AS I JOG BACK TOWARD THE HOUSE, I don’t see the eyesore of a hatchback, so the girl must not have come today. Did Elias actually fire her? Or even if she just decided not to show up, it doesn’t matter. I would be fine either way, I’m just glad she isn’t here.

I’m not quite sure how much longer I can stay out in this heat before I get heatstroke. It’s almost October and it has barely gotten below thirty-five degrees Celsius—erm, ninety-five degrees Fahrenheit, I guess.

“Tamales tonight,” Elias says, stopping me in the kitchen.

“Delicious.” I pluck out my earbuds and take the lead off Sansa. She springs into the living room with boundless energy and face-plants into the couch.

“You’ve been gone for a while.”

“Just out running,” I reply, opening the refrigerator to get a bottle of water. I unscrew it and toss the cap into the recycling by the island counter. The hair that fell out of my ponytail is sticking to my neck, and all I want to do is go take a shower.

Down the hall, the library door is open and I can hear—humming?

A chill curls down my spine.

“She’s still here?” I ask before I can rein my surprise in.

Elias blinks. “Well, of course. Her father hasn’t picked her up yet. She can’t drive herself.”

Ah. Right.

Stupid me. Of course Elias wouldn’t fire her.

I down the rest of my water and toss the bottle into the recycling as I pass. If I didn’t know she was here, then she probably hasn’t realized I’ve returned, either. I’d rather keep it that way. I hurry up the stairs as quickly as I can and close the door to the bathroom.

Why am I running away from a girl in my own house? Why was I so terrified when she found that mask yesterday? Why am I still?

Because she can go to the tabloids, I tell myself. Because she can make things worse for you, and you don’t need things worse right now.

The shower, at the very least, is cold enough to shock the thoughts out of me. I sigh and press my forehead against the cool tiles. The cold water and quiet gets my head on straight again as I wash my hair. Can’t really recall the last time I properly washed it—when did I arrive here again? Two weeks ago? Time goes so slow in this town, in this house, day after day.

Lately, though, I’ve been too busy worrying about that girl down in the library.

And what she thinks of me.

I’m scrubbing my hair with the towel to dry it when my reflection catches my eye. Something is off. Slowly, I pull the towel off my head. The same face stares back. Nothing out of the ordinary, except…