting.AnditmakesmefeelgoodthatthesmokescreenI

putinplaceisworking—peoplestillhavenocluewho’sresponsibleforkilling

Simon.

Nate cuts me off after the first paragraph. “Sorry, but we have

more important things to discuss. Answer this honestly: If I’m no

longeramurdersuspect,willyoustillfindmeattractive?”

“You’llstillbeonprobationfordrugdealing,”Ipointout.“That’s

prettyhot.”

“Ah,butthat’supinDecember,”Natereplies.“BythenewyearI

couldbeamodelcitizen.Yourparentsmightevenletmetakeyouout

onanactualdate.Ifyouwantedtogo.”

IfIwantedtogo.“Nate,I’vebeenwaitingtogoonadatewithyou

sincefifthgrade,”Itellhim.Ilikethathewonderswhatwe’llbelike

outside this weird bubble. Maybe if we’re both thinking about it,

there’sapossibilitywe’llfigureitout.

Hetellsmeabouthislatestvisitwithhismother,whoreallyseems

to be trying. We watch a movie together—his choice, unfortunately—

andIfallasleeptohisvoicecriticizingtheshoddycamerawork.WhenI

wakeupSaturdaymorning,Inoticemyphonehasonlyafewminutes

left.I’llhavetoaskhimforanotherone.Whichwillbephonenumber

four,Ithink.

Maybewecanuseouractualphonesoneofthesedays.

Istayinbedalittlelaterthanusual,rightuptillthetimeIneedto

get moving if Maeve and I are going to do our usual running-slash-

libraryroutine.I’vejustfinishedlacingupmysneakersandamrooting

aroundinmydresserformyNanowhenatentativeknocksoundson

mybedroomdoor.

“Come in,” I say, unearthing a small blue device from a pile of

headbands. “Is that you, Maeve? Are you the reason this is only ten

percent charged?” I turn around to see my sister so white-faced and

tremblingthatIalmostdropmyNano.AnytimeMaevelookssick,I’m

seizedwiththehorriblefearshe’shadarelapse.“Doyoufeelallright?”

Iaskanxiously.

“I’m fine.” The words come out as a gasp. “But you need to see

something.Comedownstairs,okay?”

“What’sgoingon?”

“Just…come.” Maeve’s voice is so brittle that my heart thumps

painfully.Sheclutchesthebanisterallthewaydownstairs.I’maboutto

askifsomething’swrongwithMomorDadwhensheleadsmeintothe

livingroomandpointsmutelyatthetelevision.

Where I see Nate in handcuffs, being led away from his house,

withthewordsArrestintheSimonKelleherMurderCasescrollingon

thebottomofthescreen.

Bronwyn

Saturday,November3,10:17a.m.

ThistimeIdodropmyNano.

ItslipsfrommyhandandthudssoftlyontoourrugasIwatchone

ofthepoliceofficersflankingNateopenthecruiserdoorandpushhim,

notverygently,intothebackseat.Thescenecutstoareporterstanding

outdoors, brushing windswept dark hair out of her face. “Bayview

Police refused to comment, other than to say that new evidence

providesprobablecausetochargeNateMacauley,theonlyoneofthe

Bayview Four with a criminal record, with Simon Kelleher’s murder.

We’llcontinuetoprovideupdatesasthestoryunfolds.I’mLizRosen,

reportingforChannelSevenNews.”

Maevestandsnexttome, theremoteinherhand.I pluckather

sleeve.“Canyourewindtothebeginning,please?”

She does, and I study Nate’s face in the looping video. His

expression is blank, almost bored, as though he’s been talked into

goingtoapartythatdoesn’tinteresthim.

Iknowthatlook.It’sthesameonehegotwhenImentionedUntil

Proven at the mall. He’s shutting down and putting up defenses.

There’snotraceoftheboyIknowfromthephone,orourmotorcycle

rides,ormy media room.Orthe one Irememberfrom gradeschool,

his St. Pius tie askew and his shirt untucked, leading his sobbing

mother down the hallway with a fierce look that dared any of us to

laugh.

IstillbelievethatNate’stherealone.Whateverthepolicethink,

orfound,doesn’tchangethat.

My parents aren’t home. I grab my phone and call my lawyer,

Robin,whodoesn’tanswer.Ileavehersuchalong,ramblingmessage

thathervoicemailcutsmeoff,andIhangupfeelinghelpless.Robin’s

my onlyhopeforgettinginformation,but she won’t consider this an

emergency.It’saproblemforNate’sfuturelawyer,nother.

That thought makes me even more panicked. What’s an

overworkedpublicdefenderwho’snevermetNategoingtobeableto

do?MyeyesdartaroundtheroomandmeetMaeve’stroubledgaze.

“Doyouthinkhemighthave—”

“No,”Isayforcefully.“Comeon,Maeve,you’veseenhowscrewed

up this investigation is. They thought I did it for a while. They’re

wrong.I’mpositivethey’rewrong.”

“I wonder what they found, though,” Maeve says. “You’d think

they’dbeprettycarefulafterallthebadpresstheygotthisweek.”

Idon’tanswer.ForonceinmylifeIhavenoideawhattodo.My

brain’semptyofeverythingexceptachurninganxiety.Channel7has

given up pretending they know anything new, and they’re replaying

snippetsabouttheinvestigationtodate.There’sfootagefromMikhail

Powers Investigates. Addy in her pixie haircut, giving whoever’s

filming her a defiant finger. A Bayview Police Department

spokesperson.EliKleinfelter.

Ofcourse.

IgrabmyphoneandsearchforEli’sname.Hegavemehiscellthe

lasttimewespokeandtoldmetocallanytime.Ihopehemeantit.

Heanswersonthefirstring.“EliKleinfelter.”

“Eli?It’sBronwynRojas.From—”

“Ofcourse.Hi,Bronwyn.Itakeityou’rewatchingthenews.What

doyoumakeofit?”

“They’rewrong.”IstareatthetelevisionwhileMaevestaresatme.

Dread’s creeping through me like a fast-growing vine, squeezing my

heartandlungssoit’shardtobreathe.“Eli,Nateneedsabetterlawyer

than whatever random public defender they’ll assign him. He needs

somebodywhogivesacrapandknowswhatthey’redoing.Ithink,um,

well—basically I think he needs you. Would you consider taking his

case?”

Eli doesn’t answer straightaway, and when he does his voice is

cautious. “Bronwyn, you know I’m interested in this case, and I

sympathizewithallofyou.You’vegottenashitdealandI’msurethis

arrestismoreofthesame.ButI’vegotanimpossibleworkloadasitis

—”

“Please,”Iinterrupt,andwordstumbleoutofme.ItellEliabout

Nate’sparentsandhowhe’spracticallyraisedhimselfsincehewasin

fifth grade. I tell him every awful, heart-wrenching story Nate’s ever

told me, or that I witnessed or guessed. Nate would hate it, but I’ve

never believed anything more strongly than I believe he needs Eli to

stayoutofjail.

“Allright,allright,”Elisaysfinally.“Igetit.Ireallydo.Areeither

oftheseparentsinanyshapetotalk?I’llmaketimeforaconsultand

givethemsomeideasforresources.That’sallIcando.”

It’snotenough,but it’ssomething.“Yes!”I say withbrazenfake

confidence. Nate talked to his mother two days ago and she was

holdingon,butIhavenoideawhateffecttoday’snewsmighthaveon

her.“I’lltalktoNate’smom.Whencanwemeet?”

“Tentomorrow,ouroffices.”

Maeve’s still watching me when I hang up. “Bronwyn, what are

youdoing?”

IsnatchthekeystotheVolvofromthekitchenisland.“Ineedto

findMrs.Macauley.”

Maevebitesherlip.“Bronwyn,youcan’t—”

Run this like it’s student council? She’s right. I need help. “Will

youcome?Please?”

Shedebatesforhalfaminute,herambereyessteadyonmine.“All

right.”

Myphonealmostslipsoutofmysweatypalmasweheadforthe

car.Imust’vegottenadozencallsand texts while I was talking with

Eli.Myparents,myfriends,andabunchofnumbersIdon’trecognize

thatprobablybelongtoreporters.IhavefourmessagesfromAddy,all

somevariationofDidyousee?andWTF?

“Arewetelling Mom andDadabout this?” Maeveasksas I back

outofthedriveway.

“What‘this’?Nate’sarrest?”

“I’m pretty sure they’re in the loop on that. This…legal

coordinationyou’redoing.”

“Doyoudisapprove?”

“Notdisapprove, exactly. But you’re flying off the handle before

you even know what the police found. It could be cut-and-dried. I

knowyoureallylikehim,but…isn’titpossiblehedidthis?”

“No,”Isayshortly.“Andyes.I’lltellMomandDad.I’mnotdoing

anything wrong. Just trying to help a friend.” My voice sticks on the

lastword,andwedriveinsilenceuntilwereachMotel6.

I’m relieved when the front desk clerk tells me Mrs. Macauley’s

stillcheckedin,butshedoesn’tanswerthephoneinherroom.Which

isagoodsign—hopefullyshe’swhereverNateis.Ileaveanotewithmy

phonenumberandtrynottooverdotheunderlinesandcapitalletters.

MaevetakesoverdrivingresponsibilitiesontheridehomewhileIcall

Addy.

“Whatthehell?”shesayswhenshepicksup,andthevisegripping

mychestloosensatthedisbeliefinhervoice.“Firsttheythinkit’sallof

us.Thenit’smusicalchairstilltheyfinallylandonNate,Iguess.”

“Anything new?” I ask. “I’ve been away from screens for half an

hour.”

But there’s nothing. The police are being tight-lipped about

whatever they found. Addy’s lawyer doesn’t have a clue what’s

happening. “You want to hang out tonight?” she asks. “You must be

goingnuts.Mymomandherboyfriendhaveplans,soAshtonandIare

makingpizza.BringMaeve;we’llhaveasisternight.”

“Maybe.Ifthingsaren’ttoooutofcontrol,”Isaygratefully.

Maeve turns into our street, and my heart sinks when I spy the

line of white news vans in front of our house. It looks like Univision

and Telemundohavejoinedthefray,which is seriously going to piss

offmydad.Hecannevergetthemtocoveranythingpositiveabouthis

company,butthistheyshowupfor.

Wepullintothedrivewaybehindmyparents’cars,andassoonas

Iopenmydoorahalf-dozenmicrophonesareinmyface.Ipushpast

them and meet Maeve in front of the car, grabbing her hand as we

weave through the cameras and the flashing lights. Most of the

reportersshoutsomevariationof“Bronwyn,doyouthinkNatekilled

Simon?” but one calls out, “Bronwyn, is it true you and Nate are

romanticallyinvolved?”

Ireallyhopemyparentsweren’taskedthesamequestion.

MaeveandIslamthedoorbehindusandduckpastthewindows

intoourkitchen.Momissittingattheislandwithacoffeecupbetween

both hands, her face tight with worry. Dad’s voice rises in heated

conversationfrombehindhisclosedofficedoor.

“Bronwyn, we need to talk,” Mom says, and Maeve floats away

upstairs.

I sit across from my mother at the kitchen island and meet her

tired eyes with a pang. My fault. “Obviously you saw the news,” she

says. “Your father’s talking to Robin about what, if anything, this

means for you. In the meantime, we got a lot of questions when we

walkedpastthatzoo out there.Someaboutyouand Nate.” Icantell

she’s trying hard to keep her voice neutral. “We might have made it

difficult for you to talk about whatever…relationships you have with

theotherkids.Becausefromourperspectivethebestwaytokeepyou

safe was to keep you separate. So maybe you didn’t think you could

confide in us, but I need you to be straight with me now that Nate’s

beenarrested.IstheresomethingIshouldknow?”

AtfirstallIcanthinkisWhat’stheleastamountofinformationI

canprovideandstillmakeyouunderstandIneedtohelpNate?But

thenshereachesoutandsqueezesmyhand,andithitsmewithastab

of guilt how I never used to keep things from her until I cheated in

chemistry.Andlookhowthatturnedout.

So I tell her almost everything. Not about bringing Nate to our

house or meeting him at Bayview Estates, because I’m pretty sure

that’ll send us down a bad path. But I explain the late-night phone

calls,theescape-from-schoolmotorcyclerides,and,yeah,thekissing.

My mother is trying so hard not to freak out. I give her a lot of

credit.

“Soyou’re…seriousabouthim?”Shealmostchokesonthewords.

She doesn’t want the real answer. Robin’s answer-a-different-

question-than-the-one-you’re-trying-to-deflect strategy would work

well now. “Mom, I understand this is a bizarre situation and I don’t

reallyknowNate.ButIdon’tbelievehe’dhurtSimon.Andhedoesn’t

haveanybodylookingoutfor him. He needs agoodlawyer,sothat’s

whatI’mtryingtohelpwith.”MyphonebuzzeswithanumberIdon’t

recognize,andIgrimaceasIrealizeIneedtoanswerincaseit’sMrs.

Macauley.“Hi,thisisBronwyn.”

“Bronwyn,sogladyoupickedup!ThisisLisaJacobywiththeLos

AngelesTi—”

I hang up and face my mother again. “I’m sorry I haven’t been

straightwithyouaftereverythingyou’vedoneforme.Butpleaseletme

connectMrs.MacauleyandEli.Okay?”

My mother massages her temple. “Bronwyn, I’m not sure you

understandhowcavalieryou’vebeen.YouignoredRobin’sadviceand

you’re lucky it didn’t blow up in your face. It still might. But…no, I

won’tstopyoufromtalkingwithNate’smother.Thiscaseismessedup

enoughthateveryoneinvolvedneedsdecentcounsel.”

Ithrowmyarmsaroundherand,God,itfeelsgoodtojusthugmy

momforaminute.

ShesighswhenIletgo.“Letmetalktoyourfather.Idon’tthinka

conversationbetweenyoutwowouldbeproductiverightnow.”

I couldn’t agree more. I’m on my way upstairs when my phone

ringsagain,andmyheartleapswhenIseea503areacode.Ican’tkeep

thehopeoutofmyvoicewhenIpickup.“Hi,thisisBronwyn.”

“Bronwyn, hello.” The voice is low and strained, but clear. “It’s

EllenMacauley.Nate’smother.Youleftmeanote.”

Oh, thank God thank God thank God. She didn’t hightail it to

Oregoninadrug-inducedhaze.“Yes.Yes,Idid.”

Cooper

Saturday,November3,3:15p.m.

It’s hard to evaluate exhibition games anymore, but overall this one

wentprettywell.Myfastballhitninety-four,Istruckoutthesidetwice,

and only a few guys heckled me from the stands. Theywerewearing

tutus and baseball caps, though, so they stood out a little more than

youraveragegaybasherbeforesecurityescortedthemout.

Acoupleofcollegescoutsshowedup,andtheguyfromCalState

evenbotheredtotalktomeafterward.CoachRuffalostarted hearing

fromteamsagain,butitstrikesmeasmoreofaPRplaythangenuine

interest. Only Cal State is still talking scholarship, even though I’m

pitching better than ever. That’s life as an outed murder suspect, I

guess.Popdoesn’twaitformeoutsidethe locker room anymore. He

headsstraight forthe carwhen I’mdoneandstartstheenginesowe

canmakeaquickexit.

Reportersareanotherstory.They’redying to talk to me. I brace

myselfwhenacameralightsupasIleavethelockerroom,waitingfor

thewomanwiththemicrophonetocyclethroughtheusualhalf-dozen

questions.Butshecatchesmebysurprise.

“Cooper,whatdoyouthinkaboutNateMacauley’sarrest?”

“Huh?” I stop short, too shocked to brush past her, and Luis

almostbumpsintome.

“You haven’t heard?” The reporter grins like I handed her a

winning lottery ticket. “Nate Macauley’s been arrested for Simon

Kelleher’smurder,andtheBayviewPolicearesayingyou’renolonger

apersonofinterest.Canyoutellmehowthatfeels?”

“Um…”Nope.Ican’t.Orwon’t.Samedifference.“Excuseme.”

“Thehell?”Luismuttersoncewe’repastthecameragauntlet.He

pullsouthisphoneandswipeswildlyasIspotmyfather’scar.“Damn,

shewasn’tlying.Dude.”Hestaresatmewithwideeyes.“You’reoffthe

hook.”

Weird,butthathadn’tevenoccurredtometillhesaidit.

