This time I do drop my Nano.

It slips from my hand and thuds softly onto our rug as I watch one of thepolice officers flanking Nate open the cruiser door and push him, not verygently, into the backseat. The scene cuts to a reporter standing outdoors,brushing windswept dark hair out of her face. "Bayview Police refused tocomment, other than to say that new evidence provides probable cause tocharge Nate Macauley, the only one of the Bayview Four with a criminalrecord, with Simon Kelleher's murder. We'll continue to provide updates asthe 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 isblank, almost bored, as though he's been talked into going to a party thatdoesn't interest him.

I know that look. It's the same one he got when I mentioned Until Provenat the mall. He's shutting down and putting up defenses. There's no trace ofthe 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 hisshirt untucked, leading his sobbing mother down the hallway with a fiercelook that dared any of us to laugh.

I still believe that Nate's the real one. Whatever the police think, orfound, 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 hervoice mail cuts me off, and I hang up feeling helpless. Robin's my onlyhope for getting information, but she won't consider this an emergency. It'sa problem for Nate's future lawyer, not her.

That thought makes me even more panicked. What's an overworkedpublic defender who's never met Nate going to be able to do? My eyes dartaround 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 upthis investigation is. They thought I did it for a while. They're wrong. I'mpositive they're wrong."

"I wonder what they found, though," Maeve says. "You'd think they'd bepretty 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'sempty of everything except a churning anxiety. Channel 7 has given uppretending they know anything new, and they're replaying snippets aboutthe investigation to date. There's footage from Mikhail Powers Investigates.Addy in her pixie haircut, giving whoever's filming her a defiant finger. ABayview Police Department spokesperson. Eli Kleinfelter.

Of course.

I grab my phone and search for Eli's name. He gave me his cell the lasttime 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 doyou 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 heartand lungs so it's hard to breathe. "Eli, Nate needs a better lawyer thanwhatever random public defender they'll assign him. He needs somebodywho 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 allof you. You've gotten a shit deal and I'm sure this arrest is more of thesame. But I've got an impossible workload as it is--""Please," I interrupt, and words tumble out of me. I tell Eli about Nate'sparents and how he's practically raised himself since he was in fifth grade. Itell him every awful, heart-wrenching story Nate's ever told me, or that Iwitnessed or guessed. Nate would hate it, but I've never believed anythingmore 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 ofthese parents in any shape to talk? I'll make time for a consult and givethem some ideas for resources. That's all I can do."It's not enough, but it's something. "Yes!" I say with brazen fakeconfidence. 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 toNate's mom. When can we meet?"

"Ten tomorrow, our offices."

Maeve's still watching me when I hang up. "Bronwyn, what are youdoing?"

I snatch the keys to the Volvo from the kitchen island. "I need to findMrs. Macauley."

Maeve bites her lip. "Bronwyn, you can't--"

Run this like it's student council? She's right. I need help. "Will youcome? Please?"

She debates for half a minute, her amber eyes steady on mine. "Allright."

My phone almost slips out of my sweaty palm as we head for the car. Imust've gotten a dozen calls and texts while I was talking with Eli. Myparents, my friends, and a bunch of numbers I don't recognize that probablybelong to reporters. I have four messages from Addy, all some variation ofDid you see? and WTF?

"Are we telling Mom and Dad about this?" Maeve asks as I back out ofthe driveway.

"What 'this'? Nate's arrest?"

"I'm pretty sure they're in the loop on that. This ... legal coordinationyou're doing."

"Do you disapprove?"

"Not disapprove, exactly. But you're flying off the handle before youeven know what the police found. It could be cut-and-dried. I know youreally 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 doinganything wrong. Just trying to help a friend." My voice sticks on the lastword, and we drive in silence until we reach Motel 6.

I'm relieved when the front desk clerk tells me Mrs. Macauley's stillchecked in, but she doesn't answer the phone in her room. Which is a goodsign--hopefully she's wherever Nate is. I leave a note with my phonenumber and try not to overdo the underlines and capital letters. Maeve takesover driving responsibilities on the ride home while I call Addy."What the hell?" she says when she picks up, and the vise gripping mychest 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 whateverthey found. Addy's lawyer doesn't have a clue what's happening. "Youwant to hang out tonight?" she asks. "You must be going nuts. My mom andher 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 ofwhite news vans in front of our house. It looks like Univision andTelemundo have joined the fray, which is seriously going to piss off mydad. 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 openmy door a half-dozen microphones are in my face. I push past them andmeet Maeve in front of the car, grabbing her hand as we weave through thecameras and the flashing lights. Most of the reporters shout some variationof "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 ourkitchen. 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 frombehind 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 eyeswith a pang. My fault. "Obviously you saw the news," she says. "Yourfather's talking to Robin about what, if anything, this means for you. In themeantime, we got a lot of questions when we walked past that zoo outthere. Some about you and Nate." I can tell she's trying hard to keep hervoice neutral. "We might have made it difficult for you to talk aboutwhatever ... relationships you have with the other kids. Because from ourperspective the best way to keep you safe was to keep you separate. Somaybe you didn't think you could confide in us, but I need you to bestraight with me now that Nate's been arrested. Is there something I shouldknow?"

