Friday evening is a relief. Maeve and I are settled into her room for a Buffythe Vampire Slayer marathon on Netflix. It's our latest obsession, and I'vebeen 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'msprawled 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'mdetermined 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. Abunch of kids had the link emailed to them last night from some "AboutThis" Gmail address, and by lunchtime everyone had read it. Yumiko helpsout in the principal's office on Fridays, and she heard them talking abouttrying to track whoever did it by IP address.

I doubt they'll have any luck. Nobody with half a brain would sendsomething like that from their own technology.

Since detention on Monday people have been careful and overly nice tome, but today was different. Conversations kept stopping when Iapproached. 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 policeyesterday and then this pops up." Like that was supposed to make me feelbetter.

"Just imagine." Maeve's voice startles me back to her bedroom. She putsaside her laptop and raps her fingers lightly on the window. "This time nextyear, 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 transplantalong 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 beingmodest on my account, you can give it a rest. I'm quite comfortable in myrole 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 shewas too sick to go to school consistently. She was diagnosed with leukemiawhen 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, Ioverheard a priest at the hospital asking my parents if they'd consideredstarting to make "arrangements." I knew what he meant. I bowed my headand 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 reallylearned how to participate in life. I do that for both of us: join the clubs, winthe awards, and get the grades so I can go to Yale like our parents did. Itmakes them happy, and keeps Maeve from extending herself too much.Maeve goes back to staring out the window with her usual farawayexpression. 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'sthinking when she suddenly sits up straight and cups her hands around hereyes, pressing her face against the window. "Is that Nate Macauley?" I snortwithout 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 outlineof a motorcycle in our driveway. "What the hell?" Maeve and I exchangeglances, and she shoots me a wicked grin. "What?" I ask. My voice comesout more snappish than I intended.

"What?" she mimics. "You think I don't remember you mooning overhim in elementary school? I was sick, not dead.""Don't joke about that. God. And that was light-years ago." Nate'smotorcycle is still in our driveway, not moving. "What do you suppose he'sdoing here?"

"Only one way to find out." Maeve's voice is annoyingly singsongy, andshe ignores the dirty look I give her as I stand up.

My heart thumps all the way downstairs. Nate and I have talked more atschool this week than we have since fifth grade, which admittedly still isn'tmuch. Every time I see him I get the impression he can't wait to besomeplace else. But I keep running into him.

Opening the front door triggers a floodlight in front of our garage thatmakes Nate look as though he's on center stage. As I walk toward him mynerves are jangling, and I'm acutely conscious of the fact that I'm in myusual hanging-out-with-Maeve ensemble: flip-flops, a hoodie, and athleticshorts. Not that he's making an effort. I've seen that Guinness T-shirt atleast twice this week.

"Hi, Nate," I say. "What's up?"

Nate takes his helmet off, and his dark-blue eyes flick past me to ourfront door. "Hey." He doesn't say anything else for an uncomfortably longtime. I cross my arms and wait him out. Finally he meets my gaze with awry smile that makes my stomach do a slow somersault. "I don't have agood 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 ofthe Colombian drug dealer, and he wouldn't appreciate even a hint ofassociation from me. But I find myself saying, "They're not home." Then Ihastily add, "I'm hanging out with my sister," before he thinks that wassome 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 kitchencounter when we get inside, even though I'm sure she was staring out herbedroom 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 itover 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 ofthe blue. I should do what I normally do. Except that's sit in my sister'sroom 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 thatopen into our living room. Maeve elbows me as we follow him andmurmurs, "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'sfluent.

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 nearthe doorway, arms folded, as she settles into Dad's favorite leather armchairin 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 fakeinnocence.

Nate crosses to the large walnut bookcase covering one wall, picking upa picture of Maeve and me with identical gap-toothed smiles in front ofCinderella's castle at Disneyland. It was taken six months before Maevewas 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 rightabout 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'vetaken lessons since I was eight and I'm pretty competent, technically. ButI've never made people feel anything. "Variations on the Canon" is the firstpiece 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 almostangry. 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 manywrong notes, even Maeve winced. She seems to remember, glancing towardNate and saying, "This is a really hard song." As if she suddenly regretssetting me up for embarrassment. But what the hell. This whole situation istoo surreal to take seriously. If I woke up tomorrow and Maeve told me I'ddreamed it all, I'd fully accept that.

