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  Jack’s eyes are two hot coals in the darkness. His body radiates heat. I’m suddenly glad for the clouds covering the stars, the tree branches sending deep shadows over the cove. How could Ariel stand to look at him? It’s like staring into the sun.

  “Hey,” he says. In the darkness, his voice is everywhere. It seeps below my skin and wraps around my bones.

  “Don’t,” I whisper. But my voice is so quiet that maybe I just think it.

  Jack takes a step closer and, if we were anywhere else, I’d move away from him. I’d respect the two feet of space we always keep between us.

  But we’re standing in the woods—my woods—in the cove that Ariel always said was magic. I don’t move. I tilt my chin, daring him to come closer.

  His eyes travel over my chin and my lips, my eyes, my forehead. He stares at me like it’s the first time he’s ever been able to look at me before, and maybe it is. He takes my chin in his hands, moving my face toward his. His fingers leave trails of fire on my skin.

  I close my eyes, but that just makes it worse. Jack smell. Jack face. My heart beats so fast it hurts.

  You’re wondering if I slept with Ariel’s boyfriend.

  If that’s why she killed herself.

  Well. I didn’t. I fell in love with him. If you don’t understand why that’s worse, then you’ve probably never been in love. Or had a best friend.

  “Should I stop?” Jack asks.

  I swallow. For a second, it feels like Ariel’s here. Like she’s watching. She waits at the entrance to the cove, a wry curve to her lips.

  Do you love him more than you love me?

  I push her away and press my lips to Jack’s. Because I can.

  She isn’t real, I remind myself. The real Ariel is dead.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Do you love him more than you love me?

  That was how my last conversation with Ariel began. She showed up at the shelter after hours, after I was supposed to clock out, because she knew I’d be cleaning up and feeding the animals and double-checking that everything had been taken care of. She surprised me, and I flinched and whirled around.

  “What did you say?” I asked, keeping my face neutral so Ariel wouldn’t know how badly she’d scared me. “What are you doing here?”

  Ariel stopped at a cage holding a kitten, this tiny tabby with brown-and-white fur and a wet pink nose. He was smaller than my hand, his eyes barely open. Ariel dragged her fingers over the bars of his cage, and he shrank away from her, trembling. Ariel never understood why I liked animals. She complained that they smelled like piss and that even the nicest ones bit her. I said it was because they could tell she hated them.

  “Jack,” she said, her eyes flicking to me. “My boyfriend, remember? Or, I guess, my ex-boyfriend now.”

  My heartbeats blurred together in a solid thrum of vibration. Ex-boyfriend. She said ex-boyfriend. I smiled, like we were talking about anybody. Like I didn’t care. “So you finally broke up with him?”

  “He broke up with me, actually,” Ariel corrected. “Because of you.”

  “No,” I said, too fast probably. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. We’d agreed. Ariel opened the cage with a click.

  “Don’t lie to me, Char.” She pulled the door open and reached inside, running a single finger down the kitten’s back. He mewed. “He just told me. He took me to that bench near the library and told me that he can’t be with me anymore because the two of you are in love.” Ariel looked around the shelter. “He said you fell in love here, actually.”

  This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. I’d told him to wait. Ariel would get bored and dump him—she always did—and then she wouldn’t care whether I dated him or not. She wasn’t one of those girls who got all bent out of shape if you went after her ex. She treated boys like tissues. Disposable. Interchangeable.

  But it was different if he dumped her. Then I took something that was hers.

  “Ariel …,” I started, but she shook her head.

  “It’s okay. I’m not mad, silly.” She reached inside the cage and pulled the kitten out. She cradled him in her cupped hands and made a hushing noise as she continued to stroke the downy fur along his spine. “It’s understandable. You’re much closer to what Daddy and Mommy Jack had in mind, I’m sure. I can picture you sitting at that huge dinner table, all dressed up in pearls and Chanel.” She tilted her head to the side. “Do you daydream about that?”

