“So,” Susan said. “Anything you want to tell us?”
Jen’s insides frosted over. She didn’t like the way Susan’s voice had cooled. “What are you talking about?”
“I saw you put something in Ethan McCready’s locker this morning.”
Juliana, who had just had her hand on Susan’s tray, froze with a fistful of fries. “McCreepy?”
Jen felt a flare of annoyance. “Don’t call him that. You guys can be so mean.”
“And you can be too nice,” Juliana said. “There’s something wrong with that kid.”
Jen poked her spoon through her ice cream, even though she didn’t want it anymore. “It was nothing. I left my book in Mr. Ward’s room. He brought it to me. The end.”
“Suuuuuuure.” Now Juliana sounded as frosty as Susan had earlier—even accusatory, as if she thought Jen was hiding something.
“Why are you guys doing this?” Jen asked. “Teasing me about a boy like we’re in middle school?”
Suz smacked Jules’s hand as she reached to steal more fries. Suz’s eyes were on Jen. “Ethan’s always staring at you. It makes me worried.”
“Worried that what?” Jen asked.
“That you’re going to go missing and wind up stuffed in an oil drum.”
“Seriously,” Jen snapped. “Stop.”
“Jesus. It’s not that big of a deal.” Juliana eyed Jen like she was a cobra poised to strike. Her eyebrows knit together like Jen was being totally ridiculous, and they hadn’t been taunting her just moments ago.
Jen put down her McFlurry. “Whatever. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
Whatever. The word hung between her and Juliana. It felt like it had become a weapon for them to use on each other.
* * *
—
Ethan wasn’t in school Monday; by third period, the whole building was in hysteria.
Jen caught pieces of the story in the halls, whispered between people in class: “Some sophomore was going to shoot up the school.”
“Yeah, he was going to kill all the cheerleaders and football players.”
The knot in Jen’s stomach grew when she heard her name over the loudspeaker. She was being called to the principal’s office.
Mr. Demarco, her guidance counselor, was there, sitting across from Principal Heinz. Leaning against the bookshelf was her stepfather.
“Jen,” Tom said. “Are you okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Why don’t you sit?” Mr. Heinz tugged on his tie. His collar was spotted with sweat.
“Ethan McCready was expelled this morning,” Mr. Heinz said.
Jen’s stomach shot up to her throat. Some sophomore was going to shoot up the school. He was going to kill all the cheerleaders.
She met Mr. Demarco’s eyes. His usually crisp polo was uneven, as if he’d gotten ready in a rush this morning. “You’re not in trouble, Jen. Why don’t you have a seat?”
Jen lowered herself into the empty chair next to Mr. Demarco’s. She noticed he was holding something—a sheet of lined paper torn from a notebook. He handed it to her. “Have you seen this?”
She felt her eyes racing across the page. In Ethan’s handwriting were the names of all the sophomore and junior cheerleaders: Juliana Ruiz, Susan Berry, Colleen Coughlin, Bethany Steiger. Stephanie Kazmark, Ariella Lopes, Chloe Munro.
All except hers.
“I’m not on here,” she said, to herself more than to anyone else.
“That’s what we wanted to talk about.” Mr. Heinz’s gaze flitted to her stepfather.
Tom held up a hand. “Jennifer, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”
Jen looked down at the list. “I don’t even know anything about this.”
Mr. Demarco’s voice was gentle, goading. “It’s okay if you do. We just want to figure out what happened.”
“Isn’t it obvious what happened? Ethan wrote this, and for some reason he left me off. Or forgot me.”
Mr. Demarco and Principal Heinz exchanged a look. Next to her, Jen noticed Tom’s grip on the edge of the bookshelf tighten. “I think Jen has told us all there is to say.”
“Are you and Ethan friendly?”
Jen glanced at Tom. “He lives in my neighborhood. We’re not friends.”
“Okay. Thank you, Jennifer.” Principal Heinz rubbed his eyes.
Once they were in the hallway, Tom pulled Jen aside. “You know you can tell me the truth.”
Jen blinked. Was he serious? “I already did.”
Tom’s pained smile made her heart shatter into a million pieces. “I know, kiddo,” he said. “I’ll walk you back to class.”
* * *
—
Something was wrong. By lunch, Jen was positive that there was more to everyone’s bizarre reaction in Principal Heinz’s office than they were letting on.
She didn’t think she could bear going to lunch; they would all be talking about Ethan and how he looked mad enough to kill them all after Mark Zhang had knocked his lunch tray out of his hands and ruined his sneakers. Bethany would be especially hysterical—she was the one who had joined in and thrown the quarters at Ethan.
But Colleen wasn’t involved—she had laughed, sure, but Jen had sat there and done nothing. Why hadn’t Ethan put her on the list?
Jen knew why, but thinking about it, and what people would say about her if they knew, sent spasms through her chest.
The bell for sixth period rang, and Jen was still at her locker, dodging glances from the people congregating in the hall outside the cafeteria. Stephanie Kazmark had called her mom to pick her up; someone in Jen’s math class this morning swore he saw a police officer bring a bomb-sniffing dog to Ethan’s locker that morning.
The air around her was charged; it was almost as if everyone was more excited by everything going on than they were scared.
She had to talk to Ethan. There had to be some way—
“Out of the hall,” Mrs. Brown bellowed, sending a shot of panic through Jen. If she lingered too long, security would make her go to the cafeteria, where Bethany and Colleen and Mark were.
Band room. Jen took off for the auditorium, hurrying through the side door. Onstage, her band teacher, Mr. Garner, was conducting a lesson for the saxophone section. No one noticed Jen as she snuck up the side of the stage and went through the wings.
The door to Mr. Garner’s room, which the wind ensemble was allowed to use for practice, was open. Jen shut herself inside, grateful all of the chairs were empty. She tucked herself into the corner and took out her phone. Would someone like Ethan, who wasn’t swimming in friends, even have a Facebook page?
Ethan McCready did have a Facebook page. In the profile photo, his face was turned away from the camera, the hood of his sweatshirt pulled over his head, but she knew it was him. Her finger hovered over the Add Friend button; she definitely couldn’t do that. People would see it, and they’d talk even more.
She swallowed and composed a private message to him.
The ticking in the clock overhead fell into step with the pulsing behind her eyes. A migraine coming on. She got them when she was stressed. When a (1) popped up over her inbox, the pounding ceased for a moment. Ethan had replied.
Her heart was speeding; she wanted to ask him if he was okay, how much trouble he was in…
An angry voice popped up in her head. Why would you do that? Why would you ask HIM if he’s okay after what he did?
Blood flowing to her face, she typed back:
It took Ethan a few minutes to come up with his response.
Jen drew her feet up on the chair, knees to her chest. She stared at her phone, at a loss for how to respond.
When she didn’t write back, Ethan sent another message.
Jen swallowed. Wrote back:
The backs of her eyes pricked. She imagined the look that would be on Juliana’s and Susan’s faces—on all of the cheerleaders’ faces—if they saw this conversation. If they saw her talking to Ethan McCready like he was a friend.
Another message from Ethan came through: