She stumbled again and gave up. She sat on the bathroom rug, her hands shaking as she struggled to aim the dryer.

What had happened to Brandon? She’d gone over it in her head a thousand times, but she couldn’t come up with an explanation.

Had it really all been a coincidence? That seemed so unlikely.

Plus . . . the truth was, sometimes, Lily got nervous around Maria now.

It was silly. She loved Maria. She’d trust her with her life.

But a tiny voice whispered in her head sometimes, warning her to be careful around Maria. Just in case.

Lily finished drying her hair, got up, and reached for the curling iron. She stared into the steamed-over mirror as she wound the first lock of hair around the barrel.

Felicia had told her story to anyone who would listen. Brandon had died alone in the middle of the path. Maria hadn’t shown up until afterward. There was no way she could’ve done anything to him.

So when Lily got there, why had Maria whispered, It was me?

Lily yanked the curling iron out of her hair so fast it hurt. Everything hurt today.

She blinked back tears while she finished her hair and came into the bedroom. It was still empty.

Maria’s black dress hung untouched in the closet, her shoes still in their box. They had to leave in fifteen minutes. The candidates for homecoming court had to parade into the ballroom at the start of the dance. Once a year, they were all Miss America.

Everyone would be looking at Maria and Lily tonight. They had to do everything exactly right. They were already dangling over an edge Lily hadn’t wanted to go near.

Lily pulled her dress out of the closet and peered at the soft white linen. The hanger shook in her hand.

Tonight was their last chance to make this right. If they still could.

Someone knocked on the door. Lily jumped so fast she nearly hurt her leg again, but she managed to pull on a robe and hop toward the door.

“Who is it?” she called.

“It’s Ross.”

Great.

Lily wiped her eyes and reached for the doorknob. It was time to play her part again.

She’d always been good at that. Until now, Maria had been too. They’d always followed exactly the same script. The script Lily had written.

Lily didn’t know whose script Maria was following now. She only knew it wasn’t hers.

Maria didn’t sleep much anymore. When she did, she dreamed of Altagracia’s funeral.