SEÑORA MÁRQUEZ SITS AT HER DESK SCOWLING.
All eyes are on Quinn. Blood has completely drained from her face. She’s ghostly pale. She has never stolen anything in her life. Now she’s branded a thief. A word thief. Her heart melts into a puddle beneath her desk.
Kara bites her lower lip and hangs her head. She will lose a full grade on her assignment. Señora Márquez says the cheatee is as bad as the cheater.
The teacher takes a deep breath. She says if Quinn rewrites the assignment after school, while she looks on, she will retract Quinn’s failed grade. Quinn nods feebly.
Señora Márquez tells everyone to open their textbooks. Quinn tries to focus on the words in front of her, but they swim around the page. She feels the weight of stares lingering on her shoulders until the end of the day.
It’s nearly four o’clock when Quinn picks up her pencil. Except for her and the teacher, the classroom is empty. The halls bare.
“You called your parents?” asks Señora Márquez. “They know you’re staying late?”
Quinn can’t bring her mouth to lie, so she lets her head do it. She manages a single nod.
“They’re coming to pick you up?” asks the teacher. “It will be dark.”
Quinn nods a second time. First a thief, now a liar. She can hear her father’s disappointed voice in her head. “Oh what a tangled web we weave…” Quinn’s web has gotten so tangled it’s strangling her.
Her hand trembles as she writes. She stares at the clock, then at what she’s written. She erases a chunk and begins again. She sighs. Should she use tener or haber? They both mean “to have.” And here—should it be ser or estar? Why is this so complicated?
When she hands in her assignment, Señora Márquez looks it over quickly as though she’s already decided on a grade. “I’m disappointed in you, Quinn,” she says. “I hope you’ve learned a lesson.”
Quinn’s head bobs. Yes. Yes she has. And this time it’s no lie.
It’s late by the time she packs up. She has to beat Señora Márquez to the parking lot. Quinn zips through the empty halls and bursts out the front door. The sun has all but disappeared. The sky is deep purple, pressing into black. The streets seem darker than usual.
Quinn follows the same route she and Emma take every morning and every afternoon. Only it all seems strange now. Wrong.
She thinks of Emma. Though they share the same high cheekbones, the same straight nose, Quinn’s cheeks are gaunt and her hair is dull. She is like a faded photocopy from a printer running out of ink. Only she came into the world first. She should be the vibrant one. Emma should be the copy. It doesn’t seem fair.
The air is icy. Vapor puffs from Quinn’s mouth and the wind snatches it away. Kara’s right—it might snow soon. Most slopes will open early.
Quinn walks briskly. The maples and oaks lining the street are bare. Their branches stretch across the sky like cracks in a mirror. She thinks she hears footsteps behind her. The fine hairs on her neck prickle. She shouldn’t be walking home alone. She breaks into a light jog, but when she glances over her shoulder, she relaxes. There’s no one there.
Halfway to her house, Quinn passes the park. The swings hang silent and still. The play structure is a dark and empty shell. She doesn’t notice the splash of bright orange lying on the ground next to the slide.
The front door is locked. The lights are out. Quinn rings the doorbell again and again. No one answers.
“Emma! Let me in!”
With each second that passes Quinn gets more and more frustrated. Emma’s goofing around. She’s trying to bug Quinn. She’ll probably jump out and yell Boo! Quinn is in no mood for games.
She makes a fist and pounds as hard as she can. The old door rattles. “Emma! Come on! It’s cold out here.”
In the distance, headlights approach. The hum of an engine grows loud. Tires turn into the driveway, and for a moment Quinn’s caught in the lights. They illuminate her briefly, then slide past and shine on the garage. They switch off.
Now Emma’s done it. Mom’s home. Quinn has nowhere to hide. She’s caught. Her mother will find out everything and tell her father. She’ll be grounded for sure. Emma should have let her in. If Quinn had made it inside even with seconds to spare, her parents would never have known she’d been late—never have known she’d been cheating on an assignment.
Quinn pounds frantically on the door, even though she knows it’s too late. Her mother is already out of the car. Quinn stares at the walkway like a prisoner awaiting her executioner.
Emma is so going to pay for this. It’s all her fault. Quinn will take back the purple hoodie she gave Emma—the one Emma begged her for all last year. Plus, she won’t let Emma come with her and Kara to the movies on Friday—that is, if she’s still allowed to go.
“What are you doing out here?” says her mother, lugging her purse and briefcase. “Why do you have your backpack? Where’s Em?”
Exactly. Where is Emma?
Quinn stutters and stammers, trying to find an excuse. “I-I was … It’s just … we were … I…”
The pressure is too great. The dam Quinn built to hold back her emotions bursts. Tears gush down her cheeks, and in choked sobs she tells her mother about the copied assignment. About having to stay late. “I-I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”
Her mother frowns. “You’re in big trouble, Quinn. And so is Emma. Why didn’t she wait for you? She’s not supposed to walk alone. Neither are you, especially in the dark.”
Quinn drags a sleeve across her face. She has something to say. She wants to tell her mother—she should tell her—but instead Quinn’s jaw clenches and her eyes narrow. She wants Emma to get in trouble. It will be payback for not opening the door. Payback for being so perfect.
Quinn’s mother continues her lecture as she fishes for the key and opens the door. “How could you? I’ve always taught you to be honest. Why didn’t you just ask for more time?”
The house is dark. Quinn’s mother switches on the light and calls for Emma but there’s no answer. She tells Quinn to go upstairs and look for her sister—maybe she’s in the bathroom. Maybe she’s listening to music with her headphones and can’t hear.
Quinn lets her backpack drop. She kicks off her shoes and marches up the stairs. She wants to find Emma first—to tell her off. She is happy Emma’s going to get in trouble. She wants to be the one to tell her.
Quinn doesn’t find Emma. Not in the room they share. Not in the bathroom. She checks the basement. And the yard. Emma’s coat is missing. So is her backpack. Emma never made it home.