The car idles at the curb next to the big grassy quad in front of the school.

It rained last night after I got home from Tucker’s. Big heaping buckets that sounded like sniper gunfire on the roof. The sky this morning is stained a muddy brown. Fallen branches are blown across the lawn, and rivers of water flow heartily down the gutters. The air is thick with the scent of wet grass. But it won’t be like this for long. The sun is already peeking out through churned clouds, and by midday we’ll enjoy another oppressively humid autumn day.

“Are you sure about this?” Mom asks. “I can take the day off if you think you’re not ready.”

“No!” I say it so sharply that I add, “I’ll be okay. Thanks.”

Mom sighs and scrubs at a crease between her brows. She has dark circles under her eyes, and her hands are as jittery as if she’d downed a case of Red Bull. Sometimes I forget how hard all this must be on her.

“I’m sorry,” Mom says. “I know I’m being weird. I just worry about you.”

“I know, Mom.” I lean across the center console to pull her into a hug. She wraps her arms around me and kisses my hair. I can’t be sure she isn’t crying.

“I’ll be fine,” I say.

“I know,” Mom rasps. “It’s just so hard to let go.”

I smile into her shoulder. “I love you.”

And now there isn’t any doubt about whether she’s crying.

Mascara stains mark a path down her cheeks, and she forces a wobbly smile. It’s hard to be mad at her about yesterday when she looks so vulnerable. I’m the worst daughter in the world for lying to her for two solid days now. But a hundred thousand dollars? That’ll buy her some comfort.

I get out and slam the car door, waving through the window.

Mom presses her lips together, as if she’s trying hard not to say anything. “Take it easy,” she blurts out. “Don’t exert yourself too much. And call me if anything happens. Actually, just call me anyway.”

I smile and shrug on my backpack, and she rumbles away at a blazing 5 mph.

When she’s gone, I turn to the school. Hartley is slouched against her bike with her ragtag group of delinquents. She gives me a two-fingered salute. Lyla stands at the edge of a small cluster of the girls’ basketball team, looking a little like an outcast, and Nikki makes her way in from the parking lot, arm still bound in a sling. And then there’s Farrah, standing by the flagpole with the popular kids, trying hard to ignore whatever nonsense Sadie is spouting this morning.

For one brief moment our eyes meet. Our circles don’t overlap, but for just a flash of a second we make a new circle: the Rich Girl, the Smart Girl, the Bad Girl, the Sporty Girl, the Sick Girl, and the Society.

I have an urge to gather them together, to ask if they’ve had any unwanted visitors, any mysterious texts, but Nikki shakes her head and makes a beeline for the door, and the moment is broken.

“Hey.” The voice is so near I jump. But it’s only Ethan. “So how terrible was he?” he asks.

It takes a second for my brain to catch up to what he’s asking about.

“Um, not terrible at all, actually.”

Ethan pauses, then peers intently into my face. “I don’t think I heard you correctly. We’re talking about Tucker St. Clair, right?”

“I know, but he was different than I expected. I mean, he wasn’t snobby, like how he seems in school. Actually, he was nice.” I try not to sound too defensive. After all, he is suspect number one on a very short list.

“What happened to ‘emotional depth of a puddle’?” Ethan says, quoting what I’d said about Tucker mere weeks ago. It seemed funny then.

I shrug.

“Oh my God,” Ethan says suddenly. “You like him, don’t you?”

“I barely know him.” It isn’t a lie, but it comes out with the ring of one.

There’s an unbearable pause, then: “Something happened, didn’t it?”

Words aren’t coming, and I’m all too aware of the throng of students nearby.

“Hope!”

“We kissed, okay?” I blurt out.

Ethan’s face goes slack, like I slapped him or accidentally discovered an off switch. He recovers slowly. “Oh, well, hey. If you want to earn a trip to the free clinic…”

And suddenly I’m furious. “Ethan! What is wrong with you? Have I said one bad thing about Savannah?” I look over his shoulder and spot her watching us from the flagpole. “No. I haven’t. Because that’s not what friends do.”

“Sorry,” he mutters. “You’re right. I guess I just…Never mind. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I say softly.

We reach the front doors. Inside, the halls are loud with sneakers squeaking on linoleum, lockers slamming closed, and kids laughing and talking, but there’s a weighted silence between us.

“So how was your swim meet yesterday?” I ask.

“Fine.”

