would have been horrifying to find a lock of Sutton’s hair or a piece of her clothing—or worse.
She crouched down to unzip a Nike duffel bag slouched on the floor of the locker, but all it held was a pair of soccer cleats, white socks, mesh shorts, an enormous green plastic water bottle—and a flask of
something that smelled like bourbon. She zipped it back up, still kneeling, and sighed.
“I guess it’s a bust,” she said, disappointed. Ethan didn’t answer. She looked up at where he stood next to her, frowning. “Ethan?”
He was gazing at something on the top shelf. He reached slowly upward, and carefully, as if it were something dirty, he picked up a tiny silver key hanging on a metal tag.
“Ethan?” She rose slowly to her feet. “What is it?”
She held out her hand, and he let the key fall into her palm. It was small—too small to be a house key. On one side of the metal fob, she could just make out the word ROSA. A second word was too scratched to
decipher. Below that was the number 356.
She frowned. “Does this mean something to you?” She didn’t know anyone named Rosa at Hollier.
“Flip it over,” Ethan said, his eyes round in his face. She cocked her head quizzically. He nodded at the key fob in her hand. She turned it over and stared down at it.
On the reverse side of the tag, someone had scratched the initials S.M. into the metal. Her hand started to shake so hard the text blurred in her vision. Ethan moved toward her, putting a hand on each of her
shoulders to hold her steady.
“What does it mean?” Her voice was a hoarse, pleading whisper.
Before Ethan could answer, the sound of footsteps echoed from around the corner. Emma shoved the key into her jeans pocket and shut the locker as quietly as she could. Then she looked frantically around for
somewhere to hide.
“Here,” Ethan breathed, backing her against the wall and gazing down into her eyes. She struggled for a moment, disoriented—but then she fell still as she realized what he was doing. He pressed his lips to
hers, and even though her blood was still rushing in her ears, for one sweet moment the kiss took over and her panic subsided.
“Oh! I’m sorry!”
They both looked up to see Celeste, who had stopped in her tracks when she saw them. She was dressed with her usual Arwen-of-Middle-Earth flair, in a green tunic printed all over with Celtic knots and a pair
of leggings. Bangles jingled on her wrists, and dozens of mismatched silver earrings hung from her multiple ear piercings. Her eyes were bloodshot, her voice thick with tears. She wiped furiously at her face
and tried to force a smile. “I didn’t mean to, uh, interrupt.”
Emma gently pushed Ethan away from her. Celeste stood uncertainly in the hallway, looking everywhere but at them. Emma could see a folded piece of paper in her fingertips. She must have been about to put a
note in Garrett’s locker.
“Are you okay?” Emma asked.
Celeste shifted her weight, her bracelets jangling musically against one another. She usually had an airy, ethereal sensibility, but today she seemed weighed down with sadness.
“I’m fine. I mean, you know how Garrett is.”
Celeste was clearly trying to sound dismissive, but the words hit Emma like an electric shock. She didn’t know how Garrett was, not really—but standing in front of her was someone who did. She glanced at
Ethan, who stood a little apart, looking anywhere but at Celeste. “Hey, Ethan, can I meet up with you later?”
He looked startled for a moment. She widened her eyes meaningfully at him, trying to communicate that she wanted to talk to Celeste alone. He jumped up from where he’d been leaning on the wall, fumbling at
his books. “Oh, uh, yeah. I should get to class anyway. See you, Celeste.”
Ethan’s footsteps disappeared down the hall. The Coke machine hummed loudly. Emma fidgeted with her purse strap. “I know we’re not exactly friends, Celeste, but I—I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
Celeste sighed, glancing up through her wet lashes to meet Emma’s eyes. “He’s an Aries. They’re always intense, you know?”
“Um, right,” Emma said. She bit her lip, thinking about what she’d just seen through the window. Garrett hadn’t looked intense—he’d looked like he wanted to hurt someone. “We used to fight a lot when
we were together. He has a . . . scary temper.”
Celeste leaned back against the wall of lockers, watching Emma warily, like she was reluctant to confide too much. Emma couldn’t exactly blame her—the Lying Game girls had pranked her a few weeks ago. But
after a moment Celeste spoke, her voice quiet, tentative.
“It just all comes back to Louisa. The weird thing is that Louisa is actually doing okay. I mean, her mom put her in therapy, so she’s had help. But the whole thing, like . . . broke him. His spirit is so