“Because whoever took Jackie killed Mina,” I say. “She wasn’t just doing a newspaper story, Amy. She was trying to figure out who took her—trying to crack the case—and she died for it. Right in front of me. So I can’t keep quiet, okay? Because this…this isn’t a little thing. This is motive.”

Amy’s mouth drops open in surprise. She steps back from me, her cleats digging hard into the soil. “You mean…you think…Matt. You think Matt took her. That he killed her because of a baby?”

“I’m not sure yet,” I say. “But it’s a possibility.”

“And you’re gonna…what? Catch him? How the hell are you gonna do that? If what you’re saying is true, the police didn’t find enough on him to arrest him for my sister. He already shot someone in front of you, and the police didn’t catch him then, either. What are you gonna do that they couldn’t?”

“At least I’m aimed in the right direction,” I say. ­“Detective James bungled Mina’s murder case. He was in charge of ­Jackie’s case, too. Who knows what he overlooked back then? No one is looking in the right places. I can at least try.”

“If it’s Matt…” She stops, like she can’t even say it. Like the hope for answers is too much. “If it’s Matt,” she says again, stronger this time, “do you think he’d tell us? Do you think they could make him tell us where he put her? So we could bury her?” Her voice cracks on the last question, and I realize that she harbors none of the hope that Matt claimed to have. That there’s something worse than having a grave to visit.

“I’m going to try,” I say, because I hadn’t been lying to David that day in therapy. I want to be able to keep my promises.

There’s a prolonged honk coming from the parking lot, and Amy jerks, looking over her shoulder. The group of parents has scattered, and a woman with blond hair is leaning out of an SUV, waving at Amy. “That’s my mom,” she says. “I have to go.” She grabs her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. “You’re not just some crazy drug addict, right?” she asks. “Because even the freshmen hear stories about you.”

I let out a breath, half laugh, half shame. “I am a drug addict,” I say. “I’m in recovery. But I’m not crazy. Not about this. I promise.”

“Okay,” she says. “Just…be careful, then.”

“Thank you,” I say. “For telling me the truth.”

“Don’t make me regret it,” she says. She hurries away across the field before I can answer. I watch her for a moment before Trev comes up behind me.

“What was that about?” he asks.

“Jackie was pregnant,” I say. “Amy just confirmed it.”

“Seriously? Jackie?” Trev looks shocked. “That means Matt—”

“Yeah,” I say. Trev frowns, not following me as I start toward the parking lot. I stop and turn back to him. “What?”

“How did you find this out?”

I dig inside my purse, coming up with the plastic baggie containing the threats, handing them over to him. “Don’t take them out of there. Rachel found them in your garage. And there was something else with them: a business card for an adoption counselor at Women’s Health.”

Trev’s quiet as we walk back to our cars, the threats clutched in his hands. I wonder if he’s mad that I didn’t call him as soon as Rachel had shown them to me, but before I can ask him, we get to the parking lot.

Trev’s truck is parked ahead of mine, so we get to it first. There’s a piece of paper tucked under the wiper, but I notice the other cars’ windshields are clear. “What’s that?” I reach up for the paper, and then stop.

It’s not an ad or a coupon like I expect.

It’s a piece of printer paper, with a photo taped to it and some words below.

“Trev.” I stare at the image. At the words.

BACK OFF OR IT HAPPENS TO HER TOO.

The photo’s an inkjet printout, grainy and poor quality, taken from a distance. It’s Trev and me, standing in front of the truck, just like we are now. I’m shading my eyes against the sun; Trev’s bending toward the door handle. I’m wearing the black shirt I had on yesterday and I can see the edge of Matt’s apartment building in a corner of the photo.

“Shit,” Trev says. He looks around, as if he’s expecting whoever left it to be hanging about, watching us. The parking lot is empty except for the girls loading up equipment into Coach’s truck.

“He’s following us,” I say, and my fingernails bite into my palms as I clench my fists, the thought heavy in my stomach. “This…this is good. This is proof.” Trev grabs for the paper. I stop him. “No, don’t touch it. We need a napkin or something.”

I root around in the truck bed until I find a rag and carefully pick up the note by a corner, my fingers shielded by the cloth. “Got it.” I look up at him with a big grin. “Now all we have to do is…”

Trev shakes his head.