“That guy who’s been trying to get you off the team—nothing happened with him?”

“No.”

“That’s good.”

This is terrible. Worse than if we weren’t talking. I grapple for another topic that won’t steer us back to troubled waters. But I’m too late.

“See you later,” Ethan says, voice gruff, and before I can respond, he turns and walks away.

Tucker is already seated when I walk into history. He’s wearing a blue checked button-down partially tucked into dark trousers and a pair of shiny loafers. It’s strangely sexy that he isn’t embarrassed to dress up for school.

He looks up and sees me. At first I think he’s going to ignore me. Pretend the whole thing in his bedroom never happened. But then his face morphs into a smile that makes that damn dimple pop out, and warmth spreads over my cheeks. I smile back, and we’re suddenly in his room again, a hairbreadth apart and ready to kiss.

“No mom today?” he asks as I take my seat next to him.

I smile. “Sorry, that was weird yesterday.”

“I thought she was great,” he says.

“She is pretty great.” I twiddle a pen between my fingers.

The class is filling up fast. All around us students fall into their seats and talk and laugh and gossip. When the second bell rings, Mr. Crawford pulls out the ancient TV on a cart. A chorus of cheers rises through the room.

“That’s right, it’s movie day,” Mr. Crawford says. “But just because we’re watching a movie doesn’t mean it’s a free pass to fool around. I want you paying attention. No cell phones, no iPads. You’re going to be quizzed on this.”

He flicks the lights out, and a World War II documentary flares to life. I feel Tucker’s eyes on me and glance across at him. I was right. He’s leaning across his desk with his hands steepled together, his face flashing in the pale light of the TV screen, a grin pulling up one corner of his lips. And he’s looking at me. I send him a shy smile.

He takes out a notepad and scribbles something. When Mr. Crawford’s back is turned, he slips it onto my desk. I squint to decipher his scratchy boy writing.

I want to kiss you again.

I’m suddenly glad of the dark so he can’t see how red my face is. I don’t know what to say. Do I want Tucker to kiss me again?

He grabs my hand in the dark and traces the creases of my palm with a featherlight touch. My breath stalls. It’s somehow infinitely sexier than a kiss.

I can do this, I think. I can like Tucker. And who knows, maybe it would help me to get over Ethan, which I very clearly need to do. And I really need to stop with this whole Tucker-Could-Be-Part-of-the-Society business. I mean, a guy can’t like me unless he secretly has an evil agenda? Talk about low self-esteem.

Someone cackles in the back of the room, and Mr. Crawford clomps between the desks to deal with it. Tucker snaps his hand back. I write out a reply under his note, check to make sure Mr. Crawford isn’t watching, then slip it to him.

Do it.

His lips curl into a wicked smile.

I spend all morning wondering when it’s going to happen, if it’s going to happen, but by the time lunch approaches, Ethan is on top of my mind again. I just want things to go back to normal. I’ve only got so much time, and I don’t want to spend it being in a fight with my best friend.

But when I walk into the caf, Ethan isn’t at our table. At first I think he’s not here yet, but then I catch a glimpse of his inky-black hair over at Savannah’s spot with the other do-gooders. Their heads are bent together, and he’s laughing.

My heart plummets into my stomach. Savannah throws her blond head back with a laugh, and Ethan joins in.

I don’t know what to do. Where to go.

Jackie talks animatedly with Mike at our usual table. I could sit with them. But Jackie and I aren’t friends so much as we’re friends by proxy. Ethan is what holds us together.

I scan the caf. My eyes catch on Nikki’s perfect bun. She’d freak if I tried to sit with her. Hartley waved at me this morning, but she’s not here. Where’s Lyla?

For a crazy moment I think about sitting with Tucker. Let’s see what Ethan thinks then. But even the idea is too foreign to consider, and I can’t make my legs move. Ethan glances over, and I feel so stupid and pathetic just standing there, watching him.

I turn around and run.

There’s a bathroom outside the caf, but it’s bound to be full of girls, and I don’t want to be seen right now, like this, so I turn down hall after hall until I’m in the empty tech wing, sawdust heavy in the air. I slam into the bathroom, out of breath and huffing. I check under the stalls to make sure no one’s there, then hork up wads of phlegm into the sink, running the water full blast to cover the sound. My skin is shiny with sweat by the time I’m done, and there’s a long string of saliva leading from my mouth to the sink, but I can breathe.

