She stops in front of the door to trig. “You know, we’ve been packing up some of Gretchen’s things. Mostly clothes and stuff. You should come over and take a look. See if there’s anything you want.”
I raise one eyebrow. Hanging out with Kirsten at lunch and between classes is one thing, but raiding Gretchen’s closet? It doesn’t take a lot of imagination to guess what Gretchen would have to say about this. There were few things she got truly livid about, but Kirsten even setting foot in her room was one of them. She went so far as to lay a piece of masking tape across the threshold that her little sister couldn’t cross without winding up grounded. Agreeing to this would be like a huge betrayal. But I never did get inside her room during the reception, and the intruder could have left anything behind that the sheriff might have missed if he didn’t know how things should be. I study Kirsten out of the corner of my eye, wondering if this is really about clothes, or if it’s something else.
“It’ll just end up at Goodwill if you don’t. I’m sure there are things she would’ve wanted you to have.” She slides her bag off her shoulder and looks at her feet. “Okay, I’ll admit my mom asked me to ask—she said it’d be nice to see you. But I mean it, you really should come.”
“Your mom said that?” Guilt twists through my gut. I could’ve actually stopped by their house on the way to Marcus’s the other day. At the same time, walking through Gretchen’s front door after the funeral was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I was hoping I’d never have to do it again.
“You don’t have to,” she says. “It was just an idea.”
“No.” I exhale. “I—I’d like that.”
Her face lights up in a warm smile. “Great.”
I falter at her enthusiasm. This is so different from our conversation outside of Gretchen’s room. I wish I could figure out what’s changed. My stomach twists with guilt when I think of her name on my suspect list, but until now it was easy to imagine Kirsten scratching up my picture. Maybe I can simply rule her out.
“Can I ask you something, though?”
She raises her eyebrows and I struggle to find the words I’m looking for.
“Do you remember taking a picture of me and Gretchen at the party?”
I study her face carefully, but she just blinks like I asked her to name the capital of Europe.
“I don’t remember much of anything from that night. Is it important?”
“Probably not,” I say quickly. “I just found a photo of us in my locker last week.”
“I’ve had a bunch of people send me pictures of her or tag me online.”
“Me too. I guess it just seemed odd, the way it was done . . .”
“How do you mean?”
I pause, not sure I should mention the scratches. If she put it there, wouldn’t she have said so by now? I don’t want to scare her if she didn’t. “I don’t know . . . it just felt like someone was trying to get my attention. I wish I knew why.”
Her eyebrows draw together, uneasy. “Maybe you should take it to the sheriff. He keeps saying even small details are important.”
“Oh—I don’t think it’s that big a deal,” I say quickly. She gives me a doubtful look, but I shrug and clear my throat. “Anyway, when did you want me to come over?”
She smiles so sweetly, I feel bad for wanting to turn her down. “How about tomorrow? I’ll give you a lift after school.”
I manage to return her smile. “Great. I’ll look forward to it.”
She’s gone before I even realize the bell rang, and though we ended on a slightly less awkward note, the invitation still piques my guilt. The masquerade posters lining the walls remind me of the dress hanging in Gretchen’s closet, the one that will never be worn. I push down the hall toward chemistry, avoiding the masks staring at me from the flyers, but by the time I get to class, I’m picturing myself at prom, dancing without a face.
TWENTY
THERE ISN’T A BELL ABOVE the door at the Evil Bean, but it wouldn’t matter if there was. The punk rock music is always turned up so loud you have to yell your order at the baristas. If you don’t mind that, or the staff acting like you ruined their day when you walked in, their lattes are pretty amazing. Marcus has worked here since before he and Gretchen started dating. She used to drag me along to “study” just so she could flirt with him while she ordered and I pretended not to care. A guy with a ring through his nose and a tattoo of a dragon wrapping around his neck shouts my name and places a large purple mug on the bar. An intricate butterfly glides through the foam on a swirling coffee-colored breeze. I say thank you and the guy spits into the sink.