We’re giving Luis a ride home, which is good since it cuts down

thetimePopandIneedtospendalone.LuisandIdropourbagsinthe

backseat,andIclimbintothepassengerseatwhileLuissettleshimself

into the back. Pop’s fiddling with the radio, trying to find a news

station. “They arrested that Macauley kid,” he says with grim

satisfaction.“I’lltellyouwhat,they’regonnahaveapackoflawsuitson

theirhandswhenthisisdone.Startingwithme.”

He slides his eyes to my left as I sit. That’s Pop’s new thing: he

looksnearme.Hehasn’tmetmyeyesoncesinceItoldhimaboutKris.

“Well, you had to figure it was Nate,” Luis says calmly. Throws

Nate right under the bus, like he hadn’t been sitting with the guy at

lunchalllastweek.

Idon’tknowwhattothink.IfI’dhadtopointafingeratsomeone

when this all started, it would’ve been Nate. Even though he’d acted

genuinely desperate when he was searching for Simon’s EpiPen. He

wasthepersonIknewtheleast,andhewasalreadyacriminal,so…it

wasn’tmuchofastretch.

ButwhentheentireBayviewHighcafeteriawasreadytotakeme

down like a pack of hyenas, Nate was the only person who said

anything.Ineverthankedhim,butI’vethoughtalotabouthowmuch

worse school would’ve gotten if he’d brushed past me and let things

snowball.

My phone’s filled with text messages, but the only ones I care

about are a string from Kris. Other than a quick visit to warn Kris

aboutthepoliceandapologizefortheoncomingmediaonslaught,I’ve

barelyseenhiminthepastcoupleofweeks.Eventhoughpeopleknow

aboutus,wehaven’thadachancetobenormal.

I’m still not sure what that would even look like. I wish I could

findout.

Omgsawthenews

Thisisgoodright??

Callwhenyoucan

ItexthimbackwhilehalflisteningtoPopandLuistalk.Afterwe

dropLuisoffsilencesettlesbetweenmeandmyfather,denseasfog.

I’mthefirsttobreakit.“Sohow’dIdo?”

“Good.Lookedgood.”Bare-minimumresponse,asusuallately.

Itryagain.“ItalkedtothescoutfromCalState.”

Hesnorts.“CalState.Noteventopten.”

“Right,”Iacknowledge.

We catch sight of the news vans when we’re halfway down our

street.“Goddamnit,”Popmutters.“Herewegoagain.Hopethiswas

worthit.”

“Whatwasworthit?”

He pullsaroundanewsvan,throwsthe gearshift into park, and

yanksthekeyoutoftheignition.“Yourchoice.”

Angerflaresinsideme—atbothhiswordsandhowhespitsthem

outwithoutevenlookingatme.“Noneofthisisachoice,”Isay,butthe

noiseoutsideswallowsmywordsasheopensthedoor.

Thereportergauntletisthinnerthanusual,soI’mguessingmost

ofthemareat Bronwyn’s.IfollowPop inside, whereheimmediately

heads for the living room and turns on the TV. I’m supposed to do

postgamestretchingnow,butmyfatherhasn’tbotheredtoremindme

aboutmyroutineforawhile.

Nonny’s in the kitchen, making buttered toast with brown sugar

ontop.“Howwasthegame,darlin’?”

“Fantastic,”Isayheavily,collapsingintoachair.Ipickupastray

quarter and spin it into a silvery blur across the kitchen table. “I

pitchedgreat,butnobodycares.”

“Now,now.”Shesitsacrossfrommewithhertoastandoffersme

aslice,butIpushitbacktowardher.“Giveittime.Doyouremember

whatItoldyouinthehospital?”Ishakemyhead.“Things’llgetworse

beforetheygetbetter.Well,theysurelydidgetworse,andnowthere’s

nowheretogobutup.”ShetakesabiteandIkeepspinningthequarter

untilsheswallows.“You should bringthatboyof yours bysometime

fordinner,Cooper.It’sabouttimewemethim.”

I try to picture my father making conversation with Kris over

chickencasserole.“Popwouldhatethat.”

“Well,he’llhavetogetusedtoit,won’the?”

Before I can answer her, my phone buzzes with a text from a

number I don’t recognize. It’s Bronwyn. I got your number from

Addy.CanIcallyou?

Sure.

Myphoneringswithinseconds.“Hi,Cooper.You’veheardabout

Nate?”

“Yeah.”I’mnotsurewhatelsetosay,butBronwyndoesn’tgiveme

achance.

“I’m trying to set up a meeting with Nate’s mom and Eli

KleinfelterfromUntilProven.I’mhopinghe’lltakeNate’scase.Iwas

wondering, did you get a chance to ask Luis’sbrotheraboutthatred

Camarofromtheparkinglotaccident?”

“Luiscalledhimlastweekaboutit.Hewasgonnalookintoit,but

Ihaven’theardbackyet.”

“Wouldyoumindcheckinginwithhim?”Bronwynasks.

Ihesitate.EventhoughIhaven’tprocessedeverythingyet,there’s

thislittleballofreliefgrowinginsideme.BecauseyesterdayIwasthe

police’s number one guy. And today I’m not. I’d be lying if I said it

didn’tfeelgood.

ButthisisNate.Who’snotafriend,exactly.Oratall,Iguess.But

he’snotnothing.

“Yeah,okay,”ItellBronwyn.

Bronwyn

Sunday,November4,10:00a.m.

We’requitethecrewattheUntilProvenofficesSundaymorning:me,

Mrs. Macauley, and my mom. Who was willing to let me go, but not

unsupervised.

Thesmall,sparselyfurnishedspaceisoverflowing,witheachdesk

holdingatleast twopeople.Everyone’seithertalking urgentlyonthe

phoneorpoundingawayonacomputer.Sometimesboth.“Busyfora

Sunday,”IcommentasElileadsusintoatinyroomcrammedwitha

smalltableandchairs.

Eli’s hair seems to have grown three inches since he was on

MikhailPowersInvestigates,allofitupward.Herunsahandthrough

the mad scientist curls and sends them even higher. “Is it Sunday

already?”

Therearen’tenoughchairs,soIsitonthefloor.“Sorry,”Elisays.

“We can make this quick. First off, Mrs. Macauley, I’m sorry about

your son’s arrest. I understand he’s been remanded to a juvenile

detentioncenterinsteadofanadultfacility,whichisgoodnews.AsI

toldBronwyn,there’snotmuchIcandogivenmycurrentworkload.

But if you’re willing to share whatever information you have, I’ll do

whatIcantoprovidesuggestionsandmaybeareferral.”

Mrs. Macauley looks exhausted, but like she’s made an effort to

dress up a little in navy pants and a lumpy gray cardigan. My own

mother is her usual effortless chic in leggings, tall boots, a cashmere

sweater-coat, and a subtly patterned infinity scarf. The two of them

couldn’tbemoredifferent,andMrs.Macauleytugsatthefrayedhem

ofhersweaterasthoughsheknowsit.

“Well.Here’swhatI’vebeentold,”shesays.“Theschoolreceiveda

callthatNatehaddrugsinhislocker—”

“Fromwhom?”Eliasks,scribblingonayellownotepad.

“They wouldn’t say. I think it was anonymous. But they went

aheadandremovedhislockFridayafterschooltocheck.Theydidn’t

findanydrugs.ButtheydidfindabagwithSimon’swaterbottleand

EpiPen.AndalltheEpiPensfromthenurse’sofficethatwentmissing

the day he died.” I run my fingers along the rough fiber of the rug,

thinking of all the times Addy’s been questioned about those pens.

Cooper, too. They’vebeenhangingoverourheadsforweeks.There’s

no way, even if Nate were actually guilty of something, that he’d be

dumbenoughtoleavethemsittinginhislocker.

“Ah.”Eli’svoicecomesoutlikeasigh,buthisheadstaysbentover

hislegalpad.

“Sothepolice gotinvolved,andthey gotawarranttosearch the

houseSaturdaymorning,”Mrs.Macauleycontinues.“Andtheyfounda

computerinNate’sclosetwiththis…journal,Iguessthey’recallingit.

All those Tumblr posts that have been popping up everywhere since

Simondied.”

I raise my eyes and catch my mother staring at me, a kind of

disturbedpitycrawlingacrossherface.Iholdhergazeandshakemy

head.Idon’tbelieveanyofit.

“Ah,” Eli says again. This time he does look up, but his face

remainscalmandneutral.“Anyfingerprints?”

“No,”Mrs.Macauleysays,andIexhalequietly.

“WhatdoesNatesayaboutallthis?”Eliasks.

“Thathehasnoideahowanyofthesethingsgotintohislockeror

thehouse,”Mrs.Macauleysays.

“Okay,”Elisays. “And Nate’slockerhadn’t beensearchedbefore

this?”

“Idon’tknow,”Mrs.Macauleyadmits,andElilooksatme.

“It was,” I recall. “Nate says he was searched the first day they

questioned us. His locker and his house. The police came with dogs

andeverything,lookingfordrugs.Theydidn’tfindany,”Iaddhastily,

with a sideways glance at my mother before I turn back to Eli. “But

nobodyfoundSimon’sthingsoracomputerthen.”

“Isyourhousetypicallylocked?”EliasksMrs.Macauley.

“It’sneverlocked,”shereplies.“Idon’tthinkthedoorevenhasa

lockanymore.”

“Huh,”Elimutters,scribblingonhispadagain.

“There’s something else,” Mrs. Macauley says, and her voice

wavers. “The district attorney wants Nate moved to a regular prison.

They’resayinghe’stoodangeroustobeinajuvenilecenter.”

Achasm cracksopen inmy chestas Elisits boltupright.It’sthe

first time he’s dropped his impartial lawyer mask and shown some

emotion,andthe horroronhisface terrifiesme.“Oh no.No,no, no.

That would be a fucking disaster. Excuse my language. What’s his

lawyerdoingtostopthat?”

“We haven’t met him yet.” Mrs. Macauley sounds near tears.

“Someone’sbeenappointed,buttheyhaven’tbeenintouch.”

Elidropshispenwithafrustratedgrunt.“PossessionofSimon’s

thingsisn’tgreat.Notgreatatall.Peoplehavebeenconvictedonless.

But the way they got this evidence…I don’t like it. Anonymous tips,

things that weren’t there before conveniently showing up now. In

placesthataren’thard to access.Combinationlocks are easytopick.

And if the DA’s talking about sending Nate to federal prison at age

seventeen…anylawyerworthadamnshouldbeblockingthehelloutof

that.” He rubs a hand across his face and scowls at me. “Damn it,

Bronwyn.Thisisyourfault.”

EverythingEli’sbeensayinghasbeenmakingmemoreandmore

sick,exceptthis.NowI’mjustconfused.“WhatdidIdo?”Iprotest.

“YoubroughtthiscasetomyattentionandnowIhavetotakeit.

AndIdonothavetime.Butwhatever.That’sassumingyou’reopento

achangeincounsel,Mrs.Macauley?”

Oh,thankGod.Thereliefsurgingthroughmemakesmelimpand

almostdizzy.Mrs.Macauleynodsvigorously,andElisighs.

“Icanhelp,”Isayeagerly.“We’vebeenlookinginto—”I’mabout

to tell Eli about the red Camaro, but he holds his hand out with a

forbiddingexpression.

“Stoprightthere,Bronwyn.IfI’mgoingtorepresentNate,Ican’t

speak with other represented people in this case. It could get me

disbarred and put you at risk of implication. In fact, I need you and

your mother to leave so I can work out some details with Mrs.

Macauley.”

“But…”Ilookhelplesslyatmymother,who’snoddingandgetting

to her feet, securing her handbag over her shoulder with an air of

finality.

“He’s right, Bronwyn. You need to leave things with Mr.

Kleinfelter and Mrs. Macauley now.” Her expression softens as she

meetsMrs.Macauley’seyes.“Iwishyouthebestofluckwithallthis.”

“Thankyou,”Mrs.Macauleysays.“Andthankyou,Bronwyn.”

Ishouldfeelgood.Missionaccomplished.ButIdon’t.Elidoesn’t

knowhalfofwhatwedo,andnowhowamIsupposedtotellhim?

Addy

Monday,November5,6:30p.m.

By Monday things have gotten oddly normal. Well, new-normal.

Newmal? Anyway, my point is, when I sit down to dinner with my

motherandAshton,thedrivewayisfreeofnewsvansandmylawyer

doesn’tcallonce.

Momdepositsacoupleofheated-upTraderJoe’sdinnersinfront

ofAshtonandme,thensitsbetweenuswithacloudyglassofyellow-

brown beverage. “I’m not eating,” she announces, even though we

didn’task.“I’mcleansing.”

Ashtonwrinkleshernose.“Ugh,Mom. That’snotthatlemonade

withthemaplesyrupandcayennepepper,isit?That’ssogross.”

“You can’t argue with results,” Mom says, taking a long sip. She

presses a napkin to her overly plumped lips, and I take in her stiff

blondhair,redlacquerednails,andtheskintightdresssheputonfora

typical Monday. Is that me in twenty-five years? The thought makes

meevenlesshungrythanIwasaminuteago.

AshtonturnsonthenewsandwewatchcoverageofNate’sarrest,

including an interview with Eli Kleinfelter. “Handsome boy,” Mom

noteswhenNate’smugshotappearsonthescreen.“Shameheturned

outtobeamurderer.”

Ipushmyhalf-eatentrayaway.There’snopointinsuggestingthat

the police might be wrong. Mom’s just happy the lawyer bills are

almostover.

Thedoorbellrings,andAshtonfoldshernapkinnexttoherplate.

“I’ll see who it is.” She calls my name a few seconds later, and my

mother shoots me a surprised look. Nobody’s come to the door in

weeksunlesstheywantedtointerviewme,andmysisteralwayschases

thoseaway.MomfollowsmeintothelivingroomasAshtonpullsthe

dooropentoletTJenter.

“Hey.”Iblinkathiminsurprise.“Whatareyoudoinghere?”

“Yourhistorybookendedupinmybackpackafterearthscience.

Thisisyours,right?”TJhandsathickgraytextbooktome.We’vebeen

labpartnerssincethefirstrocksorting,andit’susuallyabrightspotin

myday.

“Oh.Yeah,thanks.Butyoucould’vegivenittometomorrow.”

“Wehavethatquiz,though.”

“Right.” No point in telling him I’ve pretty much given up on

academicsforthesemester.“How’dyouknowwhereIlive?”

“School directory.” Mom’s staring at TJ like he’s dessert, and he

meetshereyeswithapolitesmile.“Hi,I’mTJForrester.Igotoschool

with Addy.” She simpers and shakes his hand, taking in his dimples

andfootballjacket.He’salmostadark-skinned,crooked-nosedversion

ofJake.Hisnamedoesn’tregisterwithher,butAshtonexhalesasoft

breathbehindme.

I’ve got to get TJ out of here before Mom puts two and two

together.“Well,thanksagain.I’dbettergostudy.Seeyoutomorrow.”

“Doyouwanttostudytogetherforawhile?”TJasks.

Ihesitate.IlikeTJ,Ireallydo.Butspendingtimetogetheroutside

schoolisn’tastepI’mreadytotake.“Ican’t,becauseof…otherstuff.”I

practicallyshovehimoutthedoor,andwhenIturnbackinside,Mom’s

faceisamixtureofpityandirritation.

“What’s wrong with you?” she hisses. “Being so rude to a

handsomeboy likethat!It’snotasifthey’rebeatingdownyourdoor

anymore.” Her eyes flicker over my purple-streaked hair. “Given the

way you’ve let yourself go, you should consider yourself lucky he

wantedtospendtimewithyouatall.”

“God,Mom—”Ashtonsays,butIinterrupther.

“I’mnotlookingforanotherboyfriend,Mom.”

She stares at me like I’ve sprouted wings and started speaking

Chinese.“Whyonearthnot?It’sbeenagessinceyouandJakebroke

up.”

“I spent more than three years with Jake. I could use some

downtime.”Isayitmostlytoargue,butassoonasthewordscomeout

ofmymouthIknowthey’retrue.Mymotherstarteddatingwhenshe

wasfourteen,like me,andhasn’tstoppedsince.Evenwhenitmeans

goingoutwithanimmatureman-boywho’stoocowardlytobringher

hometohisparents.

Idon’twanttobethatafraidtobealone.

“Don’t be ridiculous. That’s the last thing you need. Have a few

dateswithaboylikeTJ,evenifyou’renotinterested,andotherboysat

schoolmightseeyouasdesirableagain.Youdon’twanttoendupona

shelf,Adelaide.Somesadsinglegirlwhospendsallhertimewiththat

oddgroupoffriendsyou’vegotnow.Ifyou’dwashthatnonsenseoutof

yourhair,growitalittle,andwearmakeupagain,youcoulddomuch

betterthanthat.”

“Idon’tneedaguytobehappy,Mom.”

“Ofcourseyoudo,”shesnaps.“You’vebeenmiserableforthepast

month.”

“BecauseIwasbeinginvestigatedformurder,”Iremindher.“Not

becauseI’msingle.”It’snotonehundredpercenttrue,sincethemain

sourceofmymiserywasJake.ButitwashimIwantedtobewith.Not

justanyone.

My mother shakes her head. “You keep telling yourself

that, Adelaide, but you’re hardly college material. Now’s the time to

findadecentboywithagoodfuturewho’swillingtotakecareofy—”

“Mom, she’s seventeen,” Ashton interrupts. “You can put this

scriptonholdforatleasttenyears.Orforever.It’snotlikethewhole

relationshipthinghasworkedoutwellforeitherofus.”

“Speak for yourself, Ashton,” Mom says haughtily. “Justin and I

areecstaticallyhappy.”

Ashtonopenshermouthto say more, but myphoneringsandI

hold up my finger as Bronwyn’s name appears. “Hey. What’s up?” I

say.

“Hi.” Her voice sounds thick, as if she’s been crying. “So, I was

thinking about Nate’s case and I wanted your help with something.

Couldyou stopbyforalittlewhiletonight? I’mgoingtoaskCooper,

too.”

It beats being insulted by my mother. “Sure. Text me your

address.”

Iscrapemyhalf-eatendinnerintothegarbagedisposalandgrab

my helmet, calling good-bye to Ashton as I head out the door. It’s a

perfect late-fall night, and the trees lining our street sway in a light

breeze as I pedal past. Bronwyn’s house is only about a mile from

mine, but it’s a completely different neighborhood; there’s nothing

cookie-cutteraboutthesehouses.Icoastintothedrivewayofherhuge

grayVictorian,eyeingthevibrantflowersandwraparoundporchwith

astabofenvy.It’sgorgeous,butit’snotjustthat.Itlookslikeahome.

WhenIringthe doorbell Bronwyn answerswithamuted “Hey.”

Her eyes droop with exhaustion and her hair’s come half out of its

ponytail.Itoccurstomethatwe’veallhadourturngettingcrushedby

thisexperience:mewhenJakedumpedmeandallmyfriendsturned

againstme;Cooper whenhewas outed,mocked,andpursuedbythe

police;andnowBronwynwhentheguyshelovesisinjailformurder.

Notthatshe’seversaidshelovesNate.It’sprettyobvious,though.

“Come on in,” Bronwyn says, pulling the door open. “Cooper’s

here.We’redownstairs.”

She leads me into a spacious room with overstuffed sofas and a

large flat-screen television mounted on the wall. Cooper is already

sprawledinan armchair, andMaeve’ssitting cross-leggedinanother

withherlaptoponthearmrestbetweenthem.BronwynandIsinkinto

asofaandIask,“How’sNate?Haveyouseenhim?”

Wrong question, I guess. Bronwyn swallows once, then twice,

tryingtokeepherselftogether.“Hedoesn’twantmeto.Hismomsays

he’s…okay. Considering. Juvenile detention’s horrible but at least it’s

not prison.” Yet. We all know Eli’s locked in a battle to keep Nate

whereheis.“Anyway.Thanksforcoming.IguessIjust…”Hereyesfill

with tears, and Cooper and I exchange a worried glance before she

blinks them back. “You know, I was so glad when we all finally got

togetherandstartedtalkingaboutthis.Ifeltalotlessalone.AndnowI

guessI’maskingforyourhelp.Iwanttofinishwhatwestarted.Keep

puttingourheadstogethertomakesenseofthis.”

“Ihaven’theardanythingfromLuisaboutthecar,”Coopersays.

“Iwasn’tactuallythinking about that rightnow,butplease keep

checking,okay?Iwasmore hoping we couldalltakeanotherlook at

thoseTumblrposts.Ihavetoadmit,Istartedignoringthembecause

they were freaking me out. But now the police say Nate wrote them,

and I thought we should read through and note anything that’s

surprising,ordoesn’tfitwithhowwerememberthings,orjuststrikes

usasweird.”Shepullsherponytailoverhershoulderassheopensher

laptop.“Doyoumind?”

“Now?”Cooperasks.

Maeve angles her screen so Cooper can see it. “No time like the

present.”

Bronwyn’snexttome,andwestartfromthebottomoftheTumblr

posts.IgottheideaforkillingSimonwhilewatchingDateline.Nate’s

never struck me as a newsmagazine show fan, but I doubt that’s the

kind of insight Bronwyn’s looking for. We sit in silence for a while,

reading.BoredomcreepsinandIrealizeI’vebeenskimming,soIgo

backandtrytoreadmorethoroughly.Blahblah,I’msosmart,nobody

knowsit’sme,thepolicedon’thaveaclue.Andsoon.

“Hang on. This didn’t happen.” Cooper’s reading more carefully

than I am. “Have you gotten to this yet? The one dated October

twentieth,aboutDetectiveWheelerandthedoughnuts?”

Iraisemyheadlikeacatprickingupitsearsatadistantsound.

“Um,”Bronwynsays,hereyesscanningthescreen.“Ohyeah.That’sa

weird little aside, isn’t it? We were never all at the police station at

once.Well, mayberightafterthefuneral,butwedidn’tseeortalkto

each other. Usually when whoever’s writing these throws in specific

details,they’reaccurate.”

“Whatareyouguyslookingat?”Iask.

Bronwynincreasesthepagesizeandpoints.“There.Secondtolast

line.”

Thisinvestigationisturningintosuchacliché,thefourofusevencaught

DetectiveWheelereatingapileofdoughnutsintheinterrogationroom.

Acoldwavewashesovermeasthewordsentermybrainandnest

there,pushingeverythingelseout.CooperandBronwynareright:that

didn’thappen.

ButItoldJakeitdid.

Bronwyn

Tuesday,November6,7:30p.m.

I’mnotsupposedtotalktoEli.SolastnightItextedMrs.Macauleya

link to the Tumblr post that Addy, Cooper, and I read together, and

told her what was weird about it. ThenIwaited.Afrustratinglylong

time,untilIgotatextbackfromherafterschool.

Thankyou.I’veinformedEli,butheasksthatyoudon’tinvolve

yourselffurther.

That’sall.Iwantedtothrowmyphoneacrosstheroom.I’lladmit

it;IspentmostoflastnightfantasizingthatAddy’sbombshellwould

getNateoutofjailimmediately.WhileIrealizethatwasridiculously

naïve,Istillthinkitdeservesmorethanabrush-off.

EventhoughIcan’twrapmybrainaroundwhatitmeans.Because

—JakeRiordan?IfIhadtopickthemostrandompossiblepersonto

beinvolvedinthis,itstillwouldn’thavebeenhim.Andinvolvedhow,

exactly?DidhewritethewholeTumblr,orjustthatonepost?Didhe

frameNate?DidhekillSimon?

Coopershotthatdownalmostimmediately.“Hecouldn’thave,”he

said Monday night. “Jake was at football practice when Addy called

him.”

“Hemighthaveleft,”Iinsisted.SoCoopercalledLuistoconfirm.

“Luis says no,” Cooper reported. “Jake was leading passing drills the

wholetime.”

I’m not sure we can hinge an entire investigation on Luis’s

memory,though.Thatboy’skilledalotofbraincellsovertheyears.He

didn’tevenquestionwhyCooperwasasking.

Now I’m in my room with Maeve and Addy, putting dozens of

colored Post-its on the wall thatsummarizeeverythingweknow.It’s

veryLaw&Order,exceptnoneofitmakessense.

Someoneplantedphonesinourbackpacks

Simonwaspoisonedduringdetention

Bronwyn,Nate,Cooper,Addy&Mr.Averywereintheroom

Thecaraccidentdistractedus

JakewroteatleastoneTumblrpost

JakeandSimonwerefriendsonce

LeahhatesSimon

AidenWuhatesSimon

SimonhadathingforKeely

Simonhadaviolence-lovingalteregoonline

Simonwasdepressed

Janaeseemsdepressed

Janae&Simonstoppedbeingfriends?

Mymother’svoicefloatsupthestairs.“Bronwyn,Cooper’shere.”

MomalreadylovesCooper.Somuchthatshedoesn’tprotestallof

us getting together again, even though Robin’s legal advice is to still

keepourdistancefromoneanother.

“Hey,”Coopersays,nottheleastbitbreathlessfromboundingup

ourstairs.“Ican’tstaylong,butIgotsomegoodnews.Luisthinkshe

might’vefoundthatcar.Hisbrothercalledabuddyatarepairplacein

Eastland and they had a red Camaro come through with fender

damageafewdaysafterSimondied.Igotyouthelicenseplateanda

phone number.” He searches through his backpack and hands me a

tornenvelopewithnumbersscrawledacrosstheback.“Iguessyoucan

passthatalongtoEli,huh?Maybethere’ssomethingthere.”

“Thanks,”Isaygratefully.

Cooperrunshiseyesovermywall.“Thishelping?”

Addy sits back on her haunches with a frustrated noise. “Not

really. It’s just a collection of random facts. Simon this, Janae that,

Leahthis,Jakethat…”

Cooperfrownsandcrosseshisarms,leaningforwardforabetter

lookatthewall.“Idon’tgettheJake part, at all. I can’t believe he’d

actually sit around and write that damn Tumblr. I think he just…

blabbed to the wrong person or something.” He taps a finger on the

Post-it with all our names on it. “And I keep wondering: Why us?

Why’d we get dragged into this? Are we just collateral damage, like

Natesaid?Oristheresomespecificreasonwe’repartofthis?”

Itiltmyheadathim,curious.“Likewhat?”

Cooper shrugs. “I don’t know. Take you and Leah. It’s a small

thing,butwhatifsomethinglikethatstartedadominoeffect?Orme

and…”HescansthewallandsettlesonaPost-it.“AidenWu,maybe.

Hegotoutedforcross-dressing,andIwashidingthefactI’mgay.”

“Butthatentrywaschanged,”Iremindhim.

“Iknow. Andthat’sweirdtoo,isn’tit?Whygetridofaperfectly

good piece of gossip that’s true, and replace it with one that’s not? I

can’t shake the feeling that this is personal, y’know? The way that

Tumblr kept everything going, egging people on about us. I wish I

understoodwhy.”

Addy tugsononeofherearrings.Her hand trembles, and when

shespeaks,hervoicedoestoo.“Thingswereprettypersonalbetween

meand Jake,Iguess.Andmaybehewasjealousofyou,Cooper.But

BronwynandNate…whywouldheinvolvethem?”

Collateraldamage.We’veallbeenaffected,butNate’sgottenthe

worstofitbyfar.IfJake’stoblame,thatdoesn’tmakesense.Butthen

again,noneofthisdoes.

“Ishouldgo,”Coopersays.“I’mmeetingLuis.”

Imanageasmile.“NotKris?”

Cooper’s return smile is a little strained. “We’re still figuring

thingsout.Anyway,letmeknowifthecarstuffishelpful.”

He leaves and Maeve gets up, crossing over to the spot near my

bedthatCooperjustvacated.SheshufflesPost-itsonthewall,putting

fourofthemintoasquare:

JakewroteatleastoneTumblrpost

LeahhatesSimon

AidenWuhatesSimon

Janaeseemsdepressed

“Thesearethemostconnectedpeople.They’veeithergotreasonto

hateSimon,orwealreadyknowthey’reinvolvedinsomeway.Some

are pretty unlikely”—she taps on Aiden’s name—“and some have big

redflagsagainstthem.”ShepointstoJakeandJanae.“Butnothing’s

clear-cut.Whatarewemissing?”

WeallstareatthePost-itsinsilence.

—

Youcanlearnalotaboutapersonwhenyouhavehislicenseplateand

phonenumber.Hisaddress,forexample.Andhisname,andwherehe

goestoschool.Soifyouwantedto,youcouldhangoutintheparking

lotofhisschoolbeforeitstartedandwaitforhisredCamarotoarrive.

Theoretically.

Oractually.

I meant to turn the numbers Cooper gave me over to Mrs.

Macauley so she could pass them along to Eli. But I kept thinking

about her terse text: I’ve informed Eli, but he asks that you don’t

involve yourselffurther. Would Eli even take me seriously? He’s the

one who first mentioned the car accident as suspicious, but he’s

spending all his time trying to keep Nate in the juvenile detention

center.Hemightconsiderthisnothingbutapeskydistraction.

Anyway,I’mjustscopingthingsout.That’swhatItellmyselfasI

enter Eastland High’s parking lot. They start classes forty minutes

beforewedo,soIcanstillgetbacktoBayviewinplentyoftimeforthe

firstbell.It’sstuffyinthecar,andIlowerbothfront-seatwindowsasI

pullintoanemptyspotandturnthecaroff.

Thingis,Ineedtobedoingstuff.IfIdon’t,IthinkaboutNatetoo

much.Aboutwhereheis,whathe’sgoingthrough,andthefactthathe

won’ttalktome.Imean,Iunderstandhehaslimitedcommunication

options.Obviously.Butthey’renotnonexistent.IaskedMrs.Macauley

ifIcouldvisit,andshetoldmeNatedidn’twantmethere.

Which stings. She thinkshewantstoprotectme,butI’mnotso

sure. He’s pretty used to people giving up on him, and maybe he’s

decidedtodoittomefirst.

Aflashofredcatchesmyeye,andanancientCamarowithashiny

fenderparksafewspacesawayfromme.Ashortdark-hairedboygets

out andhaulsabackpackfromthepassenger seat, looping one strap

overhisshoulder.

Idon’tintendtosayanything.Butheglancesmywayashewalks

bymywindowandbeforeIcanstopmyselfIblurtout,“Hey.”

Hepauses,curiousbrowneyesmeetingmine.“Hey.I knowyou.

You’rethegirlfromtheBayviewinvestigation.Bronte,right?”

“Bronwyn.”SinceI’vealreadyblownmycover,mightaswellgoall

in.

“What are you doing here?” He’s dressed like he’s waiting for a

’90sgrungecomeback,inaflannelshirtoveraPearlJamT-shirt.

“Um…”Myeyesskittertohiscar.Ishouldjustask,right?That’s

whatIcamefor.ButnowthatI’mactuallytalkingtothisboythewhole

thingseemsridiculous.WhatamI supposed to say? Hey, what’s the

dealwithyouroddlytimedcaraccidentataschoolyoudon’tgoto?

“Waitingforsomebody.”

Hewrinkleshisbrowatme.“Youknowpeoplehere?”

“Yeah.”Sortof.Iknowaboutyourrecentcarrepair,anyway.

“Everybody’sbeentalking aboutyouguys.Weird case,huh?The

kidwhodied—hewas kind of weird,right?Imean, who evenhasan

app like that? And all that stuff they said on Mikhail Powers.

Random.”

Heseems…nervous.Mybrain chants ask ask ask but my mouth

won’tobey.

“Well.Seeya.”Hestartstomovepastmycar.

“Wait!”Myvoiceunsticksandhepauses.“CanItalktoyoufora

second?”

“Wejustweretalking.”

“Right,but…Ihaveanactualquestionforyou.Thethingis,whenI

saidIwaswaitingforsomebody?Imeantyou.”

He’sdefinitelynervous.“Whywouldyoubewaitingforme?You

don’tevenknowme.”

“Becauseofyourcar,”Isay.“Isawyougetintoanaccidentinour

parkinglotthatday.ThedaySimondied.”

Hepalesandblinksatme.“Howdoyou—whydoyouthinkthat

wasme?”

“Isawyourlicenseplate,”Ilie.NoneedtoselloutLuis’sbrother.

“The thing is…the timing was weird, you know? And now someone’s

beenarrestedforsomethingI’msurehedidn’tdoandIwondered…did

youhappentoseeanythingoranyonestrangethatday?Itwouldhelp

—”Myvoicecatchesandtearsprickmyeyes.Iblinkthembackandtry

tofocus.“Anythingyoucouldtellmewouldhelp.”