At first all I can think is What's the least amount of information I canprovide and still make you understand I need to help Nate? But then shereaches out and squeezes my hand, and it hits me with a stab of guilt how Inever used to keep things from her until I cheated in chemistry. And lookhow that turned out.

So I tell her almost everything. Not about bringing Nate to our house ormeeting him at Bayview Estates, because I'm pretty sure that'll send usdown 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 lookingout for him. He needs a good lawyer, so that's what I'm trying to helpwith." My phone buzzes with a number I don't recognize, and I grimace as Irealize 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 LosAngeles Ti--"

I hang up and face my mother again. "I'm sorry I haven't been straightwith you after everything you've done for me. But please let me connectMrs. Macauley and Eli. Okay?"

My mother massages her temple. "Bronwyn, I'm not sure you understandhow cavalier you've been. You ignored Robin's advice and you're lucky itdidn't blow up in your face. It still might. But ... no, I won't stop you fromtalking with Nate's mother. This case is messed up enough that everyoneinvolved needs decent counsel."

I throw my arms around her and, God, it feels good to just hug my momfor a minute.

She sighs when I let go. "Let me talk to your father. I don't think aconversation between you two would be productive right now."I couldn't agree more. I'm on my way upstairs when my phone ringsagain, and my heart leaps when I see a 503 area code. I can't keep the hopeout of my voice when I pick up. "Hi, this is Bronwyn.""Bronwyn, hello." The voice is low and strained, but clear. "It's EllenMacauley. Nate's mother. You left me a note."Oh, thank God thank God thank God. She didn't hightail it to Oregon in adrug-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 wentpretty well. My fastball hit ninety-four, I struck out the side twice, and onlya few guys heckled me from the stands. They were wearing tutus andbaseball caps, though, so they stood out a little more than your average gaybasher before security escorted them out.

A couple of college scouts showed up, and the guy from Cal State evenbothered to talk to me afterward. Coach Ruffalo started hearing from teamsagain, but it strikes me as more of a PR play than genuine interest. Only CalState 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 meoutside the locker room anymore. He heads straight for the car when I'mdone and starts the engine so we can make a quick exit.

Reporters are another story. They're dying to talk to me. I brace myselfwhen a camera lights up as I leave the locker room, waiting for the womanwith the microphone to cycle through the usual half-dozen questions. Butshe 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 almostbumps into me.

"You haven't heard?" The reporter grins like I handed her a winninglottery 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 pullsout his phone and swipes wildly as I spot my father's car. "Damn, shewasn'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 timePop and I need to spend alone. Luis and I drop our bags in the backseat, andI 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 arrestedthat 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 looksnear 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 Nateright under the bus, like he hadn't been sitting with the guy at lunch all lastweek.

I don't know what to think. If I'd had to point a finger at someone whenthis all started, it would've been Nate. Even though he'd acted genuinelydesperate when he was searching for Simon's EpiPen. He was the person Iknew the least, and he was already a criminal, so ... it wasn't much of astretch.

But when the entire Bayview High cafeteria was ready to take me downlike a pack of hyenas, Nate was the only person who said anything. I neverthanked him, but I've thought a lot about how much worse school would'vegotten 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 astring from Kris. Other than a quick visit to warn Kris about the police andapologize for the oncoming media onslaught, I've barely seen him in thepast couple of weeks. Even though people know about us, we haven't had achance 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 dropLuis off silence settles between me and my father, dense as fog. I'm the firstto 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 thekey out of the ignition. "Your choice."

Anger flares inside me--at both his words and how he spits them outwithout even looking at me. "None of this is a choice," I say, but the noiseoutside swallows my words as he opens the door.

The reporter gauntlet is thinner than usual, so I'm guessing most of themare at Bronwyn's. I follow Pop inside, where he immediately heads for theliving room and turns on the TV. I'm supposed to do postgame stretchingnow, but my father hasn't bothered to remind me about my routine for awhile.

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 quarterand spin it into a silvery blur across the kitchen table. "I pitched great, butnobody 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 toldyou in the hospital?" I shake my head. "Things'll get worse before they getbetter. Well, they surely did get worse, and now there's nowhere to go butup." 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'sabout time we met him."

I try to picture my father making conversation with Kris over chickencasserole. "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 Idon't recognize. It's Bronwyn. I got your number from Addy. Can I callyou?

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 achance.

"I'm trying to set up a meeting with Nate's mom and Eli Kleinfelter fromUntil Proven. I'm hoping he'll take Nate's case. I was wondering, did youget a chance to ask Luis's brother about that red Camaro from the parkinglot accident?"

"Luis called him last week about it. He was gonna look into it, but Ihaven'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 thislittle ball of relief growing inside me. Because yesterday I was the police'snumber 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'snot nothing.

"Yeah, okay," I tell Bronwyn.