So I start, and right away it feels different. Looser and less of a reach forthe harder parts. For a few minutes I forget anyone's in the room, and enjoyhow notes that usually trip me up flow easily. Even the crescendo--I don'tattack 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 atMaeve, and it's only when her eyes drift toward Nate that I remember Ihave an audience of two.

He's leaning against our bookcase, arms crossed, and for once he doesn'tlook bored or about to make fun of me. "That's the best thing I've everheard," he says.

Addy

Friday, September 28, 7:00 p.m.

God, my mother. She's actually flirting with Officer Budapest, of the pinkfreckled face and receding hairline. "Of course Adelaide will do anything tohelp," she says in a husky voice, trailing one finger around the rim of herwineglass. Justin's having dinner with his parents, who hate Mom and neverinvite her. This is his punishment whether he knows it or not.

Officer Budapest stopped by just as we finished the vegetable pad ThaiMom always orders when my sister, Ashton, comes to visit. Now he doesn'tknow where to look, so he's got his eyes fixed on a dried flowerarrangement on the living room wall. My mother redecorates every sixmonths, 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 alreadyanswered 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 officerswere in and out of school all day. Cooper said Bayview High's probablygoing 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 withthat distant expression I know well. She's already mentally checked out,probably planning her wardrobe for the weekend. Ashton comes into theliving room and settles herself in an armchair across from me. "Are youtalking to all the kids who were in detention that day?" she asks.Officer Budapest clears his throat. "The investigation is ongoing, but I'mhere because I had a particular question for Addy. You were in the nurse'soffice the day Simon died, is that right?"

I hesitate and dart a glance toward Ashton, then look back at OfficerBudapest. "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. Iwind a strand of hair around my finger and tug nervously. "I don'tremember 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 wasprobably for that." I scrunch my forehead like I'm thinking hard, and finallymeet Officer Budapest's eyes. "Oh, right. I had my period and I wascramping really bad, so yeah. I needed Tylenol."Officer Budapest is a blusher. He turns red as I smile politely and releasemy hair. "And you got what you needed there? Just the Tylenol?""Why do you want to know?" Ashton asks. She rearranges a throwpillow behind her so the starfish pattern, made out of actual seashells, isn'tdigging into her back.

"Well, one of the things we're looking into is why there appeared to beno EpiPens in the nurse's office during Simon's allergy attack. The nurseswears she had several pens that morning. But they were gone thatafternoon."

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 parentingrole here, he doesn't mention it. "Nobody's saying that. But did you happento see whether the pens were in the office then, Addy? According to thenurse's log, you were there at one o'clock."

My heart's beating uncomfortably fast, but I keep my tone even. "I don'teven 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 andinterested, leaning forward and interrupting the whole time, while Momgoes into the kitchen twice to refill her wineglass. I keep looking at theclock, because Jake and I are supposed to be going to the beach soon and Ihaven't even started touching up my makeup. My pimple's not going tocover 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 knowwhat might be important."

"Okay," I say, sliding the card into the back pocket of my jeans. OfficerBudapest 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 OfficerBudapest get into his squad wagon and start slowly backing out of ourdriveway.

I spy Justin's car waiting to pull in behind Officer Budapest, and that getsme moving again. I don't want to have to talk to him and I still haven'tfixed 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 tobe Ashton's until I took it over when she got married. She still makesherself at home there as if she'd never left.

"You didn't tell me about that Tumblr thing," she says, sprawling acrossmy 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 thatour mother hates. I think it's cute, though. If Jake didn't love my hair somuch, I'd consider a cut like that.

I sit at my vanity and dab concealer on my hairline pimple. "Somebody'sbeing a creep, that's all."