He hesitates and steps back, looking toward the stream of kids

funnelingintotheschool.Iwaitforhimtobackawayandjointhem,

butinsteadhecrossestotheothersideofmycar,opensthepassenger

door,andclimbsinside.Ipressabuttontoraisethewindowsandturn

tofacehim.

“So.”Herunsahandthroughhishair.“Thisisweird.I’mSam,by

theway.SamBarron.”

“BronwynRojas.ButIguessyouknowthatalready.”

“Yeah.I’vebeenwatchingthenewsandwonderingifIshouldsay

something. But I didn’t know if it meant anything. I still don’t.” He

gives me a quick sideways glance, as though checking for signs of

alarm.“Wedidn’tdoanythingwrong.Like,illegal.AsfarasIknow.”

MyspinetinglesasIsitupstraighter.“Who’s‘we’?”

“Meandmybuddy.Wehadtheaccidentonpurpose.Aguypaid

us a thousand bucks each to do it. Said it was a prank. I mean,

wouldn’tyou?Thefenderbarelycostfivehundredtofix.Therestwas

pureprofit.”

“Someone…” It’s warm in the car with the windows up, and my

handsgrippingthesteering wheelareslickwith sweat. Ishouldturn

the air conditioning on, but I can’t move. “Who? Do you know his

name?”

“Ididn’t,but—”

“Didhehavebrownhairandblueeyes?”Iblurtout.

“Yeah.”

Jake. He must’ve gotten away from Luis at some point after all.

“Washe—Wait,Ihaveapictureinheresomewhere,”Isay,fumbling

through my backpack for my phone. I’m sure I took a picture of the

homecomingcourtinSeptember.

“Idon’tneedapicture,”Samsays.“Iknowwhoheis.”

“Really? Like, you know his name?” My heart’s beating so fast I

canseemychestmoving.“Areyousurehegaveyouarealname?”

“Hedidn’tgivemeanyname.IfigureditoutlaterwhenIsawthe

news.”

Irememberthosefirstfewstories,withJake’sclasspicturenextto

Addy’s.Alotofpeoplethoughtitwasn’tfairtoshowhim,butI’mglad

theydid.Ihavethehomecomingpicturepulledupnow,andIhandit

toSam.“Him,right?JakeRiordan?”

Heblinksatmyphone,shakeshishead,andhandsitback.“No.

That’snothim. Itwassomeonealotmore…closelyinvolvedwiththe

wholething.”

My heart’s about to explode. If it wasn’t Jake, there’s only one

other boy with dark hair and blue eyes involved in the investigation.

Closelyinvolved,noless.Andthat’sNate.

No.No.Please,God,no.

“Who?”Myvoiceisn’tevenawhisper.

Samblowsoutasighandleansagainsttheheadrest.He’squietfor

thelongestsecondsofmylifeuntilhesays,“ItwasSimonKelleher.”

Cooper

Wednesday,November7,7:40p.m.

Thesemurderclubmeetingsarebecomingaregularthing.Weneeda

newname,though.

Thistimewe’reatacoffeeshopindowntownSanDiego,crammed

intoabacktablebecauseournumberskeepexpanding.Kriscamewith

me, and Ashton with Addy. Bronwyn’s got all her Post-it notes on a

bunch of manila folders, including the newest one: Simon paid two

kidstostageacaraccident.ShesaysSamBarronpromisedtocallEli

andlethimknow.Howthat’llhelpNate,Ihavenoidea.

“Why’dyoupickthisplace,Bronwyn?”Addyasks.“Kindofoutof

theway.”

Bronwyn clears her throat and makes a big production of

rearranging her Post-it notes. “No reason. So, anyway.” She shoots a

businesslikelookaround thetable.“Thanks forcoming.Maeve andI

keepgoingoverthisstuffanditnevermakesanysense.Wethoughta

meetingofthemindsmighthelp.”

MaeveandAshtonreturnfromthecounter,balancingourorders

onacoupleofrecyclabletrays.Theyhanddrinksaround,andIwatch

Krismethodicallyopenfivepacketsofsugaranddumpthemintohis

latte. “What?” he asks, catching my expression. He’s in a green polo

shirtthatbringsouthiseyes,andhelooksreally,reallygood.Thatstill

seemslikethekindofthingI’mnotsupposedtonotice.

“Youlikesugar,huh?”It’sadumbthingtosay.WhatImeanis,I

have no idea how you take your coffee because this is the first time

we’vebeenoutinpublictogether.Krispresseshislipstogether,which

shouldn’t be attractive but is. I feel awkward and jittery and

accidentallybumphiskneeunderthetable.

“Nothing wrong with that,” Addy says, tipping her cup against

Kris’s.Theliquidinsidehersissopaleitbarelyresemblescoffee.

KrisandIhavebeenspendingmoretimetogether,butitdoesn’t

feel natural yet. Maybe I’d gotten used to the sneaking around, or

maybe I haven’t come to terms with the fact that I’m dating a guy. I

foundmyselfkeepingmydistancefromKriswhenwewalkedfrommy

cartothecoffeeshop,becauseIdidn’twantpeopleguessingwhatwe

aretoeachother.

Ihatethatpartofme.Butit’sthere.

Bronwyn has some kind of steaming tea that looks too hot to

drink.Shepushesitasideandpropsoneofthemanilafoldersagainst

thewall.“Here’sallthestuffweknowaboutSimon:Hewasgoingto

postrumorsaboutus.Hepaidtwokidstostageacaraccident.Hewas

depressed.Hehadacreepyonlinepersona.HeandJanaeseemedon

theouts.HehadathingforKeely.HeusedtobefriendswithJake.Am

Imissinganything?”

“HedeletedmyoriginalAboutThatentry,”Isay.

“Notnecessarily,”Bronwyncorrects.“Yourentrywasdeleted.We

don’tknowbywhom.”

Fairenough,Iguess.

“Andhere’swhatweknowaboutJake,” Bronwyncontinues.“He

wroteatleastoneoftheTumblrposts,orhelpedsomebodyelsewrite

it. He wasn’t in the school building when Simon died, according to

Luis.He—”

“Isacompletecontrolfreak,”Ashtoninterrupts. Addyopensher

mouthinprotest,butAshtoncutsheroff.“Heis,Addy.Heranevery

partofyourlifeforthreeyears.Thenassoonasyoudidsomethinghe

didn’tlike,heblewup.”BronwynscribblesJakeisacontrolfreakona

Post-itwithanapologeticglanceatAddy.

“It’sadatapoint,”Bronwynsays.“Now,whatif—”

The front door bangs and she goes bright red. “What a

coincidence.”Ifollowhergazeandseeayoungguywithwildhairand

a scruffy beard enter the coffee shop. He looks familiar, but I can’t

place him. He spots Bronwyn with an exasperated expression that

turnsalarmedwhenhetakesinAddyandme.

Heholdsahandinfrontofhisface.“Idon’tseeyou.Anyofyou.”

ThenhecatchessightofAshtonanddoesaclassicdoubletake,almost

trippingoverhisfeet.“Oh,hi.YoumustbeAddy’ssister.”

Ashtonblinks,confused,lookingbetweenhimandBronwyn.“DoI

knowyou?”

“This is Eli Kleinfelter,” Bronwyn says. “He’s with Until Proven.

Theirofficesareupstairs.He’s,um,Nate’slawyer.”

“Whocannottalktoyou,” Eli says, like hejustremembered.He

gives Ashton a lingering look, but turns away and heads for the

counter.Ashtonshrugsandblowsonhercoffee.I’msureshe’susedto

havingthateffectonguys.

Addy’seyesareroundasshewatchesEli’sretreatingback.“God,

Bronwyn.Ican’tbelieveyoustalkedNate’slawyer.”

Bronwynlooksalmostasembarrassedassheshouldbe,takingthe

envelope I’d given her out of her backpack. “I wanted to see if Sam

Barronevergotintouch,andpassalonghisinformationifhehadn’t.I

thoughtifIranintoElicasually,hemighttalktome.Guessnot.”She

dartsahopefullookatAshton.“Ibethe’dtalktoyou,though.”

Addy locks her hands on her hips and juts her chin in outrage.

“Youcan’tpimpoutmysister!”

Ashtonsmileswrylyandholdsoutherhandfortheenvelope.“As

longasit’sforagoodcause.WhatamIsupposedtosay?”

“Tellhimhewasright—thatthecar accident at Bayview the day

Simondiedwasstaged.Theenvelopehascontactinformationforthe

boySimonpaidtodoit.”

Ashtonheadsforthecounter,andweallsipourdrinksinsilence.

Whenshereturnsaminutelater,theenvelope’sstillinherhand.“Sam

calledhim,”sheconfirms.“Hesaidhe’slookingintoit,heappreciates

theinformation,andyoushouldmindyourfuckingbusiness.That’sa

directquote.”

Bronwynlooksrelievedandnotatallinsulted.“Thankyou.That’s

goodnews.So,wherewerewe?”

“SimonandJake,”Maevesays,proppingherchininonehandas

shegazesatthetwomanilafolders.“They’reconnected.Buthow?”

“Excuse me,” Kris says mildly, and everyone looks at him like

they’d forgotten he was at the table. Which they probably had. He’s

beenquietsincewegothere.

Maevetriestomakeupforitbygivinghimanencouragingsmile.

“Yeah?”

“I wonder,” Kris says. His English is unaccented and almost

perfect,withjustalittleformalitythathintshe’sfromsomeplaceelse.

“Therehasalwaysbeensomuchfocusonwhowasintheroom.That’s

whythepoliceoriginallytargetedthefourofyou.Becauseitwouldbe

almost impossible for anyone who wasn’t in the room to kill Simon.

Right?”

“Right,”Isay.

“So.” Kris removes two Post-its from one of the folders. “If the

killer wasn’t Cooper, or Bronwyn, or Addy, or Nate—and nobody

thinkstheteacherwhowastherecouldhavehadanythingtodowithit

—whodoesthatleave?”HelayersonePost-itontopoftheotheronthe

wall next to the booth, then sits back and looks at us with polite

attentiveness.

Simonwaspoisonedduringdetention

Simonwasdepressed

We’reall silentforalongminute,untilBronwynexhalesasmall

gasp.“I’mtheomniscientnarrator,”shesays.

“What?”Addyasks.

“That’s what Simon said before he died. I said there wasn’t any

such thing in teen movies, and he said there was in life. Then he

drainedhisdrinkinonegulp.”Bronwynturnsandcalls“Eli!”butthe

door’salreadyclosingbehindNate’slawyer.

“Soyou’resaying…”Ashtonstaresaroundthetableuntilhereyes

land on Kris. “You think Simon committed suicide?” Kris nods. “But

why?Whylikethat?”

“Let’s go back to what we know,” Bronwyn says. Her voice is

almost clinical, but her face is flushed brick red. “Simon was one of

thosepeoplewhothoughtheshouldbeatthecenterofeverything,but

wasn’t. And he was obsessed with the idea of making some kind of

huge, violent splash at school. He fantasized about it all the time on

those4chanthreads.Whatifthiswashisversionofaschoolshooting?

Kill himself and take a bunch of students down with him, but in an

unexpected way. Like framing them for murder.” She turns to her

sister.“WhatdidSimonsayon4chan,Maeve?Dosomethingoriginal.

Surprisemewhenyoutakeoutabunchoflemmingassholes.”

Maevenods.“Exactquote,Ithink.”

IthinkabouthowSimondied—choking,panicked,tryingtocatch

his breath. If he really did it to himself, I wish more than ever we’d

foundhisdamnEpiPen.“Ithinkheregretteditattheend,”Isay,the

weight of the words settling heavy on my heart. “He looked like he

wantedhelp.Ifhe could’ve gottenmedicationin time, maybeaclose

calllikethatwould’vejoltedhimintobeingadifferentkindofguy.”

Kris’s hand squeezes mine under the table. Bronwyn and Addy

both look like they’re back in the room where Simon died, horrified

and stunned. They know I’m right. Silence descends and I think we

mightbedoneuntilMaevelooksoveratthePost-itwallandsucksin

hercheeks.

“ButhowdoesJakefitin?”sheasks.

Kris hesitates and clears his throat, like he’s waiting for

permission to speak. When nobody protests he says, “If Jake isn’t

Simon’skiller,hemustbehisaccomplice.Someonehadtokeepthings

goingafterSimondied.”

HemeetsBronwyn’seyes,andsomekindofunderstandingpasses

betweenthem.They’rethebrainsofthisoperation.Therestofusare

justtryingtokeepup.Kris’shandpulledawayfromminewhilehewas

talking,andItakeitback.

“Simon found out about Addy and TJ,” Bronwyn says. “Maybe

that’showheapproachedJake inthefirstplaceto gethishelp.Jake

would’vewantedrevenge,becausehe—”

A chair scrapes noisily beside me as Addy pushes herself away

fromthetable.“Stop,”shesaysinachokedvoice,herpurple-streaked

hairfallingintohereyes.“Jakewouldn’t…Hecouldn’t…”

“I think we’ve had enough for one night,” Ashton says firmly,

gettingtoherfeet.“Youguyskeepgoing,butweneedtogethome.”

“Sorry, Addy,” Bronwyn says with a chagrined expression. “I got

carriedaway.”

Addywavesahand.“It’s fine,” shesaysunsteadily.“Ijust…can’t

rightnow.”Ashtonlinksarmswithheruntiltheygettothedoor;then

shepullsitopenandletsAddyslipthroughaheadofher.

Maevewatchesthem,herchininherhands.“Shehasapoint.The

wholethingsoundsimpossible,doesn’tit?Andevenifwe’reright,we

can’t prove anything.” She looks hopefully at Kris, as though she’s

willinghimtoworkmorePost-itmagic.

Krisshrugsandtapsthecoloredsquareclosestto him.“Perhaps

there’sonepersonremainingwhoknowssomethinguseful.”

Janaeseemsdepressed

BronwynandMaeveleavearoundnine,andKrisandIdon’tstay

muchlonger.Wegatherupthetabledebristhat’sleftanddeposititin

thetrashcannexttotheexit.We’rebothquiet,comingoffoneofthe

weirdestdatesinhistory.

“Well,” Kris says, pushing through the door and pausing on the

sidewalk to wait for me. “That was interesting.” Before he can say

anything else I grab him and press him against the coffee shop wall,

my fingers digging into his hair and my tongue sliding between his

teethinadeep,wantingkiss.Hemakesasoundlikeasurprisedgrowl

and pulls me hard against his chest. When another couple exits

throughthedoorandwebreakapart,helooksdazed.

Hestraightenshisshirtandrunsahandoverhishair.“Thought

you’dforgottenhowtodothat.”

“I’m sorry.” My voice thickens with the need to kiss him again.

“It’snotthatIdidn’twantto.It’sjust—”

“I know.” Kris laces his fingers in mine and holds our hands up

likeaquestion.“Yes?”

“Yes,”Isay,andwestartdownthesidewalktogether.

Nate

Wednesday,November7,11:30p.m.

Sohere’showyoudealwithbeinglockedup.

You keep your mouth shut. Don’t talk about your life or why

you’rethere.Nobodycaresunlesstheywanttouseitagainstyou.

You don’t take shit from anyone. Ever. Juvenile detention’s not

Oz,butpeoplewillstillfuckwithyouiftheythinkyou’reweak.

You make friends. I use the term loosely. You identify the least

shittypeopleyoucanfindandassociatewiththem.Movingaroundina

packisuseful.

Youdon’tbreakrules,butyoulooktheotherwaywhensomeone

elsedoes.

Youworkoutandwatchtelevision.Alot.

You stay under the guards’ radar as much as possible.Including

the overly friendly woman who keeps offering to let you make calls

fromheroffice.

You don’t complain about how slowly time passes. When you’ve

beenarrestedforacapitaloffenseandyou’refourmonthsawayfrom

youreighteenthbirthday,daysthatcrawlbyareyourfriends.

You come up with new ways to answer your lawyer’s endless

questions.Yeah,Ileavemylockeropensometimes.No,Simon’snever

been to my house. Yeah, we saw each other outside of school

sometimes. The last time? Probably when I was selling him weed.

Sorry,we’renotsupposedtotalkaboutthat,arewe?

Youdon’tthinkaboutwhat’soutside.Orwho. Especially if she’s

betteroffforgettingyouexist.

Addy

Thursday,November8,7:00p.m.

