The two of them didn’t even look at Mac, which gave her a pang of regret. She’d screwed up. She shouldn’t have let on that she was even considering either of them as a suspect—it had only pulled them apart. They needed to stick together right now, not be fighting in the hallways.
She pushed her glasses up her nose and started down the hall, still fuming. As she turned into the orchestra room, she caught sight of Claire lingering by the bulletin board, reading an announcement about rehearsals. A horrible realization stopped her in her tracks as the film studies conversation rushed back into her mind. First Nolan, then Parker’s dad, then Ashley . . .
And then . . . Claire?
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE REST OF THE SCHOOL day was a blur as Caitlin tried—and failed—to focus on classes and soccer practice. In chemistry, she kept watching the door, sure someone was going to burst in and announce that Ashley Ferguson was dead. At soccer, she kept her phone on her—much to Coach Leah’s chagrin—waiting for a call that the police wanted to see her again. Or, even worse, a text that said that someone else on their list was dead. She kept one eye on Ursula Winters, too, wondering if Ursula was behind all this. She was in their film studies class. Had she heard their conversation that day? Was that why Ursula was snickering as she took a long pull from her Gatorade bottle? Were those scratches on Ursula’s arms from a struggle with Ashley Ferguson in her house?
But why?
Caitlin avoided her new friends, too, freaked out by the conversation with Ava and Mac that morning. Not that they wanted to talk to her anyway. When Ava saw her at the end of the hall between fourth and fifth periods, she turned and walked in the opposite direction. When she and Mac were next to each other in the cafeteria line, Mac shifted to the salad line to avoid speaking with her. And on top of everything, Jeremy was also avoiding her. Although maybe she was avoiding him, too. They’d had a few stilted conversations after their botched date on Satuday, but Caitlin could tell he was still upset . . . and maybe she was still upset, too. She’d left him message after message the night of the concert, trying to apologize and reason with him. He was seeing this as so black and white.
On top of all that, her appointment with Dr. Rose was this afternoon. She walked into the police station so on edge that she felt like even her eyelids were trembling. She felt guilty—for everything. Which didn’t even make sense. Just because she’d been part of a conversation where a bunch of girls named people they wouldn’t mind seeing dead—and said enemies then died—didn’t make her a murderer. It wasn’t like her words were magic or they were God. But what was happening? Who was doing this?
Could it be one of them?
“Sit down, Caitlin,” Dr. Rose said, gesturing to a chair across from her. Caitlin sat stiffly, her hands in her lap. The clock ticked noisily in the corner. Caitlin stared at the spines on the books in the corner. They were all technical psychological journals that would probably put her to sleep.
“So.” Dr. Rose tapped her nails on her clipboard. “I heard a girl went missing at school today.”
Caitlin’s head whipped up. She hadn’t expected Dr. Rose to talk about that. “Uh, yeah,” she said as casually as she could. “Ashley Ferguson.”
“Do you know her?”
Caitlin shook her head. “Not really. She was in a few of my classes, that’s all.”
“Film studies, right?”
A chill went up Caitlin’s spine. What did Dr. Rose know? “Uh, yeah,” she said vaguely.
“The man who taught that class recently died, didn’t he?”
Her heard pounded fast. “Yeah.”
Dr. Rose made a note. Caitlin was almost positive it had something to do with the Granger–breaking into his house–film studies–Ashley connection. God, this all looked so bad for her. “So did Ashley ever give you any trouble? I heard she was a bit of a bully.”
Caitlin shook her head with an honest no. “I barely knew her.”
“But she was giving someone trouble, wasn’t she? Someone you know?”
Caitlin felt a pull in her chest. “Well, maybe,” she said in a small voice.
“You can tell me who it is.” Dr. Rose leaned forward. “Everything you tell me here is confidential.”
It was weird: At school when they were talking, Caitlin had felt like she couldn’t trust the other girls anymore, that it was every man for himself at this point. But now, faced with a cop—well, kind of a cop, anyway—she couldn’t bring herself to tell on Julie. It felt like a huge betrayal. Julie was nice and sweet. She didn’t deserve the way Ashley had treated her, and she couldn’t be capable of murder.
“Ashley sent that email to the whole school about Julie’s mom being a hoarder, didn’t she?” Dr. Rose said smoothly.
Caitlin blinked. So Dr. Rose already knew. “Something like that.”
“Then she put kitty litter in Julie’s locker, and she posted a picture on Instagram. Is that right?”
Caitlin lowered her eyes. The cops were checking Instagram now?