“What?” Mateo stared at him. “I don’t have anything to confess. It wasn’t me. It was Maria Lyon.”

Ross blinked. “What?”

“Maria went out with Delilah that night. She says some guys put drugs in their drinks, but then she took the drugs out of Delilah’s purse after she fell. Which doesn’t make any sense, right? Also, Maria hated Delilah. I mean, hates her. You know they used to be soccer co-captains before Delilah got made captain alone? Maria’s still pissed about it. Also, she wants to win the Kingsley Prize. And she’s been acting really shady ever since that night, like she’s got something to hide.”

“I get it.” Ross put his hands down. “Did you see Maria and Delilah together that night?”

“Well, no, not personally, but—”

“So did Maria tell you all this?”

“She told me about taking the drugs out of Delilah’s purse. She told Brandon the rest.”

“She told Brandon,” Ross repeated. He sat back in the desk chair, slowly.

Mateo rubbed at his neck. The right side ached. He must’ve slept on it wrong while he was having that dream. “Yeah. Brandon told me the night before—uh.”

The night before he died.

“Okay.” Ross’s eyes were fixed on Mateo’s face. “I believe you.”

“You do?” Mateo hadn’t expected this.

“I believe that Brandon told you this story. But that’s not the same thing as believing Maria did what you’re accusing her of. Either way, I’ll tell the dean. We can figure out what to do from there.”

“Maria did do something wrong, though,” Mateo said. “She’s a liar. She should’ve told someone what she knew. There’s something really wrong going on here, and Maria’s right in the middle of it all. I don’t know how, but she is. She was right there when—”

He stopped.

Why? For what possible reason had Maria been out by the lake when Brandon—

Mateo hadn’t been there. Brandon had asked him to go and he’d said no.

He should’ve been there. Maybe he could’ve done something.

“Hey, man, it’s all right.” Ross’s hand was on his shoulder again. Mateo was disgusted to realize he was crying.

“Can we be done now?” Mateo said. “Can you, like, go?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk to a counselor?” Ross said.

“I am extremely damn sure.”

“Well, you can always come and talk to me. Anytime, even if you just need a sounding board, you know, someone to lean on—”

“Christ almighty, please just go.”

Ross nodded again. Then he was gone.

Dear lord.

What the hell was Mateo supposed to do now? Telling the dean about Maria was the only plan he’d had. It was supposed to make things better. Instead, he only felt worse.