I keep reading through the About This Tumblr as if it’s going to

change. But it never does. Ashton’s words loop through my head:

Jake’sacompletecontrolfreak.She’snotwrong.Butdoesthatmean

the rest of it has to be right? Maybe Jake told somebody else what I

said,andtheywroteit.Ormaybeit’salljustacoincidence.

Except.AmemorysurfacesfromthemorningofSimon’sdeath,so

seemingly insignificantthatithadn’tcrossedmymindtillnow:Jake

pullingmybackpackoffmy shoulderwithan easygrinas wewalked

downthehallwaytogether.That’stooheavyforyou,baby.I’vegotit.

He’dneverdonethatbefore,butIdidn’tquestionhim.WhywouldI?

Andaphonethatwasn’tminegotpulledfrommybackpackafew

hourslater.

I’mnotsurewhat’sworse—thatJakemightbepartofsomething

soawful,thatIdrovehimtoit,orthathe’sbeenputtingonanactfor

weeks.

“His choice, Addy,” Ashton reminds me. “Plenty of people get

cheatedonanddon’tlosetheirminds.Takeme,forexample.Ithrewa

vase at Charlie’s head and moved on. That’s a normal reaction.

Whatever’sgoingonhereisn’tyourfault.”

Thatmightbetrue.Butitdoesn’tfeeltrue.

So I’m supposed to talk to Janae, who hasn’t been in school all

week. I tried texting her a few times after school and again after

dinner,butsheneverresponded.Finally,IdecidedtoborrowTJ’strick

—find her address in the school directory and just show up. When I

told Bronwyn she offered to come along, but I thought it’d go better

withonlyme.JanaeneverwarmeduptoBronwynallthatmuch.

CooperinsistsondrivingmeeventhoughItellhimhe’llneedto

waitinthecar.There’snowayJanae’llopenupaboutanythingifhe’s

around.“That’sfine,”hesaysashepullsacrossthestreetfromJanae’s

faux-Tudorhouse.“Textmeifthingsturnweird.”

“Willdo,”Isay,givinghimasaluteasIclosethedoorandcross

the street. There aren’t any cars in Janae’s driveway, but lights are

burningthroughout thehouse. Iringthedoorbellfourtimeswithno

answer, glancing back at Cooper with a shrug after the last one. I’m

about to give up when the door cracks and one of Janae’s black-

rimmedeyesstaresoutatme.“Whatareyoudoinghere?”sheasks.

“Checking on you. You haven’t been around and you’re not

answeringmytexts.Areyouallright?”

“Fine.” Janae tries to close the door, but I stick my foot in it to

stopher.

“CanIcomein?”Iask.

Shehesitatesbutreleasesthedoorandstepsback,allowingmeto

pushitforwardandenter.WhenIgetagoodlookather,Ialmostgasp.

She’sthinnerthanever,andangryredhivescoverherfaceandneck.

She scratches at them self-consciously. “What? I’m not feeling well.

Obviously.”

Ipeerdownthehallway.“Anyoneelsehome?”

“No.Myparentsareout todinner.Look, um,nooffense,butdo

youhavesomereasonforbeinghere?”

Bronwyncoachedmeon what tosay.I’msupposedtostart with

small, subtle questions about where Janae’s been all week and how

she’s feeling. To follow up on the thread of Simon’s depression and

encouragehertotellmemore.Asalastresort,Icanmaybetalkabout

whatNate’sfacingastheDA’sofficetriestosendhimtoanhonest-to-

Godprison.

Idon’tdoanyofthat.InsteadIstepforwardandhugher,cradling

her scrawny body as though she’s a little kid who needs comforting.

Shefeelslikeone,allweightlessbonesandfragilelimbs.Shestiffens,

thenslumpsagainstmeandstartstocry.

“OhmyGod,”shesaysinathick,raspyvoice.“It’sallfuckedup.

Everything’ssomassivelyfuckedup.”

“Comeon.”Ileadhertothelivingroomsofa,wherewesitandshe

cries some more. Her head digs awkwardly into my shoulder while I

pat her hair. It’s stiff with product, her mouse-brown roots blending

intoshinyblue-blackdye.

“Simon did this to himself, didn’t he?” I ask carefully. She pulls

awayandburiesherheadinherhands,rockingbackandforth.

“Howdidyouknow?”shechokesout.

God.It’strue.Ididn’tfullybelieveittillnow.

I’mnotsupposedtotellhereverything.I’mactuallynotsupposed

to tell her anything, but I do. I can’t think how else to have this

conversation.WhenIfinishsherisesandgoesupstairswithoutaword.

Iwaitforacoupleofminutes,curlingonehandonmylapandusing

theothertotugatmyearring.Isshecallingsomebody?Gettingagun

toblowmyheadoff?SlittingherwriststojoinSimon?

JustwhenIthinkImighthavetogoafterher,Janaethudsdown

the stairs holding a thin sheaf of papers she thrusts toward me.

“Simon’s manifesto,” she says with a sour twist of her mouth. “It’s

supposedtobesenttothepoliceayearfromnow,afterallyourlives

arecompletelyscrewed.Soeveryonewouldknowhepulleditoff.”

ThepaperstrembleinmyhandasIread:

Here’sthefirstthingyouneedtoknow:Ihatemylifeand

everythinginit.

SoIdecidedtogetthehellout.Butnotgoquietly.

Ithoughtalotabouthowtodothis.Icouldbuyagun,

like pretty much any asshole in America. Bar the doors

onemorningandtakeoutasmanyBayviewlemmingsas

Ihavebulletsforbeforeturningthelastoneonmyself.

AndI’dhavealotofbullets.

Butthat’sbeendonetodeath.Itdoesn’thavethesame

impactanymore.

Iwantto bemorecreative. Moreunique.I wantmy

suicide to be talked about for years. I want imposters to

trytoimitateme.Andfail,becausetheplanningthistakes

isbeyondyouraveragedepressedloserwithadeathwish.

You’vebeenwatchingitunfoldforayearnow.Ifit’s

gone the way I hope, you have no clue what actually

happened.

Ilookupfromthepapers.“Why?”Iask,bilerisinginmythroat.

“HowdidSimongettothispoint?”

“He’dbeendepressedforawhile,”Janaesays,kneadingthefabric

ofherblackskirtbetweenherhands.Thestacksofstuddedbracelets

shewearsonbotharmsrattlewiththemovement.“Simonalwaysfelt

like he should get a lot more respect and attention than he did, you

know?Buthegotreallybitteraboutitthisyear.Hestartedspending

allhistimeonlinewithabunchofcreepers,fantasizingaboutgetting

revenge on everyone who made him miserable. It got to the point

whereIdon’tthink heevenknewwhat was realanymore.Whenever

somethingbadhappened,heblewitwayoutofproportion.”

Words are tumbling out of her now. “He started talking about

killinghimselfandtakingpeoplewithhim,but,like,creatively.Hegot

obsessedwiththeideaofusingtheapptoframeeveryonehehated.He

knew Bronwyn cheated and it pissed him off. She practically had

valedictoriansewn upanyway,butshemadeitimpossibleforhimto

catchup.Hethoughtshe’dscrewedhimoutofgoingtotheModelUN

finalstoo.Andhecouldn’tstandNatebecauseofwhathappenedwith

Keely.Simonhadthoughthehadashotwithher,andthenNatestole

herawaywithouteventryingoractuallygivingafuck.”

My heart contracts. God, poor Nate. What a stupid, pointless

reasontoendupinjail.“WhataboutCooper?DidSimoninvolvehim

becauseofKeelytoo?”

Janaesnortsoutabitterlaugh.“Mr.NiceGuy?CoopergotSimon

blacklistedfromVanessa’safter-promparty. EventhoughSimonwas

onthecourtandeverything.Hewassohumiliatedthathewasnotonly

notinvited,butactuallynotevenallowedtogo.Everyonewasgoingto

bethere,hesaid.”

“Cooper did?” I blink. That’s news to me. Cooper hadn’t

mentionedit,andIneverevennoticedSimonwasn’tthere.

WhichIguesswaspartoftheproblem.

Janae bobs her head. “Yeah. I don’t know why, but he did. So

thosethreewereSimon’stargets,andhehadhisgossipalllinedup.I

stillthoughtitwasjusttalk,though.Awaytoblowoffsteam.Maybeit

would’ve been, if I could have convinced him to get offline and stop

obsessing. But then Jake found out something Simon didn’t want

anyonetoknowanditjust—thatwasthefinalstraw.”

Oh no. Every second that went by without a mention of Jake’s

name made me hope he wasn’t involved, after all. “What do you

mean?”Ipullatmyearringsohard,I’mindangeroftearingalobe.

Janaepicksatherchippednailpolish,sendinggrayflakesacross

herskirt.“Simonriggedthevotessohe’dbeonthejuniorpromcourt.”

My hand freezes at my ear and my eyes go wide. Janae huffs out a

humorless little laugh. “I know. Stupid, right? Simon was weird like

that.He’dmakefunofpeopleforbeinglemmings,buthestillwanted

thesamethingstheydid.Andhewantedthemtolookuptohim.Sohe

didit,andhewasgloatingaboutitatthepoollastsummer,sayinghow

easy it was and how he’d mess with homecoming too. And Jake

overheardus.”

I can immediately picture Jake’s reaction, so Janae’s next words

don’t surprise me. “He laughed his head off. Simon freaked. He

couldn’t stand the thought of Jake telling people, and everyone at

schoolknowinghe’ddonesomethingsopathetic.Like,he’dspentyears

spillingeverybody’ssecrets,andnowhewasgonnagethumiliatedwith

oneofhisown.”Shecringes.“Canyouimagine?ThecreatorofAbout

Thatgettingexposedassuchawannabe?Itsenthimovertheedge.”

“Theedge?”Iecho.

“Yeah. Simon decided to stop talking about his crazy plan and

actuallydoit.HealreadyknewaboutyouandTJ,buthe’dbeensitting

onthattillschoolstartedagain.SoheusedittoshutJakeupandbring

himin.BecauseSimonneededsomebodytokeepthingsgoingafterhe

died,andIwouldn’tdoit.”

Idon’tknowwhethertobelieveherornot.“Youwouldn’t?”

“No,Iwouldn’t.”Janaedoesn’tmeetmyeyes.“Notforyoursake.

Ididn’tcareaboutanyofyou.ForSimon’ssake.Buthewouldn’tlisten

tome,andthenallofasuddenhedidn’tneedme.HeknewwhatJake

waslike,thathe’dloseitwhenhefoundoutaboutyouandTJ.Simon

toldJakehe couldplanteverythingonyou so you’dtakethe falland

windupinjail.AndJakewastotallyonboard.Heevencameupwith

the idea of sending you to the nurse’s office that day for Tylenol so

you’dlookmoreguilty.”

White noise buzzes through my brain. “The perfect revenge for

cheatingonaperfectboyfriend.”I’mnotsureI’vesaiditoutlouduntil

Janaenods.

“Right,andnoonewouldeverguesssinceSimonandJakeweren’t

evenfriends.ForSimon,therewastheaddedbonusthathedidn’tcare

if Jake screwed up and got caught. He was almost hoping he would.

He’dhatedJakeforyears.”

Janae’s voice rises like she’s warming up for the kind of bitch

session she and Simon probably used to have all the time. “The way

Jake just dropped Simon freshman year. Started hanging out with

Cooper like they’d always been best friends, as if Simon didn’t exist

anymore.Likehedidn’tmatter.”

Salivaswimsatthebackofmythroat.I’mgoingtothrowup.No,

passout.Maybeboth.Eitherwouldbebetterthansittingherelistening

tothis.AllthattimeafterSimondied,whenJakecomfortedme,made

medrivetoapartywithTJlikenothinghappened,sleptwithme—he

knew.HeknewI’dcheatedandhewasjustbidinghistime.Waitingto

punishme.

That might be the worst part. How normal he acted the whole

time.

Somehow, I find my voice. “But he…But Nate was framed. Did

Jakechangehismind?”

IthurtshowmuchIwantthattobetrue.

Janaedoesn’tanswerrightaway.Theroom’ssilentexceptforher

raggedbreathing.“No,”shesaysfinally.“Thethingis…itallunfolded

almost exactly the way Simon planned. He and Jake snuck those

phonesintoyourbackpacksthatmorning,andMr.Averyfoundthem

andgaveyoudetention,justlikeSimonsaidhewould.Hemadeiteasy

forthepolicetoinvestigatebykeepingtheAboutThatadminsitewide

open.HewroteanoutlineoftheTumblrjournal,andtoldJaketopost

updates from public computers with details about what was really

happening. It was like watching some out-of-control reality TV show

whereyoukeepthinkingproducersaregonnastepinandsay,Enough.

Butnobodydid.Itmademesick.IkepttellingJakeheneededtostop

beforeitwenttoofar.”

Myguttwists.“AndJakewouldn’t?”

Janaesniffs.“No. Hegotreally intothewhole thingonceSimon

died. Total power trip watching you guys get hauled into the station,

seeing the school scrambling and everybody freaking out about the

Tumblr. He liked having that control.” She stops for a second and

glancesatme.“Iguessyou’dknowaboutthat.”

Yeah,IguessIwould.ButIcoulddowithoutthereminderright

now.“Youcould’vestoppedit,Janae,”Isay,myvoicerisingasanger

startstoovertakemy shock. “You should’vetoldsomebodywhatwas

goingon.”

“Icouldn’t,”Janaesays,hunchinghershoulders.“Onetimewhen

we were meeting with Simon, Jake recorded us on his phone. I was

tryingtotalksenseintoSimon,butthewayJakeeditedthingsmadeit

soundlikeitwaspracticallymyidea.Hesaidhe’dgivetherecordingto

thepoliceandpineverythingonmeifIdidn’thelp.”

Shetakesadeep,shudderingbreath.“Iwassupposedtoplantall

theevidenceonyou.YourememberthatdayIcametoyourhouse?I

hadthe computerwith methen.ButIcouldn’tdoit.Afterthat,Jake

keptharassingmeandIpanicked.IjustdumpedeverythingonNate.”

Shechokesoutasob.“Itwaseasy.Natedoesn’tlockanything.AndI

calledinthetipabouthiminsteadofyou.”

“Why?”Myvoiceistiny,andmyhandsareshakingsobadlythat

Simon’smanifestomakesarattlingsound.“Whydidn’tyousticktothe

plan?”

Janaestartsrockingbackandforthagain.“Youwerenicetome.

Hundredsofpeopleinthatstupidschoolandnobody,exceptyou,ever

askedifImissedSimon.Idid.Ido.Itotallygethowfuckeduphewas,

but—he was my only friend.” She starts crying hard again, her thin

shouldersshaking.“Untilyou.Iknowwe’renotreallyfriendsandyou

probablyhatemenow,but…Icouldn’tdothattoyou.”

Idon’t knowhow torespond.AndifIkeepthinkingaboutJake,

I’m going to lose it. My mind latches on to one small piece of this

messed-up puzzle that doesn’t make sense. “What about Cooper’s

entry? Why would Simon write the truth and then replace it with a

lie?”

“ThatwasJake,”Janaesays,swipingathereyes.“HemadeSimon

changeit.HesaidhewasdoingCooperafavor, but…I don’t know. I

thinkitwasmorehe didn’twantanyonetoknow hisbestfriendwas

gay. And he seemed pretty jealous of all the attention Cooper was

gettingforbaseball.”

Myhead’sspinning.Ishouldbeaskingmorequestions,butIcan

thinkofonlyone.“Nowwhat?Areyou…Imean,youcan’tletNateget

convicted,Janae.You’regoingtotellsomeone,right?Youhavetotell

someone.”

Janaepassesahandoverherface.“Iknow.I’vebeensickaboutit

all week. But thethingis,Idon’thaveanythingexceptthisprintout.

Jake has the video version on Simon’s hard drive, along with all the

backupfilesthatshowhe’dplannedthewholethingformonths.”

IbrandishSimon’smanifestolikeashield.“Thisisgoodenough.

This,andyourword,isplenty.”

“What would even happen to me?” Janae mutters under her

breath.“I’m,like,aidingandabetting,right?Orobstructingjustice?I

could wind up in jail. And Jake has that recording hanging over my

head. He’s already pissed at me. I’ve been too afraid of him to go to

school. He keeps stopping by and—” The doorbell chimes, and she

freezes as my phone rings out with a text. “Oh God, Addy, that’s

probablyhim.Heonlyevercomesbywhenmyparents’carisn’tinthe

driveway.”