“What?” I ask.

“It’s time to call the police, Sophie,” he says. “Now.”

I let out a long breath. “Okay,” I say. “You’re right.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you found the other notes last night?” he demands.

“Because I knew you’d want to go to the cops, and I wanted to talk to Amy first,” I say.

“You could’ve been hurt,” Trev says. “He’s watching us! Why are you so calm?”

“I had to make sure I was right about Jackie’s being pregnant. And anyway, you were here the whole time. I knew you wouldn’t let anything happen to me.”

He laughs, a bitter sound, and it twists at my stomach, ties it into knots. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

“I do,” I say. It’s one of the two universal truths of my life. Something that I’ve always been sure of, since that night in the hospital when he’d begged my forgiveness.

“I should be the last person you think that about.”

“I know you. You don’t make the same mistake twice.”

“Christ, Sophie,” he hisses, like I’ve said something horrible. He glares at me. “We’re going to the cops.”

“No,” I say.

“Sophie, I swear to God—”

“I’m not saying no to going to the police. I’m saying no to my going with you. If I’m there, Detective James won’t listen to a word either of us says.”

I’d thought this through carefully. But it hadn’t taken me long to realize Trev had to do this solo.

“You’re her family. If you show up there by yourself, he has to listen. Tell him you found those warning notes and the thumb drive in Mina’s room, started investigating, and then got this note on your car yesterday. He’ll believe you—but not if I’m with you. If I’m there, it’ll screw everything up. He doesn’t trust me. It has to be just you.”

Trev grits his teeth. “Okay,” he says. “Then I’ll go. And you stay home and wait for me to call you.”

“I can’t. I promised Rachel I’d go to a party.”

“A party? Seriously?”

“Kyle invited Rachel, but she doesn’t want to go without me. If you hurry over to Detective James, you can meet me out at the lake. We’ll go through everything the cops say. You can even challenge Kyle to picnic table beer pong if you want.”

That gets a reluctant smile out of him. “Fine,” Trev says. He digs his keys out of his pocket and heads toward the driver’s side of the truck. “No beer pong, though.”

“Thank you.”

He looks up grimly. “Thank me when this is all done.”

He follows me home, just a few feet behind my car.

56

FOUR MONTHS AGO (SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD)

“Do we have to do this now?” I ask, fiddling with the iPod hookup in my car. “We’re going to be late.”

“I know, I know, I suck,” Mina says as she takes the Old 99 exit. “It’ll be quick. Thirty minutes. Then we’ll go to Amber’s.”

It’s been storming all week, but it’s clear now, and you can see the stars so much better away from the town lights. I think about rolling my window down and sticking my head out, but it’s too cold.

“You still not gonna tell me what this is all about?” I find the play­list marked Sophie and page through the songs.

“Not yet,” Mina trills.

“You and your weird superstitions,” I say, rolling my eyes and grinning.

Mina sticks her tongue out. “They’re not weird. But this is going to be huge. I’m not going to jinx it now, when I’m so close.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Hey, I’m not the one with a shrink on speed dial.”

Silence fills the car. Her mouth twists back and forth.

“Too soon?” she asks.

“No.”

She shoots me a look.

“Okay, maybe a little,” I admit.

“I’m a bitch. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s the truth. How bitchy can that be?”

“Pretty bitchy.”

I’ve been home from Portland for two weeks. After almost six months with Macy, clawing my way clean and free, I was finally sure enough to come home.

But finding steady footing has been hard. Six months ago, I’d have happily burned any bridges I could for a handful of pills, but now I’ve got the reality of the damage I’ve done—to myself, to Mina, to Trev, to my parents.

Mina and I aren’t the same anymore. There’s a tense undercurrent to all our conversations. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch her watching me, but every time I look at her straight on, she pretends she hasn’t been staring.

I wish she’d just say something. Anything to stop this agonizing push and pull we’ve fallen back into.

Mina’s phone rings. She checks it, sighs, and throws it in her purse. It’s the third time she’s done that in the last twenty minutes.

I raise an eyebrow.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she says.

“Okay.”

We’re quiet for a while. Songs cycle through the playlist, and Mina drums her fingers against the steering wheel as the headlights cut through the darkness.