Running was a bad idea. Running into a dusty area was worse. The pain is back, and it’s an hour before I should take more meds. But who am I kidding? What does it matter if I shoot my liver to hell when the rest of me is already circling the drain?

There’s a knock on the door. Ethan. He came.

“Hope?” a girl’s voice says.

I wilt against the counter.

The door edges open. “Can I come in?” Lyla asks.

I stand up straight and wipe my mouth, hyperaware of my bloodshot eyes and pale, damp skin. “It’s a public bathroom.”

The chatter from the hall roars into the bathroom, then becomes muted again as the door thumps closed behind her.

Lyla’s wearing a Nike T-shirt and a pair of shiny black track pants, her hair pulled into her characteristically high ponytail. She takes in the scene. I self-consciously run a hand through my hair.

“Are you okay?” she asks carefully. “I saw you run out of the caf.”

So she was there.

“Oh, yeah. I’m fine.” I give a brittle laugh.

“You don’t look fine.”

“Just a flare-up,” I admit. “Happens all the time.”

“Are you sure?” She hikes a thumb behind her. “I can get the nurse.”

“No!” I realize I’ve shouted it and lower my voice. “It’s okay. She’ll just make a big deal out of it. I’m going there anyway later for chest physio.”

A beat of silence stretches out.

I decide to distract her and make use of this opportunity. “Hey, I wanted to ask you, did anyone break into your house after the jump? When I got home, there was a gift on my bed.”

She lifts a delicate gold chain out of her shirt. “This was on my bed when I got home. I had it appraised. It’s real.” After a long beat, she adds, “What did you get?”

I flush a little. “Um, medications.”

“Oh.” She says it like she feels bad for me that I got a shitty gift.

“They’re really expensive. We can hardly afford them.”

She nods.

I scuff my shoes on the tile. “I also got a text yesterday. It said…” Time to cut the cord. I clear my throat. “It was reminding me to stay quiet about what happened.”

“I got something like that too.”

“You did?” For some reason I feel relieved. It wasn’t just me. “Do you still have it?” I ask. “Can I see?”

“I deleted it,” she says. “I didn’t want my mom finding it. She likes to snoop on my phone when I’m in the shower.”

Shit. That sounds like something Mom would do. I make a mental note to delete mine too.

I get an idea and stand up straight. “These are huge purchases. I bet we can track them, call some pharmacies, find out who bought a bunch of meds recently.”

“Ever heard of a little thing called HIPAA?” Lyla asks. “You’d need a warrant for that. We’re just a bunch of kids.”

“Okay, well, does your necklace have a serial number? We could probably check in with local jewelers, pretend you have a secret admirer or something.”

“Good idea,” she admits, “but I doubt whoever bought it gave his real name. And they’re not going to hand over Visa slips or security footage.”

I almost tell her we should turn this over to the cops, but I remember the tear tracks on Mom’s face this morning and know I’m not ready to give up yet.

“When do you think the next invitation will come?” I ask.

She blows out a harsh breath, tendrils of hair fluttering around her face. “Probably soon. If the game is supposed to be two weeks, like the note said.”

I cross my arms against a shiver.

The faucet drips loudly in the sudden silence.

“Okay. Well,” Lyla says. “I have to meet with Coach, but I just wanted to check on you.”

“Thanks,” I say. “Really.”

She nods, and then she’s gone. I face the mirror. I look like shit. No wonder Lyla wanted to get the nurse.

I splash water on my face and dry it with a scratchy paper towel. Then I pull out my cell. Two missed calls from Mom. I dial her number.

“Hi, Mom!” I say brightly, hoping she doesn’t notice the echo of the bathroom in the background. “Just wanted to call to tell you everything is going really well.”

I have an hour before supper when we get home from my regular visit with Dr. Aguiar. I was a little worried she’d listen to my lungs and somehow know I’d leaped from the top of a tower two nights ago, but she gave me as clean a bill of health as I ever get.

I shut myself in my room and spread the library books I found about Walt Disney out on my duvet. I’m flipping through one of the books when the doorbell rings.

I hear muffled voices, and then there’s a knock at my door. Mom pokes her head inside. Ethan is behind her.

“Not too long,” Mom says.

I nod mutely as Ethan closes the door.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.”

My heart beats fast.

“What are you doing?” He nods at the books.

