Chapter One

Riley

Prom Night

Eleven P.M.

The worst thing about being in jail is the stench.

I breathe in the scent of sweat and puke and a bunch of other random bodily fluids, which sets off a nauseous rocking in my stomach. With forty of us crammed into this cell, the temperature rises. Hot air presses into my chest, making it hard to breathe. And my dress is ruined—not that I really expected to wear it again.

The second worst thing about being in jail is probably the fact that hey, I’m in jail. Locked up. Stuck in the slammer.

The door slides closed with a clankety-clank. There’s no way out. It’s like the time my fourth-grade class went on a field trip to the police station and a cop let eighteen of us stand behind the bars. Back then, we laughed. Tonight is a lot less funny.

In a quiet corner, Jessa is crying her makeup off, her gold dress torn. Her prom-styled hair resembles an espresso-colored bees’ nest or something rats would call home. Sitting on the bench, his long legs stretched out in front of him, Owen stares off into space as his blue eyes fog over like a steamy glass window. Catherine’s blond locks managed to escape unharmed, but her face is paler than usual as she stands near the front of the cell, consoling a distraught Hunter, who’s missing one of her high-heeled sandals. Behind her glasses, Jane’s eye makeup is smudged, and mascara runs down her cheeks as she studies the burn mark on the hem of her dress.

Meanwhile, Jordon stares at Catherine with wounded puppy-dog eyes. Desmond’s probably seeing stars after the hit he took. When he slumps against the wall, fingers pressed to his temples, I loosen my chest with a long sigh.

So much for a triumphant end to high school.

The third worst thing about being in jail is that if I want to go home, my parents will need to bail me out. And before they do that, they’ll want to know how I ended up here with my prom-wrecked friends on what was supposed to be the best night of our lives.