I don’t stand up when they tell us we can go. I hold Emily’s hand, silently telling her to stay with me, while the rest of the class leaves.

I watch them one by one, looking for the slightest clue, because one of them must have left the article. And if they did, what does that mean if I finally have the Magpie Man’s attention?

When it’s just me and Emily, she turns and says, “What is it?”

I take the newspaper clipping out of my bag and show her. “That was in my suitcase when I came home from Mayfield Lodge.”

Emily looks confused, then her eyes go wide, and she says, “So it was one of them?”

“It must have been. The first time, it happened at school, so it couldn’t have been anyone who worked at the retreat.”

“There was no lock on our bedroom door,” Emily says. “That’s fucking creepy.”

I hadn’t thought of that. Anyone could have snuck in at any time.

“What are we going to do?” Emily asks, and I like that she says “we.”

Most days, I feel alone, even when I’m surrounded by people, and that has only increased since coming home.

I think back to Mayfield, to the suitcase I left open by my bed, to the door I only blocked on the first night, because by the second, I trusted everyone.

But that’s the mistake: trusting people before they have earned it.

Chapter 77

I watch my bag constantly, looking for hands that get too close, for someone giving themselves away.

I unzip my bag and let it hang loose at my side, my phone inside, pointing up, recording the ceiling. I wander the hallways, looking in the opposite direction, hoping someone makes their move and I catch their face on-camera. But, when I check, all I have is an empty bag and a rustled recording.

At lunch, I sit with Emily and Hanna, watching people walk through the cafeteria while they talk over me.

“I totally did not see it coming,” Emily says. “I was watching, thinking what the fuck are you doing? And then you whipped the towel off and, bam, hair-dye twist.”

I smile but don’t reply, because I have too much to think about.

My head cam caught the perfume comment. But no one is talking about it because they don’t know it’s important. They were too busy looking at my face and my hair to worry about a couple of random words.

At least my friends are taking the news clippings seriously.

“If it was someone who went to Mayfield, we have ten suspects,” Hanna says.

But Emily shakes her head. “It’s not Jennifer or Ali or Pav or…”