“Um, school stuff.” Somehow I don’t think he wants to hear all about my project with Tucker.

He nods again, then digs in his bag and hands me a package of Starbursts.

“Oh. Thanks.” I awkwardly take it from him, but he doesn’t flop onto the bed as usual.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“Oh. Yeah. Um.” He shrugs out of his backpack and pulls out a folded newspaper. He holds it for a moment before speaking again. “I found this today, and I’m sorry, Hope, but you need to know. Last year Tucker was arrested for assault.”

I exhale as I realize what he’s talking about. The thing with Tucker’s cousin.

“It doesn’t say his name,” Ethan continues, “but it’s for sure him. Remember how he went away for, like, two weeks last year? Well, that’s because he had this court case drama going down. Hope, he would have been sent to juvie if his dad hadn’t hired the best lawyers. And that’s not the worst part—”

“I knew about that,” I interrupt.

He freezes. “Y-you did?”

“How did you even find this?” I ask.

He shrugs, defensive. “It wasn’t that hard.”

“But why?” I ask. “Why did you look this up?”

“What do you mean, why? Because you’re my best friend and I don’t get a good feeling about this guy.”

I shake my head. “Ethan, you don’t get to do this.”

“Do what?”

I raise my hands. “Tell me who I can and can’t date. Did you ask me before you started dating Savannah?”

“Well, no. But this is different,” he says.

“Why? If I told you I didn’t get a good feeling about Savannah, would you dump her?”

“Yes,” he says without missing a beat.

My face gets hot. “Well, I wouldn’t do that,” I answer. “And you’re wrong about him.”

“Oh yeah?” He takes a swift step closer. “Look at this. The guy he beat up was hospitalized, Hope. He was beaten unconscious.”

I didn’t know that. And I know from Ethan’s changing expression that he can see it.

“It’s not what you think,” I say. “He had a good reason.”

“Really? What possible reason could he have had to beat a guy senseless and then have his daddy cover it up?”

“Listen, I’m not supposed to say anything about it, but since you’re obviously not going to shut up about this, I will. Tucker caught a guy trying to rape his cousin.”

Ethan pales.

“Yeah. So he beat the guy up and probably got a little carried away, but can you blame him? Imagine walking in on a guy forcing himself on one of your sisters.”

Ethan’s lips twist in disgust.

“But when the cops came, his cousin didn’t want to press charges because she was worried about her reputation, so Tucker took the fall for it because he’s a decent guy.”

He opens his mouth, then closes it.

I cross my arms. “I’m not a complete idiot, you know.”

“I never said you were.”

“But you insinuated it. Everyone always treats me like I can’t make decisions for myself.”

“I was just trying to help—”

“Well, stop.”

A pained look crosses his features. I can’t stand it. I climb off the bed and pace to the window, looking at the huge expanse of concrete below. I hear Ethan moving behind me, but he doesn’t speak. How did things go so horribly wrong between us? I wish I could turn back time. Go back to two weeks ago, when the biggest argument we had was which B horror movie to watch.

“I don’t want this to get weird, Eth.” I spin to face him again. He’s standing next to my bed now with his head hung low and his hands twisted around the newspaper. “Just, please, trust me.”

The moment expands, stretches out, and I start to worry that this is it. He’s going to call off our friendship. But then he throws the newspaper into a corner. “All right, fine.”

Relief surges through me. “So we’re good, then?”

He nods, and some of his hair falls into his eyes. I long to reach up, tuck it back, but he has a girlfriend now. We’re just friends.

“Good,” I say.

He clears his throat, then hikes his thumb behind him. “Well, I better get going. It’s late.”

“Oh. Okay. See you later.”

And then he’s gone.

Even though we made up, I feel uneasy about the whole thing. I can’t believe Ethan went to such lengths to investigate Tucker. On the one hand, I’m happy—it means he really does care about me. But on the other, I’m infuriated. He doesn’t want to date me, he just doesn’t want anyone else to date me either. How can he think that’s okay?

I flop onto the bed, and something crinkles under the covers. I pull them back. Sitting on my bed is a creamy white envelope with my name printed on the front in looping cursive.

A chill slithers down my spine.

My hands shake as I slide my finger under the familiar rose wax seal and pull out the thick cardstock inside.

Congratulations. You made it past the first round. But it’s not over yet. Meet again at 291 Schilling Road at midnight tonight. And come alone.

If you dare.