MyphoneblareswithamessagefromCooper.Jake’shere.What’s

goingon?IgrabholdofJanae’sarm.“Listen.Let’sdotohimexactly

whathedidtoyou.Talktohimaboutallthis,andwe’llrecordit.Do

youhaveyourphoneonyou?”

Janae pulls it out of her pocket as the doorbell rings again. “It

won’tdoanygood.Healwaysmakesmegiveittohimbeforewetalk.”

“Okay. We’ll use mine.” I look into the darkened dining room

acrossfromus.“I’llhideintherewhileyoutalktohim.”

“I don’t think I can,” Janae whispers, and I give her arm a hard

shake.

“Youhaveto.Youneedtomakethisright,Janae.It’sgonewaytoo

far.” My hands are trembling, but I manage to send a quick text to

Cooper—It’sfine,justwait—andgettomyfeet,pullingJanaewithme

andshovinghertowardthedoor.“Answerit.”Istumbleintothedining

roomandsink tomyknees, openingmyphone’s VoiceRecorderapp

andpressingPlay.IputitascloseasIdaretotheentrywaybetween

thediningroomandthelivingroom,andscootagainstthewallnextto

achinacabinet.

Atfirst,thebloodrushinginmyearsblocksouteveryothersound,

butwhenitstartstorecedeIhearJake’svoice:“…haven’tyoubeenat

school?”

“Idon’tfeelwell,”Janaesays.

“Really.”Jake’svoicedrips with contempt. “Meeither,butI still

showup.Whichyouneedtodotoo.Businessasusual,youknow?”

IhavetostraintohearJanae.“Don’tyouthinkthishasgoneon

longenough,Jake?Imean,Nate’sinjail.Irealizethat’stheplanand

all,butnowthatit’shappeningit’sprettymessedup.”I’mnotsurethe

phone’sgoingtobeabletopickherup,butthere’snotmuchIcando

aboutit.Ican’texactlystage-directherfromthediningroom.

“Iknewyouwerefreakingout.”Jake’svoicecarrieseasily.“No,we

fuckingcan’t,Janae.That’dputusbothatrisk.Anyway,sendingNate

tojailwasyourchoice,wasn’tit?Thatshould’vebeenAddy,whichis

why I’m here, by the way. You fucked that up and need to turn it

around.Ihavesomeideas.”

Janae’svoicegetsalittlestronger.“Simonwassick,Jake.Killing

yourself and framing other people for murder is crazy. I want out. I

won’ttellanybodyyou’reinvolved,butIwantusto—Idon’tknow—put

outananonymousnotethatsaysitwasahoaxorsomething.Wehave

tomakeitstop.”

Jake snorts. “Not your call, Janae. Don’t forget what I have on

hand. I can put everything on your doorstep and walk away. There’s

nothingtotiemetoanyofthis.”

Wrong, asshole, I think. Then time seems to stop as a text

messagefromCoopercrossesmyphonewithaloudblareofRihanna’s

“OnlyGirl.”Youok?

Iforgottheall-importantstepofsilencingmyphonebeforeusing

itasaspydevice.

“Whatthehell?Addy?”Jakeroars.Idon’teventhink,justtakeoff

outofthediningroomandthroughJanae’skitchen,thankingGodthat

shehasabackdoorIcanburstthrough.Heavyfootstepspoundbehind

me,soinsteadofgoing forCooper’scarIrun straightintothedense

woodsbehindJanae’shouse.Iflythroughtheunderbrushinapanic,

dodging bushes and overgrown roots until my foot hooks under

somethingandItumbletotheground.It’slikethegymtrackallover

again—knees torn, breath gone, palms raw—except this time my

ankle’stwistedalso.

I hear branches crashing behind me, farther away than I would

havethoughtbutheadingstraighttome.Igettomyfeet,wincing,and

weigh my options. One thing’s sure after everything I heard in the

living room—Jake’s not leaving these woods till he finds me. I don’t

knowifIcanhide,andIsure ashellcan’t run.Itakeadeep breath,

scream “Help!” at the top of my lungs, and take off again, trying to

zigzag away from where I think Jake is while still getting closer to

Janae’shouse.

But,ohGod,myanklehurtssobadly.I’mbarelydraggingmyself

forward,andthenoisesbehindmegetlouderuntilahandcatchesmy

arm and yanks me back. I manage to scream once more before Jake

clampshisotherhandovermymouth.

“Youlittlebitch,”hesayshoarsely.“Youbroughtthisonyourself,

you know that?” I sink my teeth into Jake’s palm and he lets out an

animalsoundofpain,droppinghishandandliftingitjustasquicklyto

strikemeacrosstheface.

Istagger,myfaceaching,butmanagetostayuprightandtwistin

an attempt to connect my knee to his groin and my nails to his eye.

JakegruntsagainwhenImakecontact,stumblingenoughthatIbreak

free and spin away. My ankle bucklesandhishand locksaroundmy

arm,tightasavise.Hepullsmetowardhimandgripsmehardbythe

shoulders.ForonebizarresecondIthinkhe’sgoingtokissme.

Insteadheshovesmetotheground,kneelsdown,andslamsmy

head on a rock. My skull explodes with pain and my vision goes red

aroundtheedges,thenblack.Somethingpressesacrossmyneckand

I’mchoking.Ican’tseeanything,butIcanhear.“Youshouldbeinjail

instead of Nate, Addy,” Jake snarls as I claw at his hands. “But this

workstoo.”

A girl’s panicked voice pierces the pain in my head. “Jake, stop!

Leaveheralone!”

TheawfulpressurereleasesandIgaspforair.IhearJake’svoice,

lowandangry,thenashriekandathud.Ishouldgetup,rightnow.I

reach my hands out, feeling grass and dirt beneath my fingers as I

scrambletofindananchor.Ijustneedtopullmyselfofftheground.

Andgetthesestarburstsoutofmyeyes.Onethingatatime.

Handsareatmythroatagain,squeezing.Ilashoutwithmylegs,

willing them to work the way they do on my bike, but they feel like

spaghetti.Iblink,blink,blinksomemore,untilIcanfinallysee.Except

nowIwish I couldn’t.Jake’seyes flash silverinthe moonlight,filled

withacoldfury.HowdidInotseethiscoming?

Ican’tbudgehishandsnomatterhowhardItry.

Then I can breathe again as Jake flies backward, and I wonder

dimly how and why he did that. Sounds fill the air as I roll onto my

side,gaspingtofillmyemptylungs.Secondsorminutespass,it’shard

to tell, until a hand presses my shoulder and I blink into a different

pairofeyes.Kind,concerned.AndscaredasshitlessasIam.

“Cooper,”Irasp.HepullsmeintoasittingpositionandIletmy

head fall against his chest, feeling his heart hammering against my

cheekasthedistantwailofsirensdrawscloser.

Nate

Friday,November9,3:40p.m.

I know something’s different by how the guard looks at me when he

callsmyname.Notasmuchlikeapieceofdirthewantstogrindunder

hisshoeasusual.“Bringyourthings,”hesays.Idon’thavemuch,butI

takemytimeshovingeverythingintoaplasticbagbeforeIfollowhim

downthelonggraycorridortothewarden’soffice.

Elihoversinthedoorwaywithhishandsinhispockets,givingme

thatintensestareofhistimesahundred.“Welcometotherestofyour

life,Nate.”WhenIdon’treact,headds,“You’refree.You’reout.This

wholethingwasahoaxthat’sbeenblownwideopen.Sogetoutofthat

jumpsuit and into civilian clothes, and let’s get you the hell out of

here.”

At this point I’m used to doing what I’m told, so that’s all I do.

Nothing else registers, even when Eli shows me news stories about

Jake’sarrest,untilhetellsmeAddy’sinthehospitalwithaconcussion

and a fractured skull. “Good news is, it’s a hairline fracture with no

underlyingbraininjury.She’llmakeafullrecovery.”

Addy, that airhead homecoming princess turned badass ninja

investigator,inthehospitalwithacracked skull because she tried to

helpme.PossiblyonlyalivebecauseofJanae,whogotabustedjawfor

her trouble, and Cooper,who’ssuddenlysomekindofsuperherothe

media’s fawning over. I’d be happy for him if the whole thing didn’t

makemesick.

There’salotofpaperworkwhenyougetoutofjailforacrimeyou

didn’tcommit.Law&Ordernevershowshowmanyformsyouhaveto

fill out before you rejoin the world. The first thing I see when I step

blinking into bright sunshine is a dozen cameras whirring to life. Of

course. This whole thing’s a never-ending movie, and I’ve gone from

villaintoheroinamatterofhourseventhoughIhaven’tdoneasingle

thingtomakeadifferencesinceIgothere.

My mother’s outside, which I guess is a pleasant surprise. I’m

nevernotpreparedforhertodisappear.AndBronwyn,eventhoughI

specifically said I didn’t want her anywhere near this place. Guess

nobodythoughtIwasseriousaboutthat.BeforeIcanreactherarms

arearoundmeandmyfaceisburiedinhergreen-applehair.

Jesus. This girl. For a few seconds I breathe her in and

everything’sallright.

Exceptit’snot.

“Nate,howdoesitfeeltobefree?Doyouhaveanycommentabout

Jake? What’s your next step?” Eli shoots sound bites at all the

microphonesinmyfaceaswemakeourwaytohiscar.He’sthemanof

the hour, but I don’t see what he did to earn it. The charges were

droppedbecauseBronwynkeptunravelingthreadsandtrackeddowna

witness.BecauseCooper’sboyfriendconnecteddotsnobodyelsesaw.

BecauseAddyputherselfinthelineoffire.AndbecauseCoopersaved

thedaybeforeJakecouldshutherup.

I’m the only one in the murder club who didn’t contribute a

goddamnthing.AllIdidwasbetheguywho’seasytoframe.

Eli inches his car past all the media vans until we’re on the

highway and the juvenile detention center fades to a speck in the

distance. He’s rattling on about too many things to follow: how he’s

workingwithOfficerLopeztogetmydrugchargesdropped;howifI

wanttomakeastatementthroughthemediahe’drecommendMikhail

Powers;howIneedastrategyforreintegratingintoschool.Istareout

thewindow,myhandadeadweightinBronwyn’s.WhenIfinallyhear

Eli’svoiceaskingifIhaveanyquestions,Icantellhe’sbeenrepeating

himselfforawhile.

“DidsomeonefeedStan?”Iask.Myfathersureasshitdidn’t.

“I did,” Bronwyn says. When I don’t respond, she squeezes my

handandadds,“Nate,areyouallright?”

She tries to catch my eye, but I can’t do it. She wants me to be

happyandIcan’tdothateither.TheimpossibilityofBronwynhitsme

like a punch to the gut: everything she wants is good and right and

logicalandIcan’tdoanyofit.She’llalwaysbethatgirlinfrontofme

in the scavenger hunt, her shining hair hypnotizing me so much I

almostforgethowuselesslyI’mtrailingbehindher.

“I just want to go home and sleep.” I’m still not looking at

Bronwyn,butoutofthecornerofmyeyeIcanseeherfacefall,andfor

somereasonthat’sperverselysatisfying.I’mdisappointingherrighton

schedule.Finally,somethingmakessense.

Cooper

Saturday,November17,9:30a.m.

It’sprettysurrealtocomedownstairsforbreakfastSaturdaymorning

tomygrandmotherreadinganissueofPeoplewithmeonthecover.

I didn’t pose for it. It’s a shot of Kris and me leaving the police

stationaftergivingourstatements.Krislooksfantastic,andIlooklike

Ijustwokeupafteranightofheavydrinking.It’sobviouswhichofus

isthemodel.

Funny how this accidental-fame thing works. First people

supportedmeeventhough I’d been accusedofcheatingandmurder.

ThentheyhatedmebecauseofwhoIturnedouttobe.Nowtheylove

me again because I was in the right place at the right time and

managedtoflattenJakewithawell-aimedpunch.

And because of the halo effect of being with Kris, I guess. Eli’s

givinghimfullcreditforfiguringoutwhatreallyhappened,sohe’sthe

newbreakoutstarofthiswholemess.Thefactthathe’stryingtoavoid

themediamachineonlymakesthemwanthimmore.

Lucas sits across from Nonny, spooning Cocoa Puffs into his

mouthwhilescrollingthroughhisiPad.“YourFacebookfanpagehasa

hundredthousandlikesnow,”hereports,flickingastrandofhairout

ofhisfacelikeit’sanannoyingbug.ThisisgoodnewsforLucas,who

took it personally when most of my so-called fans deserted the page

afterthepoliceoutedme.

Nonnysniffsandflingsthemagazineacrossthetable.“Awful.One

boy’sdead,anotherruinedhislifeandalmostruinedyours,andpeople

stilltreatthislikeit’saTVshow.ThankGodforshortattentionspans.

Somethingelse’llcomealongsoonandyoucangetbacktonormal.”

Whateverthatis.

It’sbeen abouta weeksince Jakewas arrested.So farhe’s being

chargedwithassault,obstructionofjustice,evidencetampering,anda

whole bunch of other things I can’t keep track of. He’s got his own

lawyer now, and he’s in the same detention center where Nate was

beingheld.WhichIguessispoeticjustice, butitdoesn’tfeelgood.I

stillcan’treconciletheguyIpulledoffAddywiththekidwho’dbeen

my friend since ninth grade. His lawyer’s talking about undue

influence from Simon, and maybe that explains it. Or maybe Ashton

wasrightandJake’sbeenacontrolfreakallalong.

Janae’s cooperating with the police and it looks like she’ll get a

pleabargaininexchangeforhertestimony.SheandAddyarethickas

thieves now. I have mixed feelings about Janae and the way she let

thingsgetthisfar.ButI’mnotasinnocentasI’dthought,either.While

Addy was zonked out on painkillers in the hospital she told me

everything, including how my stupid, panicked slight at junior prom

madeSimonhatemeenoughtoframemeformurder.

Ihavetofigureoutawaytolivewiththat,anditwon’tbebynot

forgivingotherpeople’smistakes.

“Youmeetin’Krislater?”Nonnyasks.

“Yup,” I say. Lucas keeps eating cereal without blinking an eye.

Turnsouthecouldn’tcarelessthathisolderbrotherhasaboyfriend.

AlthoughhedoesseemtomissKeely.

WhoI’malsoseeingtoday,beforeKrisandIgettogether.Partly

because I owe her an apology, and partly because she’s been sucked

intothismesstoo,eventhoughthepolicetriedtokeephernameoutof

Simon’s confession. It wasn’t part of the public record, but people at

school knew enough to guess. I texted her earlier in the week to see

howshewasdoing,andshetextedbackanapologyfornotbeingmore

supportivewhenthestoryaboutmeandKrisbroke.Whichwaspretty

bigofher,consideringalltheliesItold.

We went back and forth for a while after that. She was pretty

broken up about the part she played in everything, even though she

had no idea what was happening. I’m one of the few people in town

whocanunderstandhowthatfeels.

Maybewecanmanagetobefriendsafterallthis.I’dlikethat.

Popcomesintothekitchenwithhislaptop,jigglingitlikethere’sa

presentinside.“Youcheckyouremail?”

“Notthismorning.”

“Josh Langley’s touching base. Wants to know what you’re

thinking about college versus the draft. And the UCLA offer came

through.Stillnothin’fromLSU,though.”Popwon’tbehappyuntilall

the top-five college baseball teams make me a scholarship offer.

Louisiana State is the lone holdout, which annoys him since they’re

rankednumberone.“Anyway,Joshwantstotalknextweek.Youupfor

it?”

“Sure,”Isay,eventhoughI’vealreadydecidedI’mnotgoingright

intothedraft.ThemoreIthinkaboutmybaseballfuture,themoreI

wantcollegeballtobethenextstep.Ihavetherestofmylifetoplay

baseball,butonlyafewyearstogotocollege.

AndmyfirstchoiceisCalState.Sincethey’retheonlyschoolthat

didn’tbackawayfrommewhenIwasdown.

Butit’llmakePophappytotalkwithJoshLangley.We’vegotten

back on tentative father-son footing since the good baseball news

startedpouringin.Hestilldoesn’ttalktomeaboutKris,andclamsup

when anyone else mentions him. He doesn’t bolt out of the room

anymore,though.Andhe’slookingmeintheeyeagain.

It’sastart.

