Lily twisted around and unwrapped Maria’s arm from her waist. Maria stumbled, catching her skinned knee on Lily’s dress. When she stepped back again, there was a smear of blood on Lily’s white linen skirt. Lily managed not to retch at the sight.

She drew back, trying to steer Maria down the steps on her crutches. The dean had to help her. The ballroom was tiny, already too small for the hundred students squeezed into it, but even so everyone fell back to make a path for Maria and Lily to get out of the room. As if they didn’t want Maria to touch them.

Lily couldn’t blame them.

The feeling of all those eyes on Maria, on both of them—the girls gazing at her and biting their lips, the guys smirking—it made Lily’s skin crawl. She wanted to sink down into the floor.

She knew, rationally, that the people in the crowd were thinking about Maria. About the spectacle she’d made up on the stage during what was supposed to be a moment of silence for her dead best friend. They were wondering whether Maria was on something or whether she’d just gone crazy. Emily, standing at the front of the crowd in her red one-shoulder gown, was watching Maria with one eyebrow quirked up, as if she found the whole thing mildly funny.

Lily was sure, though, that they were thinking about her too. Trying to figure out why Lily had gotten involved. Mulling over how strange it was for roommates to touch each other the way Maria had clung to her on the stage. Remembering that they’d shown up for the dance together, without dates.

Putting together the pieces. Figuring out the truth.

Lily didn’t even know what the truth was anymore.

She didn’t know what Maria had just seen. She didn’t want to know.

She led Maria out of the ballroom, trying not to touch her more than she had to. Maria’s entire body was quivering.

None of this mattered anymore anyway. Not with those things Mateo was going around saying.

Lily glanced back at him one last time as she pushed Maria through the door and out into the hall.

He was still watching them. Everyone was.

They couldn’t hide anymore.

ACT 4

when the hurly-burly’s done

16

FOUL WHISPERINGS ARE ABROAD

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Lily pulled her grandmother’s quilt over her head, blocking out the light.

Lily didn’t believe in ghosts. It was the same as with God. There was no logical reason to accept the idea that something she couldn’t see or hear or touch—some vague idea she was supposed to take purely on faith—had any power over her.

Between the atheism and the lesbian thing, Lily was a terrible Catholic. Even before she’d added murder to her list of sins.