At lunch on Wednesday, Addy and I are talking about nail polish. She's afont of information on the subject. "With short nails like yours, you wantsomething pale, almost nude," she says, examining my hands with aprofessional 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." Shearches 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 thatAddy got called to the station separately to answer questions about themissing EpiPens again. Yesterday we were murder suspects withcomplicated personal lives, but today we're just being girls.

Until a shrill voice from a few tables over pierces the conversation. "It'slike I told them," Vanessa Merriman says. "Which person's rumor isdefinitely 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 anoversized crouton.

Janae, who doesn't talk much when she sits with us, darts a look at Addyand says, "You haven't heard? Mikhail Powers's crew is out front. A bunchof kids are giving interviews."

My stomach drops, and Addy shoves her tray away. "Oh, great. That's allI need, Vanessa on TV yakking about how guilty I am.""Nobody really thinks it was you," Janae says. She nods toward me. "Oryou. Or ..." She watches as Cooper heads for Vanessa's table with a traybalanced in one hand, then spots us and changes course, seating himself atthe edge of ours. He does that sometimes; sits with Addy for a few minutesat the beginning of lunch. Long enough to signal he's not abandoning herlike the rest of her friends, but not so long that Jake gets pissed. I can'tdecide whether it's sweet or cowardly.

"What's up, guys?" he asks, starting to peel an orange. He's dressed in asage button-down that brightens his hazel eyes, and he's got a baseball-captan 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 mightbe, but lately there's something almost Ken doll-like about him--a littleplastic and conventional. Or maybe my tastes have changed. "Have yougiven your Mikhail Powers interview yet?" I joke.

Before he can answer, a voice speaks over my shoulder. "You should. Goahead and be the murder club everybody thinks you guys are. RiddingBayview High of its asshats." Leah Jackson perches on the table next toCooper. She doesn't notice Janae, who turns brick red and stiffens in herchair.

"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 youcheated?" Her tone's conversational and her expression is almost friendly,but I still freeze.

"Hypocritical, Leah." Maeve's voice rings out, surprising me. When Iturn, her eyes are blazing. "You can't complain about Simon in one breathand repeat his rumor in the next."

Leah gives Maeve a small salute. "Touche, Rojas the younger."But Maeve's just getting warmed up. "I'm sick of the conversation neverchanging. Why doesn't anybody talk about how awful About That madethis 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 fierceas she stares Leah down. "You didn't do anything wrong. Simon did. He didit for years, and now everybody's sainting him for it. Don't you have aproblem with that?"

Leah stares right back, and I can't make out the expression that crossesher 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 movementlifts her sleeve and exposes a crescent-shaped scar on her wrist. "Maybe Iwill." She stalks out the door with long strides.

Cooper blinks after her. "Dang, Maeve. Remind me not to get on yourbad side." Maeve wrinkles her nose, and I remember the file with Cooper'sname 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," shesays. "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 peoplecheering on school shootings and stuff like that," Maeve says. "I've beenreading them for days. Other people started them, but he jumped right inand said all kinds of awful things. He didn't even care when that boy killedall those people in Orange County." She's still tapping away when Janae'shand shoots out and locks around her wrist, almost knocking her phonefrom her hand.

"How would you know that?" she hisses, and Maeve finally snaps out ofthe zone to realize she might've said too much.

"Let her go," I say. When Janae doesn't, I reach out and pry her fingersoff Maeve's wrist. They're icy cold. Janae pushes her chair back with a loudscrape, 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, andstomps away just like Leah did. Except she's probably not about to giveMikhail Powers a sound bite. Maeve and I exchange glances as I drum myfingers on the table. I can't figure Janae out. Most days, I'm not sure whyshe 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 allottednon-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 oflunch. The only other guy who'd sit with us never bothers making anappearance in the cafeteria. But I pass Nate in the hallway afterward, and allthe questions bubbling in my brain about Simon, Leah, and Janae disappearwhen 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 onlygym class, after all. But my arms and legs pump with unexpected energy asmy lungs fill and expand, as if all my recent bike riding has given mereserves that need a release. Sweat beads my forehead and pastes my T-shirtto my back.

I feel a jolt of pride as I pass Luis--who, granted, is barely trying--andOlivia, who's on the track team. Jake's ahead of me and the idea of catchinghim seems ridiculous because obviously Jake is much faster than me, andbigger 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 pacegoing I can almost, probably, definitely--

My legs fly out from under me. The coppery taste of blood fills mymouth 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 intodozens of tiny cuts. My knees are in agony and I know before I see thickred 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 legsgave out."