Addy

Saturday,November17,2:15p.m.

I can’t ride my bike because of the skull fracture and my sprained

ankle, so Ashton drives me to my follow-up doctor’s appointment.

Everything’s healing the way it should, although I still get instant

headachesifImovemyheadtoofast.

Theemotionalstuffwilltakelonger.HalfthetimeIfeellikeJake

died, and the other half I want to kill him. I can admit, now, that

AshtonandTJweren’twrongabouthowthingswerebetweenJakeand

me.Heraneverything,andIlethim.ButIneverwouldhavebelieved

hecouldbecapableofwhathedidinthewoods.Myheartfeelslikemy

skulldidrightafterJakeattackedme—asthoughit’sbeensplitintwo

withadullax.

I don’t know how to feel about Simon, either. Sometimes I get

really sad when I think about how he planned to ruin four people

becausehethoughtwe’dtakenawayfromhim things thateverybody

wants:tobesuccessful,tohavefriends,tobeloved.Tobeseen.

ButmostofthetimeIjustwishI’dnevermethim.

NatevisitedmeinthehospitalandI’veseenhimafewtimessince

I’vebeenout.I’mworriedabouthim.He’snotonetoopenup,buthe

said enough that I could tell getting arrested made him feel pretty

useless.I’vebeentryingtoconvincehimotherwise,butIdon’tthink

it’ssinkingin.Iwish he’dlisten,because ifanyoneknowshowbadly

youcanscrewupyourlifewhenyoudecideyou’re not good enough,

it’sme.

TJ’s texted a few times since I was discharged a couple of days

ago.Hekeptdroppinghintsaboutaskingmeout,soIfinallyhadtotell

himit’snothappening.There’snowayIcanhookupwiththeperson

whohelpedmesetoffthiswholechainreaction.It’stoobad,because

theremight’vebeenpotentialifwe’dgoneaboutthingsdifferently.But

I’mstartingtorealizetherearesomethingsyoucan’tundo,nomatter

howgoodyourintentionsare.

It’sallright,though.Idon’tagreewithmymotherthatTJwasmy

last,besthopetoavoidprematurespinsterhood.She’snotthe expert

shethinkssheisonrelationships.

I’d rather takemycuesfromAshton,who’sgettingakickoutof

Eli’ssuddeninfatuation.Hetrackedherdownafterthingssettledwith

Nateandaskedherout.Shetoldhimshe’snotreadytodateyet,sohe

keeps interrupting his insane workload to take her on elaborate,

carefullyplannednot-dates.Which,shehastoadmit,she’senjoying.

“I’mnotsureIcantakehimseriously,though,”shetellsmeasI

hobble to the car on crutches after my checkup. “I mean, the hair

alone.”

“Ilikethehair.Ithascharacter.Plus,itlookssoft,likeacloud.”

Ashtongrinsandbrushesastraylockofmineoffmyforehead.“I

likeyours.Growitalittlemoreandwe’llbetwins.”

That’smysecretplan.I’vebeencovetingAshton’shairallalong.

“Ihavesomethingtoshowyou,”shesaysasshepullsawayfrom

thehospital.“Somegoodnews.”

“Really? What?” Sometimes it’s hard to remember what good

newsfeelslike.

Ashtonshakesherheadandsmiles.“It’sashow,notatell.”

She pulls up in front of a new apartment building in the closest

thingBayviewhastoatrendyneighborhood.Ashtonmatchesmyslow

paceaswestepintoabrightatrium,andguidesmetoabenchinthe

lobby.“Waithere,”shesays,proppingmycrutchesnexttothebench.

Shedisappearsaroundthecorner,andwhenshereturnstenminutes

latersheleadsmetoanelevatorandweheadforthethirdfloor.

Ashtonfitsakeyintoadoormarked302andpushesitopentoa

large apartment with soaring, loftlike ceilings. It’s all windows and

exposedbrickandpolishedwoodfloors,andIloveitinstantly.“What

doyouthink?”sheasks.

Ileanmycrutchesagainstthewallandhopintotheopenkitchen,

admiring the mosaic tile backsplash. Who knew Bayview had

something like this? “It’s beautiful. Are you, um, thinking of renting

it?”ItrytosoundenthusiasticandnotterrifiedofAshtonleavingme

alonewithMom.Ashtonhasn’tbeenhomeallthatlong,butI’vegotten

kindofattachedtohavingherthere.

“Ialreadydid,”shesayswithagrin,spinningaroundalittleonthe

hardwood floors. “Charlie and I got an offer on the condo while you

wereinthehospital.Itstillhastoclose,butonceitdoes,we’llmakea

prettygoodprofit.He’sagreedtotakeonallhisstudentloansaspart

of the divorce settlement. My design work’s still slow, but I’ll have

enoughofacushionthatitwon’tbeastretch.AndBayview’ssomuch

moreaffordablethanSanDiego.Thisapartmentdowntownwouldcost

threetimesasmuch.”

“That’sfantastic!”IhopeI’mdoingagoodjobofactingexcited.I

amexcitedforher,truly.I’lljustmissher.“You’dbetterhaveaspare

roomsoIcanvisit.”

“Idohaveaspareroom,”Ashtonsays.“Idon’twantyoutovisit,

though.”

Istareather.Ican’thaveheardhercorrectly.Ithoughtwe’dbeen

gettingalonggreatthesepastcoupleofmonths.

She laughs at my expression. “I want you to live here, silly. You

needtogetoutofthathouseasmuchasIdo.Momsaidit’sokay.She’s

in that decline phase with Justin where she thinks lots of private

couple time will fix their problems. Plus, you’ll be eighteen in a few

monthsandcanlivewhereveryouwantthenanyway.”

Igrabherinahugbeforeshe canfinish,andshesuffersitfora

fewsecondsbeforeduckingaway.Westillhaven’tmasteredtheartof

non-awkward sisterly affection. “Go ahead, check out your room. It’s

overthere.”

Ilimpintoasun-splashedroomwithahugewindowoverlookinga

bikepathbehindthebuilding.Built-inbookshelveslinethewall,and

exposed beams in the ceiling frame an amazing light fixture with a

dozen Edison bulbs in different shapes and sizes. I love everything

aboutit.Ashtonleansagainstthedoorwayandsmilesatme.

“Freshstartforbothofus,huh?”

Itfinallyfeelslikethatmightbetrue.

Bronwyn

Sunday,November18,10:45a.m.

ThedayafterNatewasreleased,Igavemyoneandonlyinterviewto

themedia.Ididn’tmeanto.ButMikhailPowershimselfambushedme

outsidemyhouse,andasIexpectedwhenIfirstsawthefullforceof

hischarmturnedonourcase,Icouldn’tresisthim.

“BronwynRojas. Thegirl mostlikely.”Hewasdressedinacrisp

navy suit and subtly patterned tie, gold cuff links glinting as he held

out his hand with a warm smile. I almost didn’t notice the camera

behind him. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you for weeks. You never

gave up on your friend, did you? I admire that. I’ve admired you

throughoutthisentirecase.”

“Thanks,”Isaidweakly.Itwasatransparentattempttobutterme

upandittotallyworked.

“I would love your take on everything. Can you spare a few

minutestotelluswhatthisordealhasbeenlikeforyou,andhowyou

feelnowthatit’sover?”

I shouldn’t have. Robin and my family had held our last legal

meeting that morning, and her parting advice was to keep a low

profile.Shewasright,asusual.ButtherewassomethingI’dwantedto

getoffmychestthatIhadn’tbeenallowedtosaybefore.

“Just one thing.” I looked into the camera while Mikhail smiled

encouragingly.“I didcheatinmychemistryclass,andI’msorry.Not

onlybecauseitgotmeintothismess,butbecauseitwasanawfulthing

todo.Myparentsraisedmetobehonestandworkhard,liketheydo,

and I let them down. It wasn’t fair to them, or my teachers, or the

colleges I wanted to apply to. And it wasn’t fair to Simon.” My voice

startedshakingthen,andIcouldn’tblinkbackthetearsanylonger.“If

I’dknown…IfI’dthought…Iwon’teverstopbeingsorryforwhatIdid.

I’llneverdoanythinglikethatagain.That’sallIwanttosay.”

Idoubtthat’swhatMikhailwashopingfor,butheuseditanyway

forhisfinalBayviewreport.Rumorhasithe’ssubmittingtheseriesfor

Emmyconsideration.

Myparentskeep tellingmeIcan’tblamemyselfforwhatSimon

did.JustlikeIkeeptellingCooperandAddythesamething.AndI’d

tellNate,ifhe’dletme,butI’vebarelyheardfromhimsincehegotout

ofjuveniledetention.HetalkstoAddymorethanmenow.Imean,he

shouldtalktoAddy,whoisobviouslyarockstar.Butstill.

Hefinally agreedtoletmestopbyandcatchup,butIdon’tfeel

my usual excited anticipation as I ring his doorbell. Something’s

changedsincehewasarrested.Ialmostdon’texpecthimtobehome,

butheopensthecreakingdoorandstepsaside.

Nate’shouselooksbetterthanitdidwhenIwasfeedingStan.His

mother’s staying here and she’s added all sorts of new touches like

curtains,throwpillows,andframedpictures.TheonlytimeNatespoke

to me at any length after he got home, he said his mother had

convincedhisfathertotryastintatrehab.Natedidn’tholdoutmuch

hopeforit,butI’msurehavinghisfatheroutofthehousetemporarily

isarelief.

NateflopsintoanarmchairinthelivingroomasImakemyway

overtoStanandpeerintohiscage,gladforthedistraction.Heliftsone

ofhisfrontlegsinmydirection,andIlaughinsurprise.“DidStanjust

waveatme?”

“Yeah. He does that, like, once a year. It’s his only move.” Nate

meetsmyeyeswithagrin,andforasecondthingsarenormalbetween

us.Thenhissmilefadesandhelooksdown.“So.Idon’tactuallyhavea

lotoftime.OfficerLopezwantstohookmeupwithaweekendjobat

someconstructioncompanyinEastland.Ihavetobethereintwenty

minutes.”

“That’s great.” I swallow hard. Why is it so hard to talk to him

now?Itwastheeasiestthingintheworldafewweeksago.“Ijust—I

guessIwantedtosay,um,Iknowyouwentthroughsomethingawful

andIunderstandifyoudon’twanttotalkaboutit,butI’mhereifyou

do.AndIstill…careaboutyou.Asmuchasever.So.That’sall,Iguess.”

It’sanawkwardstart,madeworsebythefactthathewon’tlookat

meduringmysadlittlespeech.Whenhefinallydoes,hiseyesareflat.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. First, thanks for

everythingyoudid.Seriously,Ioweyouone.Iprobablywon’teverbe

abletorepayyou.Butit’stimetogetbacktonormal,right?Andwe’re

noteachother’snormal.”Heavertshiseyesagain,andit’skillingme.

Ifhe’dlookatmeformorethantensecondsI’mpositivehewouldn’t

saythis.

“No, we’re not.” I’m surprised at how steady my voice is. “But

that’snevermatteredtome,andIdidn’tthinkitmatteredtoyou.My

feelingshaven’tchanged,Nate.Istillwanttobewithyou.”

I’ve never said anything that matters so much in such a

straightforwardway,andatfirstI’mgladIdidn’twimpout.ButNate

looks like he couldn’t care less. And while I’m not fazed by external

obstacles thrown my way—Disapproving parents? No problem! Jail

time?I’llgetyouout!—hisindifferencemakesmewilt.

“I don’t see the point. We’ve got separate lives, and nothing in

common now that the investigation’s wrapped up. You need to get

readyfortheIvyLeague,andI—”Heletsoutahumorlesssnort.“I’llbe

doingwhatevertheoppositeofthatis.”

Iwanttothrowmyarmsaroundhimandkisshimuntilhestops

talkinglikethis.Buthisfaceisclosedoff,asthoughhismind’salready

athousandmilesaway,waitingforhisbodytocatchup.Likeheonly

letmecomehereoutofasenseofobligation.AndIcan’tstandit.

“Ifthat’showyoufeel.”

HenodssofastthatwhatevertinyflickerofhopeImight’vebeen

nursing disappears. “Yup. Good luck with everything, Bronwyn.

Thanksagain.”

He stands up like he’s going to walk me to the door, but I can’t

takefakepolitenessrightnow.“Don’tbother,”Isay,stalkingpasthim

withmy eyesonthefloor.Iletmyselfoutandwalkstifflytomycar,

willing myself not to run, and fumble through my bag with shaking

handsuntilIfindmykeys.

Idrivehomewithdry,unblinkingeyesandmakeitallthewayto

my room before I lose it. Maeve knocks softly and enters without

waitingforaninvitation,curling upnextto meandstrokingmyhair

whileIsobintoapillowlikemyheartjustbroke.WhichIguessitdid.

“I’msorry,”she says. Sheknewwhere I washeaded,and I don’t

needtotellherhowitwent.“He’sbeingajerk.”

She doesn’t say anything else until I wearmyselfoutandsitup,

rubbing my eyes. I’d forgotten how tired full-body crying can make

you. “Sorry I can’t make this better,” Maeve says, reaching into her

pocketandpullingoutherphone.“ButIhavesomethingtoshowyou

thatmightcheeryouup.LotsofreactiononTwittertoyourstatement

onMikhailPowersInvestigates.Allpositive,bytheway.”

“Maeve,Idon’tcareaboutTwitter,”Isaywearily.Ihaven’tbeen

on there since this whole mess started. Even with my profile set to

private,Icouldn’tdealwiththeonslaughtofopinions.

“I know. Butyou should see this.” She hands me her phone and

pointstoapostonmytimelinefromYaleUniversity:

Toerrishuman@BronwynRojas.Welookforwardtoreceiving

yourapplication.

THREEMONTHSLATER

Bronwyn

Friday,February16,6:50p.m.

I’msortofseeingEvanNeimannow.Itsnuckuponme.Firstwewere

togetheralotinbiggroups,thensmallerones,andafewweeksagohe

drove me home after a bunch of us hate-watched The Bachelor at

Yumiko’s house. When we got to my driveway, he leaned over and

kissedme.

Itwas…nice.He’sagoodkisser.Ifoundmyselfanalyzingthekiss

in almost clinical detail while it was happening, mentally

congratulatinghimonastellartechniquewhilenotingtheabsenceof

any heat or magnetic pull between us. My heart didn’t pound as I

kissedhimback,andmylimbsdidn’tshake.Itwasagoodkisswitha

niceboy.ThekindI’dalwayswanted.

NowthingsarealmostexactlyhowIthoughtthey’dbewhenIfirst

imagined dating Evan. We make a solid couple. I have an automatic

date for the spring break dance, which is nice. But I’m planning my

post-Bayviewlifeonaparalleltrackthathasnothingtodowithhim.

We’reanuntil-graduationcouple,atbest.

Iappliedto Yale, butnotearly decision. I’llfindout next month

alongwith everyoneelsewhetherIgotinornot.Itdoesn’tseemlike

the be-all, end-all of my future anymore, though. I’ve been interning

forEliontheweekends,andI’mstartingtoseetheappealofstaying

localandkeepingupwithUntilProven.

Everything’s pretty fluid, and I’m trying to be okay with that. I

think a lot about Simon and about what the media called his

“aggrieved entitlement”—the belief he was owed something he didn’t

get, and everyone should pay because of it. It’s almost impossible to

understand,exceptbythatcornerofmybrainthatpushedmetocheat

for validation I hadn’t earned. I don’t ever want to be that person

again.

TheonlytimeIseeNateisatschool.He’stheremoreoftenthan

heusedto be,andI guesshe’sdoingallright.Idon’tknow forsure,

though,becausewedon’ttalkanymore.Atall.Hewasn’tkiddingabout

goingbacktoseparatelives.

Sometimes I almost catch him looking at me, but it’s probably

wishfulthinking.

He’sstillonmymindconstantly,anditsucks.I’dhopedstarting

up with Evan might curb the Nate loop in my head, but it’s made

thingsworse.SoItrynottothinkaboutEvanunlessI’mactuallywith

him, which means I sometimes overlook things that I shouldn’t as

Evan’ssort-ofgirlfriend.Liketonight.

IhaveapianosolowiththeSanDiegoSymphony.It’spartoftheir

HighSchoolSpotlightconcertseries,somethingI’veappliedforsinceI

wasafreshmanwithoutevergettinganinvitation.Lastmonth,Ifinally

did.It’sprobablyduetoresidualnotoriety,althoughIliketothinkthe

audition video I submitted of “Variations on the Canon” helped. I’ve

improvedalotsincethefall.

