KALYN

I STEP OUT of the cafeteria and peel the pizza from my torso. I let it hit the floor, then scan the area for Quillpower’s signature lurch. The main hallway is almost empty.

I cuss and stomp left. As I pass the office, there’s no getting around the secretary, Ms. Patrick. She’s balanced on a rolling chair in heeled sandals, unfurling the latest honor roll poster on the office window.

“No running in the halls!” The chair swivels but she doesn’t lose her footing. “Oh! What’s the matter, hon?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Please remember that I’m the only cool adult in this building before you try peddling that crap. What’s wrong?”

I stare at her tattooed eyebrows. Hard to tell if the concern is genuine, but I go with my gut. “Gus Peake isn’t in school today, and it’s my fault.”

Her eyes flash. “That’s not your fault.”

“You don’t get it.”

“I know who you are.” She plops down onto the chair and lets it roll toward me. “I’ve got all your records, remember? Fact is, you didn’t kill anybody, honey. As of the news today, fact is maybe no one in your family did. Right?”

I don’t know what to do when people are kind to me.

“Hey, the speed limit is WALK!”

I’m the hell outta Dodge, and soon I’m near the gymnasium at the far end of the building. Based on the squeaking and hollerin’, people are throwing dodgeballs inside. No way would Phil choose to be in there. His twigs would probably snap.

I put my hands to my hair, unclip my braid, and give it a hard tug to center myself.

There’s a sound like swords clashing to my right, but it’s tinny, nothing natural about it. I swivel with my fists up.

Phil’s killing things on his Game Boy or whatever in a small nook beside the boys’ locker room. His baggy gym shorts make him look longer than ever. Phil’s tried makin’ himself as small as possible, but his terrible posture makes my back hurt. He’s Ichabod Crane, in a ratty Blade Runner T-shirt. I know hand-me-downs when I see them.

Phil’s upright before I get close, yanking on the door to the locker room—­

“If you think I won’t follow you the fuck in there, you’ve got no idea who you asked to homecoming.” I have no idea, either, but hey. “Where’s Gus?”

I’ll be damned—Phil doesn’t bolt. “Gus actually asked you out for me?”

I can’t figure out his expression. “Don’t tell me that’s what you two argued about? Jesus. Gus couldn’t betray you if he tried. He’s wrapped around your fingers.”

“He isn’t.” Gus’s glasses sharpen his eyes, but Phil’s dilute his to glassy ponds. “I’m not his keeper.”

“Happen to see the local news today, Phil?”

“Who bothers with local news?” But he’s already moving his fingers. Guess that toy has internet. I bite my tongue while he scans the headlines.

“Hmm.” He draws himself up straighter. “It’s not merely local.”

“Oh, great.” Here we go again. At least I’m dressed for the circus.

Phil looks at me. “I’ll message Tamara. I presume Gus told you. About his dad?”

“More or less.”

His device pings. “Tamara says he left and neglected to bring his cell phone.”

“He left? Alone?”

“He’s not an infant.”

I bristle. “No, but his mom treats him like one.”

“I imagine she isn’t up for it today. Considering the horror of it all, et cetera.”

“Well, maybe the guy’s innocent.”

“Spence, innocent?” Phil scowls. “Are you familiar with the case?”

“Safe to say so.” I try not to spit on him.

“Spence confessed. His innocence is unlikely. I imagine . . . ​ Gus feels panicked. His flight makes sense. ‘Why, what an ass am I . . .’ ”

“Yeah,” I grumble, “you’re pigeon-livered, and you lack gall.”

Phil freezes.

“Shocker! I like Shakespeare. You and me might have some mutual interests, and if you’d avoided the bullshit and talked to me yourself instead of forcing Gus to do it, imagine the drama you could have spared us all.”

“Noted.”

“Whatever. Where would Gus ‘flee’ to?”

“My house, on occasion. That’s doubtful, after yesterday.” Phil shakes his head, then freezes midway. “Ah. I know where he could be.”

“Great. Let’s go. Before the bell rings. You drive.”

Phil cocks his head. “I’ll take you to Gus. But only if you—”

“Oh, you’d better not!”

“—attend homecoming with me.”

“You’re blackmailing me? Jesus, Gus deserves better. You know what? I’ll find him on my own. Fuck your dance.”

“Wait—stop.” I’m about to yank the fire alarm and unlock that emergency door. “I’ll drive. Fine.”

I pull my arm down anyhow. The alarms start wailing. “Hamlet is a self-absorbed prick, if you wanna know my opinion.”

“I don’t,” Phil says, holding the door for me.

“Figures. You just wanna dance with me, right?”

Whatever. I can’t control how Phil chooses to think about yours truly, but I can use it to my advantage like the monster I am.

I don’t know if I’m a monster to Gus. I don’t know who I’ll be when we find him. But I want to find him. That’s a tiny chunk of goodness in me. I’m holding tight to it.