They didn't. While my eyes were on Jake, someone's foot hooked myankle and brought me down. I have a pretty good idea whose, but can't sayanything because I'm too busy trying to suck air into my lungs.

"Addy, are you okay?" Vanessa keeps her fake voice on as she kneelsnext 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 haveenough air to talk she's gone. The gym teacher inspects my knees, turns myhands over, clucks at the damage. "You need the nurse's office. Get thosecuts cleaned up and some antibiotics on you." She scans the crowd that'sgathered 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 seenJanae since Bronwyn's sister called Simon out a couple of days ago. As Ilimp toward school Janae doesn't look at me until we're almost at theentrance. "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 lockerroom.

"You're supposed to go to the nurse's," Janae says, and I flutter my handat her. I haven't darkened the nurse's doorstep in weeks, and anyway, mycuts are painful but superficial. All I really need is a shower. I limp to a stalland peel off my clothes, stepping under the warm spray and watchingbrown-and-red water swirl down the drain. I stay in the shower until thewater's clear and when I step out, a towel wrapped around me, Janae's thereholding 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 stripsacross my knees, which sure enough are getting slick with blood again. Mypalms sting and they're scraped pink and raw, but there's nowhere I can puta Band-Aid that will make a difference.

Janae sits as far away as possible from me on the bench. I put threeBand-Aids on my left knee and two on my right. "Vanessa's a bitch," shesays quietly.

"Yeah," I agree, standing and taking a cautious step. My legs hold up, soI head for my locker and pull out my clothes. "But I'm getting what Ideserve, right? That's what everybody thinks. I guess it's what Simonwould've wanted. Everything out in the open for people to judge. Nosecrets."

"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 AboutThat, and he wrote some awful things. But the past couple years have beenrough. 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'thave wanted this for you."

She sounds really sad about it. But I can't bring myself to care aboutSimon now. I finish dressing and look at the clock. There's still twentyminutes left in gym class, and I don't want to be here when Vanessa and herminions descend. "Thanks for the Band-Aids. Tell them I'm still at thenurse's, okay? I'm going to the library till next period.""Okay," Janae says. She's slumped on the bench, looking hollowed outand exhausted, and as I head for the door she abruptly calls out, "Do youwant 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 yourhouse?"

"All right," I say, picturing my own mother's reaction to Janae afterbeing used to a house full of pretty-perky Keelys and Olivias. The thoughtbrightens me up, and we make plans for Janae to stop by after school. On awhim I text an invitation to Bronwyn, but I forgot she's grounded. Plus, shehas piano lessons. Spontaneous downtime isn't really her thing.

I've barely stowed my bike under the porch after school when Janae arrivesdragging her oversized backpack like she came to study. We makeexcruciating small talk with my mother, whose eyes keep roving fromJanae's multiple piercings to her scuffed combat boots, until I bring herupstairs to watch TV.

"Do you like that new Netflix show?" I ask, aiming the remote at mytelevision 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 allthe 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 myshoe boxes now: a dozen memories of me and Jake from the past threeyears, and almost as many with my friends. I hesitated over one--me,Keely, Olivia, and Vanessa at the beach last summer, wearing giant sun hatsand goofy grins with a brilliant blue sky behind us. It had been a rare, fungirls' day out, but after today I'm more glad than ever that I banishedVanessa's stupid smirk to the closet.

Janae fiddles with the strap to her backpack. "You must miss how thingswere before," she says in a low voice.

I keep my eyes trained on the screen while I consider her comment. "Yesand no," I say finally. "I miss how easy school used to be. But I guessnobody I hung out with ever really cared about me, right? Or things wouldhave been different." I shift restlessly on the bed and add, "I'm not gonnapretend it's anything like what you're dealing with. Losing Simon thatway."

Janae flushes and doesn't answer, and I wish I hadn't brought it up. Ican't figure out how to interact with her. Are we friends, or just a couple ofpeople without better options? We stare silently at the television until Janaeclears 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-longconversation about the kind of friends you have now. When I finally getback upstairs, two glasses of lemonade in hand, Janae's got her backpack onand 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'sprobably in the middle of Chopin or something. I'm surprised when shemessages me back right away, and even more surprised at what she writes.Be careful. I don't trust her.