“Are you nervous?” Maeve asks as we head downstairs. She’s

dressed for the concert in a burgundy velvet dress that has a

Renaissancefeel,herhairinaloosebraidthreadedwithsmalljeweled

pins.SherecentlygotthepartofLadyGuinevereinthedramaclub’s

upcoming King Arthur, and she’s gone a little overboard getting in

character. It suits her, though. I’m more conservative in a scoop-

neckedjacquarddresswith a subtlegray-and-blacktonal-dotpattern

thatnipsinatthewaistandflaresoutabovemyknees.

“A little,” I reply, but she’s only half listening. Her fingers fly

across her phone, probably arranging yet another weekend rehearsal

withtheboywhoplaysLancelotinKingArthur.Whosheinsistsisjust

afriend.Right.

Ihavemyownphoneout,textinglast-minutedirectionstoKate,

Yumiko, and Addy. Cooper’s bringing Kris, although they’re having

dinnerwithhisparentsfirst,sotheymightbelate.WithKris’sparents,

thatis.Cooper’sdadisslowlycomingaround,buthe’snotatthatstage

yet. Yumiko texts Should we look for Evan? and at that point I

rememberIneverinvitedhim.

It’sfine,though.It’snotabigdeal.Itwasinthenewspaper,and

I’m sure he would have mentioned it if he’d seen it and wanted to

come.

—

We’reatCopleySymphonyHall,infrontofacapacitycrowd.Whenit’s

myturnto playIwalkontoahugestagethatdwarfsthepiano atits

center. The crowd’s silent except the occasional cough, and my heels

click loudly on the polished floor. I smooth my dress beneath me

beforetakingaseatontheebonybench.I’veneverperformedinfront

ofthismanypeople,butI’mnotasnervousasIthoughtI’dbe.

I flex my fingers and wait for a signal from backstage. When I

start, I can tell right away it’s going to be the best I’ve ever played.

Every note flows, but it’s not only that. When I reach the crescendo

andthesoftnotesthatfollow,Ipoureveryounceofemotionfromthe

pastfewmonthsintothekeysbeneathmyfingers.Ifeeleachnotelike

aheartbeat.AndIknowtheaudiencedoestoo.

LoudapplauseechoesthroughtheroomwhenIfinish.Istandand

incline my head, absorbing the crowd’s approval until the stage

manager beckons me and I walk into the wings. Backstage I collect

flowersmyparentsleftforme,holdingthemclosewhileIlistentothe

restoftheperformers.

Afterward I catch up with my friends in the foyer. Kate and

Yumikogivemeasmallerbouquetofflowers,whichIaddtotheones

already in my hands. Addy is pink-cheeked and smiling,wearingher

new track team jacket over a black dress like the world’s unlikeliest

jock.Herhair’sina choppybobthat’s almostexactlylikehersister’s

except the color. She decided to go full-on purple instead of back to

blond,anditsuitsher.

“That was so good!” she says gleefully, pulling me into a hug.

“Theyshouldhaveletyouplayallthesongs.”

To my surprise, Ashton and Eli come up behind her. Ashton

mentionedshe’dbehere,butIdidn’tthinkEliwouldleavetheofficeso

early. I guess I should have known better. They’re an official couple

now, and Eli somehow manages to find time for whatever Ashton

wantstodo.He’swearingthatmoonygrinhealwayshasaroundher,

andIdoubtheheardanoteIplayed.“Notbad,Bronwyn,”hesays.

“Igotyouonvideo,”Coopersays,brandishinghisphone.“I’lltext

itonceImakeafewedits.”

Kris,wholooksdashinginasportsjacketanddarkjeans,rollshis

eyes. “Cooper finally learned how to use iMovie, and now there’s no

stoppinghim.Trustme.Ihavetried.”Coopergrinsunrepentantlyand

putshisphoneaway,slippinghishandintoKris’s.

Addykeepscraninghernecktolookaroundthecrowdedfoyer,so

muchthatIwonderifshebroughtadate.“Expectingsomeone?”Iask.

“What? No,” she says with a breezy wave. “Just checking things

out.Beautifulbuilding.”

Addyhastheworld’sworstpokerface.Ifollowhereyesbutcan’t

catch a glimpse of any potential mystery guy. She doesn’t seem

disappointed,though.

People keep stopping to talk, so it takes half an hour before

Maeve,myparents,andIworkourwayoutside.Myfathersquintsat

thetwinklingstarsaboveus.“Ihadtoparkprettyfaraway.Youthree

don’twanttowalkthereinheels.WaithereandI’llbringthecar.”

“Allright,”mymothersays,kissinghischeek.Iclutchmyflowers

and look at all the well-dressed people surroundingus,laughingand

murmuringas theyspill ontothesidewalks.Alineofsleekcarspulls

forward,andIwatchthemeventhoughit’stoosoonformyfathertobe

amongthem.ALexus.ARangeRover.AJaguar.

Amotorcycle.

Myheartpoundsasthebike’slightsdimanditsriderremoveshis

helmet. Nate climbs off, skirting past an older couple, and advances

towardmewithhiseyeslockedonmine.

Ican’tbreathe.

Maeve tugs on my mother’s arm. “We should go closer to the

parkinglotsoDadseesus.”MyeyesareonNate,soIhearratherthan

seeMom’sdeepsigh.ButshemovesawaywithMaeve,andI’malone

onthesidewalkwhenNatereachesme.

“Hey.”Helooksatmewiththosedreamy,dark-fringedeyes,and

resentment surges through my veins. I don’t want to see his stupid

eyes, his stupid mouth, and every other part of his stupid face that’s

madememiserableforthepastthreemonths.Ihadonenight,finally,

whereIgottolosemyselfinsomethingbesidesmypatheticlovelife.

Nowhe’sruinedit.

ButI’mnotgoingtogivehimthesatisfactionofknowingthat.“Hi,

Nate.”I’msurprisedatmycalm,neutralvoice.You’dneverguesshow

desperately my heart’s trying to escape my rib cage. “How’ve you

been?”

“Okay,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. He looks

almost—awkward?It’sanovelstanceforhim.“Mydad’sbackinrehab.

Buttheysaythat’spositive.Thathe’sgivingitanothershot.”

“That’s great. I hope it works out.” I don’t sound like I mean it,

even though I do. The longer he stands there, the harder it is to act

natural.“How’syourmom?”

“Good.Working.ShemovedeverythingfromOregon,so—Iguess

she’ll be here for a while. That’s the plan, anyway.” He runs a hand

throughhishairandshootsmeanotherhalf-liddedglance.Thekindhe

usedtogiverightbeforehekissedme.“Isawyoursolo.Iwaswrong,

thatnightatyourhousewhenIfirstheardyou.That,tonight,wasthe

bestthingI’veeverheard.”

I squeeze the stems of my flowers so hard that thorns from the

rosesprickme.“Why?”

“Whywhat?”

“Why did you come? I mean—” I lift my chin toward the crowd.

“It’snotreallyyourthing,isit?”

“No,”Nateadmits.“Butthisisabigdealforyou,right?Iwanted

toseeit.”

“Why?”Irepeat.Iwanttoaskmore,butIcan’t.Mythroatcloses

andI’mhorrifiedasmyeyesprickleandfill.Iconcentrateonbreathing

andpressmyhandsagainstthethorns,willingthemildpaintodistract

me.Okay.Therewego.Tearsreceding.Disasteraverted.

In the seconds I’ve been pulling myself together, Nate’s stepped

closer.Idon’tknowwheretolookbecausethere’snopartofhimthat

doesn’tundome.

“Bronwyn.”Naterubsthebackofhisneckandswallowshard,and

I realize he’s as nervous as I am. “I’ve been an idiot. Being arrested

messedwithmyhead.Ithoughtyou’dbebetteroffwithoutmeinyour

lifesoIjust…madethathappen.I’msorry.”

Idropmyeyestohissneakers,whichseemlikethesafestspot.I

don’ttrustmyselftospeak.

“The thing is…I never really had anybody, you know? I’m not

sayingthatsoyou’llfeelbadforme.Justtotryandexplain.Idon’t—I

didn’t—gethowstufflikethisworks.Thatyoucan’tpretendyoudon’t

giveacrapandit’sdone.”Nateshiftshisweightfromonefoottothe

other, which I notice since my eyes remain fastened on the ground.

“I’vebeentalkingtoAddyaboutthis,because”—helaughsalittle—“she

won’tletitgo.Iaskedherifshethoughtyou’dbemadifItriedtotalk

to you and she said it didn’t matter. That I owe you an explanation

anyway.She’sright.Asusual.”

Addy.Thatmeddler.Nowondershe’dbeenbobbleheadingallover

SymphonyHall.

Iclearmythroattotrytodislodgethelump,butit’snogood.I’ll

havetotalkaroundit.“Youweren’tjustmyboyfriend,Nate.Youwere

myfriend.OrIthoughtyouwere.Andthenyoustoppedtalkingtome

likewewerenothing.”Ihavetobitehardontheinsideofmycheekto

keepfromtearingupagain.

“Iknow.Itwas—God,Ican’tevenexplainit,Bronwyn.Youwere

the best thing that ever happened to me, and it freaked me out. I

thoughtI’druinyou.Oryou’druinme.That’showthingstendtogoin

theMacauleyhouse.Butyou’renotlikethat.”Heexhalessharplyand

hisvoicedipslower.“You’renotlikeanybody.I’veknownthatsincewe

were kids, and I just—I fucked up. I finally had my chance with you

andIfuckeditallup.”

He waits a beat for me to say something, but I can’t yet. “I’m

sorry,”hesays,shiftingagain.“Ishouldn’thavecome.Isprangthison

yououtofnowhere.Ididn’tmeantoruinyourbignight.”

Thecrowdisthinning,thenightaircooling.Myfatherwillbehere

soon.Ifinallylook up, andit’severybitasunnerving asIthoughtit

wouldbe.“Youreallyhurtme,Nate.Youcan’tjustridehereonyour

motorcycle with…all this”—I gesture around his face—“and expect

everythingtobeokay.It’snot.”

“I know.” Nate’s eyes search mine. “But I was hoping…I mean,

whatyouweresayingbefore.Howwewerefriends.Iwantedtoaskyou

—it’s probably stupid, after all this, but you know Porter Cinema, on

Clarendon? The one that plays older stuff? They’ve got the second

Divergent movie there. I was, um, wondering if you want to go

sometime.”

Longpause.Mythoughtsareatangledmess,butI’msureofone

thing—if I tell him no, it’ll be out of pride and self-preservation. Not

becauseit’swhatIwant.“Asfriends?”

“Aswhateveryouwant.Imean,yeah.Friendswouldbegreat.”

“Youhatethosemovies,”Iremindhim.

“I really do.” He sounds regretful,andIalmostcrackasmile.“I

likeyoumore,though.Imissyoulikecrazy.”Ifurrowmybrowathim

and he quickly adds, “As a friend.” We stare at each other for a few

seconds until his jaw twitches. “Okay. Since I’m being honest here,

morethanafriend.ButIgetthat’snotwhereyourheadis.I’dstilllike

totakeyoutoashittymovieandhangoutwithyouforacouplehours.

Ifyou’llletme.”

Mycheeksburn,andthecornersofmymouthkeeptryingtoturn

upward.Myfaceisafickletraitor.Nateseesitandbrightens,butwhen

Idon’tsayanythinghepulls at the neck ofhisT-shirtanddropshis

head like I’ve already turned him down. “Well. Just think about it,

okay?”

I take a deep breath. Being dumped by Nate was heartbreaking,

andtheideaofopeningmyselfuptothatkindofhurtagainisscary.

ButIputmyselfonthelineforhimonce,whenItoldhimhowIfelt

abouthim.Andagain,whenIhelpedgethimoutofjail.He’sworthat

leastathirdtime.“Ifyou’lladmitthatInsurgentisacinematictourde

forceandyou’redyingtoseeit,I’llconsideryourproposal.”

Natesnapshisheadupandgivesmeasmilelikethesuncoming

out.“InsurgentisacinematictourdeforceandI’mdyingtoseeit.”

Happinessstartsbubblingthrough me, makingithardtokeep a

straightface.Imanage,though,becauseI’mnotgoingtomakethings

thateasyonhim.Natecansitthroughtheentireseriesbeforeweleave

thefriendzone.“Thatwasfast,”Isay.“Iexpectedmoreresistance.”

“Ialreadywastedtoomuchtime.”

Igiveasmallnod.“Allright,then.I’llcallyou.”

Nate’ssmilefadesalittle.“Weneverexchangednumbers,though,

didwe?”

“Stillhaveyourburnerphone?”Iask.Mine’sbeencharginginmy

closetforthreemonths.Justincase.

Hisfacelightsupagain.“Yeah.Ido.”

Thegentlebutinsistenthonkofahornpenetratesmybrain.Dad’s

BMWidlesdirectlybehindus,andMomlowersthepassengerwindow

topeeroutside.IfIhadtouseonewordtodescribeherexpressionit

wouldberesigned.“There’smyride,”ItellNate.

Hereachesformyhandandsqueezesitquicklybeforelettinggo,

and I swear to God, actual sparks shoot across my skin. “Thanks for

nottellingmetoget lost.I’llwaittohear fromyou,okay?Whenever

you’reready.”

“Okay.”Imovepasthimtowardmyparents’carandfeelhimturn

towatchme.Ifinallyletmyselfsmile,andnowthatI’vestarted,Ican’t

stop.That’sokay,though.Icatchhisreflectioninthebackseatwindow,

andhecan’teither.

Somanypeoplehelpedmealongthejourneyfromideatopublication,

andIwillbeforevergratefultoallofthem.First,aprofoundthank-you

toRosemaryStimolaandAllisonRemcheck,withoutwhomthisbook

wouldn’t exist. Thank you for taking a chance on me, and for your

brilliantadviceandunwaveringsupport.

ToKristaMarino,thankyouforbeinganincredibleeditorandfor

your deep understanding of my story and its characters. Your

insightful feedback and guidance strengthened this book in ways I

didn’t realize were possible. To all the team at Random

House/Delacorte Press, I’m honored to be counted among your

authors.

Writersaresomuchbetterwhenthey’repartofacommunity.To

Erin Hahn, my first critique partner, thank you for being an honest

critic,atirelesscheerleader,andagoodfriend.ThankyouJenFulmer,

MeredithIreland,LanaKondryuk,KathrineZahm,AmelindaBerube,

and Ann Marjory K for your thoughtful reads and words of wisdom.

Everyoneofyoumadethisbookbetter.

Thank you, Amy Capelin, Alex Webb, Bastian Schlueck, and

KathrinNehmforbringingOneofUsIsLyingtoaudiencesaroundthe

world.

Thank you to my sister, Lynne, at whose kitchen table I sat and

announced,“I’mfinallygoingtowriteabook.”You’vereadeveryword

I’vewrittensince,andbelievedinmewhenallthisseemedlikeapipe

dream. Thank you, Luis Fernando, Gabriela, Carolina, and Erik for

your love and support, and for putting up with my laptop at family

gatherings. Thank you, Jay and April, who are part of every sibling

storyIwrite,andJulieforalwayscheckinginonbookprogress.

Deepgratitudetomy momand dadfor instillinginmealoveof

reading and the discipline required for writing. And to my second-

gradeteacher,thelateKarenHermannPugh,whowasthefirsttoever

callmeastoryteller.IwishIcouldhavethankedyouinperson.

Alltheloveintheworldtomykind,smart,andfunnyson,Jack.I

amproudofyoualways.

And finally, to my readers—thank you from the bottom of my

heart for choosing to spend your time with this book. I couldn’t be

happiertoshareitwithyou.

KarenM.McManusearnedherBAinEnglishfromtheCollegeofthe

Holy Cross and her MA in journalism from Northeastern University.

When she isn’t working or writing in Cambridge, Massachusetts,

McManuslovestotravelwithherson.OneofUsIsLyingisherdebut

novel.Tolearnmoreabouther,visitherwebsite,karenmcmanus.com,

orfollowheronTwitterat@writerkmc.

What’snexton

yourreadinglist?

Discoveryournext

greatread!

Getpersonalizedbookpicksandup-to-datenewsaboutthisauthor.

Signupnow.