  I didn’t answer, but I didn’t have to. “Of course you do,” Ariel said. “You dream about being perfect for them, making them love you like a daughter. Then you’ll finally get the loving family you always wanted.” Her mouth a cruel line. “You think Mrs. Calhoun will let you call her Mom?”

  For a long moment, we didn’t speak. Ariel cooed at the kitten and I watched her. The kitten looked afraid. His eyes—barely open a second ago—were suddenly wide. He squirmed in Ariel’s hands, but she held so tightly.

  “Ariel, be careful,” I said. She looked at me curiously, like she’d forgotten I was there. She tightened her fist around the kitten’s belly, and he mewed louder. He swatted at her hand with his tiny, furry paw.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” she said. “Do you love him more than you love me?”

  I reached for the kitten, but Ariel moved away from me, holding her hands behind her back so I couldn’t reach him. The kitten clawed at her. He must’ve broken skin because blood dropped to the floor behind her. Ariel didn’t react. I don’t think she noticed it.

  “Let him go,” I said. I tried to move past her, but she shoved me. I stumbled back, slamming into a row of cages lining the wall. I smacked my elbow against a heavy padlock attached to one of the cages and pain zipped up my arm. A dog started barking.

  “Answer the question, Charlotte.”

  “Jesus, Ariel, you’re going to hurt him.” I grabbed her arm and yanked. Her hand popped open and the kitten fell to the floor. He landed on his feet and shot across the room, shivering.

  Ariel stared down at her arm. My fingers left red marks on her skin. “I can’t believe you did that.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” I could barely contain my rage. The kitten was still mewing, his voice small and helpless. He was hiding beneath a row of empty cages. It was going to take forever to coax him out. “Just get out of here.”

  “Charlotte—”

  “I don’t love you,” I said, because I knew she wasn’t going to leave until I answered her stupid question. “Are you happy now? I don’t even like you most of the time. You’re a bitch. No, you’re worse than that. You’re a monster.”

  Ariel studied me. I looked for something in her eyes. Remorse, or sadness or guilt or anger. Anything. But they were beautiful and empty. Hollow. It was like looking at a doll.

  Ariel turned on her heel and stalked out of the shelter. That was the last time I saw her alive.

  The next morning, I found out there had been a fire at the animal shelter. Every single animal inside had burned to death. Ariel wasn’t in any of her classes that day. I thought she’d felt too guilty about what she’d done. That she couldn’t face me.

  Then I found her in the tub.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I wake the next morning with Jack’s kiss still painted on my mouth. Like lipstick I forgot to wash off before going to bed. I lift two fingers to my lips and let them linger there. Remembering. My fingers taste like salt and fire.

  I roll over in bed, pulling my phone off the side table. We’re meeting again this morning, nine o’clock, same place. It’s Saturday, so we don’t have classes, but I have a shift at the clinic at ten thirty. I already find myself coming up with excuses to cancel. I wonder if they’d believe I have the flu …

  I push back my comforter and crawl out of bed, careful not to let the mattress springs creak. I don’t want to wake Zoe. I pull open a drawer, cringing at the soft scrape of wood.

  I frown. My clothes aren’t where they’re supposed to be. They’re still
in the drawer, of course, but they’re all wrong. My favorite jeans sit on top of my school uniforms, but I know they were at the bottom of the drawer last night. A top I vividly remember shoving into a corner of the drawer is now nicely folded.

  I glance at Zoe’s sleeping body. She must’ve gone through my things again.

  “Bitch,” I whisper. Her eyelids flutter, but she doesn’t wake. I make a mental note to read her stupid love letter later. I tug on a pair of jeans and a sweater and duck into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind me with a barely audible click.

  The morning is crisp. There are already a few security guards out, but they’re mostly milling around the site of the bonfire, looking for stragglers who didn’t make it home after the party. I slip past them easily.

  I jog through the woods—just enough to get my blood flowing without making me sweat. I feel oddly energized, like I could run a marathon or climb a mountain. The air tastes like spring, and birds coo in the distance. It feels like I’m living inside a greeting card.

  I reach the spot early, and Jack isn’t there, so I collapse against a tree. Sunlight tickles my face.

