And then he’s gone.
Even though we made up, I feel uneasy about the whole thing. I can’t believe Ethan went to such lengths to investigate Tucker. On the one hand, I’m happy—it means he really does care about me. But on the other, I’m infuriated. He doesn’t want to date me, he just doesn’t want anyone else to date me either. How can he think that’s okay?
I flop onto the bed, and something crinkles under the covers. I pull them back. Sitting on my bed is a creamy white envelope with my name printed on the front in looping cursive.
A chill slithers down my spine.
My hands shake as I slide my finger under the familiar rose wax seal and pull out the thick cardstock inside.
Congratulations. You made it past the first round. But it’s not over yet. Meet again at 291 Schilling Road at midnight tonight. And come alone.
If you dare.
The Society was here. In my room. Again.
They got inside without alarming my family—maybe even with my family’s knowledge. Got in despite every door and window in the place being firmly shut and locked. I know this because I double-checked before leaving the apartment and no one’s been home since this morning.
They could have sent another email. This paper invitation is a message, and the message is clear: we can get to you anywhere.
I become acutely aware of my heartbeat rushing behind my ears.
I tuck the envelope into my pants, then yank my T-shirt over it and force myself to walk calmly down the hall. Mom’s banging around in the kitchen, so I keep walking to Jenny’s room. She’s reading in bed when I enter but quickly hides the cover when she sees me, as if I don’t already know about her secret penchant for fluffy middle-grade novels.
“Ever think of knocking?” she asks.
I click the door quietly closed, then pull out the invitation. “Do you know about this?”
She scrambles off the bed and takes the invitation from me, quickly scanning the words. “When did this come?”
“I just found it on my bed. Under my covers.”
Her eyes dart up to meet mine. “Who could have gotten in?” she asks.
“That’s what I wanted to ask you.”
A crease appears between her brows. “Why would I know?”
I pin her with a stare. “I dunno, Jenny. You tell me.”
Her frown deepens, and then the crease between her brows clears. “Wait a minute. You think I did it? What the hell, Hope? I don’t know anything about this.”
I examine her carefully, looking for the telltale signs of a lie, but she looks genuinely confused—and hurt. Shit.
“Then someone must have snuck in,” I say.
“What about Ethan? He was just in your room.”
“Don’t be stupid. I was with him the whole time.”
But I did turn my back on him. And he did arrive with some serious dirt on Tucker. He said it wasn’t that hard to find, but without any names in the article, it couldn’t have been easy. It’s the sort of dirt the Society has on the other girls.
I shake my head to rid it of the thought. Ethan is my best friend. Even if we aren’t getting along, he couldn’t be behind this. I know him too well. He wouldn’t want to scare me. Wouldn’t threaten me.
“So are you going?” Jenny asks.
I give a tense shrug. “I don’t know.”
I wasn’t feeling so threatened until now. They have access to my house, to my bed, and now I’m second-guessing the one person who’s been my friend since the first day I moved to New Orleans.
“Don’t tell me you’re thinking about quitting,” Jenny says, poking my arm with a sharp little finger.
“Why wouldn’t I be thinking about that?” I ask. “I have a stalker, Jenny.”
“Just think about the money.”
“If you want the money so bad, feel free to take my place,” I snap. “I’m sure they have lots of fun and games planned for us tonight if you feel like committing suicide.”
“All right, fine, forget it.” She picks up her book.
I was prepared for more of a fight, and now I don’t know what to do with all the excess adrenaline pumping through me.
“Well, okay,” I say.
“Okay,” she answers back. When I don’t move, she adds, “Good night,” giving me a pointed look.
I go back to my room and do a sweep to make sure I’m alone. The window is locked, but I draw the curtains for good measure, then pull out the notebook from under my bed, flipping it open to the first page.
SUSPECTS.
I scrawl Jenny’s name beneath Tucker’s. She may have seemed genuinely surprised when I confronted her about the invite, but I can’t deny she has access. Besides, she knows my medications. Just because I can’t think of any real motive for her to do this, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have one. I’m sure there are thousands of ways I could have slighted my little sister without knowing it. Who knows, maybe she’s even jealous of all the attention Mom gives me.