"Did you really not remember being in the nurse's office? Or did you justnot want to answer?" Ashton asks. I fumble with the concealer cap, but I'msaved from answering when my phone blares its Rihanna "Only Girl" texttone from the bedside table. Ashton picks it up and reports, "Jake's almosthere."

"God, Ash." I glare at her in the mirror. "You shouldn't look at my phonelike that. What if it was private?"

"Sorry," she says in a completely not-sorry tone. "Everything okay withJake?"

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 implyinganything." 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 thingsweren't going well between Ashton and Charlie--for one thing, she'ssuddenly here a lot, and for another, he was hard-core flirting with a sluttybridesmaid at our cousin's wedding last month--but Ashton's never comeout and admitted a problem before. "Are things ... uh, really bad?"She shrugs, dropping the magazine and picking at her nails. "It'scomplicated. Marriage is way harder than anyone tells you. Be thankful youdon't have to make life decisions yet." Her mouth tightens. "Don't let Momget 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. Iusually tell Jake everything, but I can't tell him this. And after him, there'sliterally 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 sheprobably means well, she can be awfully passive-aggressive about Jake.The doorbell rings, and Ashton's mouth twists into a half smile. "Must beMr. Perfect," she says. Sarcastic, right on schedule.

I ignore her and bound down the stairs, opening the door with the bigsmile I can't help when I'm about to see Jake. And there he is, in hisfootball jacket with his chestnut hair tousled by the wind, giving me theexact same smile back. "Hey, baby." I'm about to kiss him when I catchsight of another figure behind him and freeze. "You don't mind if we giveTJ a ride, do you?"

A nervous laugh bubbles up in my throat and I push it down. "Of coursenot." I go in for my kiss, but the moment's ruined.

TJ flicks his eyes toward me, then at the ground. "Sorry about this. Mycar broke down and I was gonna stay home, but Jake insisted ...."Jake shrugs. "You were on the way. No reason to miss a night outbecause of car trouble." His eyes travel from my face to my canvassneakers as he asks, "You wearing that, Ads?"It's not a criticism, exactly, but I'm in Ashton's college sweatshirt andJake's never liked me in shapeless clothes. "It'll be cold at the beach," I saytentatively, 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 withdragging steps because I know I haven't been gone long enough for Ashtonto have left my room. Sure enough she's still flipping through Us Weekly onmy bed, and she knits her brows together as I head for my closet. "Back sosoon?"

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 exchangeher sweatshirt for a formfitting sweater. "You won't be warm enough inthat. It's chilly tonight." She snorts out a disbelieving laugh when I slip offmy 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'tcare. I'm down the stairs and out the door before she can stop me, steppinginto a breeze that chills me instantly. But Jake gives me an approving smileand 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 tothrow up. Hate listening to Jake and TJ talk about tomorrow's game. Hatewhen 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 amonth after my and Jake's momentous first time, I got blind drunk and sleptwith TJ Forrester.

When we get to the beach Cooper and Luis are already building abonfire, and Jake heaves a frustrated grunt as he shifts into park. "They doit wrong every time," he complains, launching himself out of the car towardthem. "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'malready freezing, and wrap my arms around my body for warmth. "Do youwant my jack--" TJ starts, but I don't let him finish.

"No." I cut him off and stalk toward the beach, almost tripping in mystupid shoes when I reach the sand.

TJ's at my side, arm out to steady me. "Addy, hey." His voice is low, hisminty breath briefly on my cheek. "It doesn't have to be this awkward, youknow? 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 insecureafter Jake and I slept together, and started thinking he was losing interestevery time he took too long to answer a text. I'm the one who flirted withTJ when we ran into each other on this exact same beach over the summerwhile Jake was on vacation. I'm the one who dared TJ to get a bottle ofrum, 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 canrebuild it where he wants. I sneak a glance at TJ and see dimples flash as hewaves 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 cankeep this to ourselves. Bayview's a gossipy school, but at least About Thatisn't hanging over everybody's heads anymore.

And if I'm being one hundred percent honest, I have to admit--that's arelief.