  Something rustles through the bushes. I open my eyes a crack. “Jack? Is that you?”

  There’s no answer, and the rustling goes still. Must be a squirrel. I’m about to close my eyes when something blinks at the corner of my eye, like a beacon. Look at me, it seems to say. I squint.

  A bright yellow brick sits at the edge of the cove, next to a growth of weeds and dead grass.

  That doesn’t belong here, my brain tells me. Ariel and I came here practically every day. I know every tree, every twig.

  I take a step toward it and kneel to get a closer look. Someone has painted the rough surface of the brick in small, even strokes. I run my fingers over it, and a thrill of excitement shoots through me. Bananarama, the shade is called. I was with Ariel the day she found it. She plucked it off the counter with two fingers.

  “Do you think this will make me look like I have gangrene?” she asked, shaking the bottle.

  “Not unless you paint your whole hand,” I told her. Ariel shrugged and slipped the polish into her pocket without paying for it.

  I lift the brick and turn it over, and there, half covered in dirt, is a stiff white business card. Ariel’s familiar, slanted handwriting whispers across it.

  Follow the yellow brick road.

  A small, desperate cry breaks the stillness of the cove, and it takes me a moment to realize the sound came from me. I lift a trembling hand to my mouth, and the brick topples back to the earth, bottom side up. Ariel’s strange message stares up at me.

  Follow the yellow brick road. Below the words, down at the corner of the card, she’s scrawled a number: 1/3.

  I jerk my head up, eyes searching. I take a step forward, and then another one. It’s like my legs know where to take me. I hurry through the trees, following paths once made clear by Ariel’s feet and Devon’s and mine. Until—

  There. A banana-yellow brick peers out from beneath a bush to the side of the path. My heart hammers in my chest, and my breath comes fast and hot. I drop to my knees, grabbing the brick with both hands. My fingers tremble as I turn it over. Another business card, Ariel’s handwriting slanting across it.

  Follow the yellow brick road.

  I smile.

  I know the game now, so I keep moving, stopping only to kneel and examine more yellow bricks, each one urging me farther and farther into the woods. There’s no trail to follow, no human footsteps leading us through the brush. It’s just trees and bush and shadow. Animals coo and scurry. Goose bumps climb my arms as I hurry farther. Farther.

  I know where Ariel’s leading me long before I see the redbrick path cutting through the trees. Suddenly, I want to turn and head back to the cove, forget I ever saw her stupid note and yellow bricks. This doesn’t feel like a clue anymore. It feels like Ariel’s messing with me, just like she used to when she was still alive.

  I move through the woods, toward the path. A breeze ruffles my hair, but I barely feel it. I stop at the edge of the bricks.

  The old animal shelter waits at the end of the path, ragged strips of caution tape still dangling from its front door. Its soot-darkened walls have caved in, making the small building tilt to the left. Blackened glass litters the grass surrounding the structure and old beams jut out of the roof. They remind me of broken bones sticking out of skin, and I look away, shuddering. The air still carries the smell of smoke.

  A yellow brick lies at the end of the path, to the left of the yawning hole where the door once was. I doubt anyone else would notice it. It’s smudged with soot and dirt, the banana color barely visible beneath the black. I kneel and wedge my fingers around the brick, carefully easing it out of the ground. There’s no note this time. The brick blocks a small, shallow hole. Inside the hole is a phone.

  My heartbeat becomes a low, steady thrum. I pull the phone out of the hole. It’s not Ariel’s. Ariel’s phone looked like her—there were always sparkly cases, and rhinestones and backgrounds displaying adorable photos of her and Jack tangled together. This phone is generic and off-brand. I turn it over in my hand, fingers shaking. The screen is cracked and some of the paint has chipped off, but otherwise it could be new. I find the power button and press down.

  It won’t work, I warn myself. But then a bright light flashes on and fades as a home screen appears. A warning flashes—10 percent battery. I bite down on my lip, grinning. Okay, so it works. What now?

  I check recent calls, but there aren’t any. Voice mails—none. Text messages—none. E-mails—none.

