Part of Maria wanted to collapse at Lily’s feet, the way she had the night Delilah fell. She wanted to close her eyes and let Lily tell her what to do.

Instead she stayed where she was. Lily couldn’t fix this. No one could.

Maria had done too much.

She stood up and faced the tree, its broad trunk solid and steady. Everlasting.

“Just leave me alone,” Maria said.

“Okay, but—”

“Go away, Lily.”

Lily stared at her. A single tear ran down her cheek. Maria turned so she couldn’t see.

She’d lost everything.

She couldn’t undo what she’d done. Her only choice was to forget all this. The only thing left to do . . . was win.

She could do it, too. She’d take all of this and tuck it away in a box somewhere. She’d put every ounce of energy she had into winning it all.

Homecoming queen. The league championships. The Kingsley Prize. She could probably be president someday if she wanted to.

It was all hers. Whatever it took, she’d do it. Then, at least, all of this would mean something.

After all . . . she’d already done the worst thing there was to do.

Maria crossed her arms. She ignored Lily’s gentle touch on her elbow. After another long minute, Lily left.

The paramedics were gone by then too. They’d taken Brandon with them. Ross was walking back up the hill with his arm around Felicia’s shoulders.

Maria finally had what she’d wanted.

She was all alone.

13

CONSIDER IT NOT SO DEEPLY

The room went dark. The needle sliced into Lily’s finger.

“Damn.” A bright spurt of blood poked through her skin. It looked black in the dim light.

Lily absently stuck her finger in her mouth while she hunted for a match. She’d been tightening a loose button on her homecoming dress when the building had lost power. Again. For the past week, ever since Brandon died, the building’s power had been out almost as often as it was on.

After a minute, the taste of blood on her tongue made her retch. She yanked her finger out of her mouth and waved it in the air. Her cut stung.

She swore again and dug in her desk drawer for a Band-Aid. She didn’t find one, but she did find an old matchbook from Porter’s. She lit the rickety Target candelabra she kept next to her bed. A soft glow spread around her.

The blood still seeped from her finger. It made her sick to look at. She couldn’t stand the sight or smell of blood, not since she’d found Delilah on the grass.