  “Dammit, Ariel.” I close out of her in-box with a quick, violent jab of my thumb. I open the notes app, but it’s empty. I dig my teeth harder into my lip.

  What. The. Fuck. Why leave me a phone with nothing on it?

  There aren’t many apps on the screen, so I go through them one by one. Nothing’s written in her calendar—I search back and forward a year, but she hasn’t made a single entry. She hasn’t downloaded any other apps or games. I open her photos folder—and there it is. A single picture.

  I click on the icon, and a close-up of Ariel zooms onto the screen. I’ve never seen this photo before. It’s cropped in close on her face, her eyes and mouth taking up practically the entire screen. A single tear clings to her cheek.

  “Ariel doesn’t cry,” I whisper. As far as clues go, this is pretty shitty. She isn’t doing anything, just staring into the camera like an idiot. I’m about to close out when I notice the red dot at the bottom of the screen. It’s not a photograph. It’s a video.

  I press Play, and Ariel’s face begins to move. She looks down for a beat, and then flicks her eyes up again, staring at the camera through the fan of her lashes. The gesture twists something in my gut. I’ve seen Ariel do that move countless times. The coy downward glance, the flirty flutter of lashes. At first she only used it on boys, but it quickly became second nature. It was the easiest way for her to play up the charm, get someone to give her whatever she wanted. I shake my head at the screen. She probably didn’t even realize what she was doing.

  “Charlotte,” Ariel says, her voice barely louder than a breath. “If you’re watching this …”

  The image freezes, then jerks, jumping forward in the video. Shit. The phone must have water damage after all.

  “… fires.” Ariel’s eyes have grown wide. She clears her throat and shakes her head maniacally, sending a red curl across her forehead. “… destroyed the woods they …”

  Another jolt on the screen, and the video leaps forward.

  “… monsters …” Ariel presses her lips together, her eyes hard. “Can’t feel anything … I’m numb.”

  The video pauses again. Then shudders. Then freezes. Ariel’s face alters in small ways—her mouth turns upward, an eyebrow twitches. I hear snippets of voice, but no words.

  Then the video stops. The Play button appears on the bottom of the screen.

  I swear under my
breath and start it again, hoping for better quality. But the video plays in the same jolts and starts, Ariel’s message just as nonsensical as before. Fire. Monsters. Numb. I close out of the video and click on the e-mail icon. I can send it to myself. Even if the phone has water damage, the file should still be good. I start a new e-mail and click on the icon to attach the video file. The screen freezes. It goes black.

  “No.” I jab the Power button, then I hold my thumb down to get the phone to restart. Nothing happens.

  Whatever clue Ariel left for me is gone.

  Chapter Twenty

  Ruined. I finally find a second clue, and it’s ruined.

  I want to throw the phone against a tree and watch it shatter. What kind of idiot leaves a phone with important information on it outside? I wish she were still alive so I could ask her what the hell she was thinking.

  Voices echo through the trees, telling me the security guards have finished at the bonfire site and are coming closer. I study the phone, frowning. I could try charging it. Maybe it isn’t water damaged after all—maybe it just ran out of batteries. It’s some cheap brand that I’ve never heard of, so I doubt anyone at this school will have the right charger. I pull my own phone out of my pocket and look it up online. I find the charger easily, but the only website that sells it has it backordered. Annoyed, I click the link to buy and then slip both phones into my pocket and duck through the woods toward school.

  I don’t go back to my dorm. Zoe will be there, and I don’t want to see anyone right now. Instead, I stalk through the empty school halls. I don’t feel angry, exactly. There’s a better word for this electric energy crackling through my veins. Adrenaline. I want to run and jump and scream. I want to hit something.

  I stop in front of the door to the girls’ locker room, and, suddenly, I know exactly what to do. I push the door open, my footsteps echoing off the concrete walls and floors. Row after row of metal lockers stare out at me, as though they’re on the verge of speaking. I go to my locker and turn the combination until it pops open beneath my fingers. I pull my fencing gear on and stick my bag inside, clicking the lock shut.