The paramedic wiped the water out of his face. “Look, you should talk to one of your teachers or something. They’ll know more than I do once the hospital calls.”

Mateo nodded. He went to stuff his hands in the pockets of his jeans when he realized he wasn’t wearing jeans. He’d run outside in his T-shirt and boxers. Christ.

He turned and followed the others inside. The dorm monitors were telling people that if they wanted to hear the news about Delilah when the hospital called, they should wait in the second-floor common room. Mateo went upstairs to get dressed, then joined the others.

They waited four hours.

Mateo couldn’t sit still. He paced across the common room. He climbed the stairs, up and back down again and again. He wandered out the door, through the front lawn. The groundskeepers were already out, cleaning up the spot where Delilah had lain. Leave it to Acheron to start sweeping up the mess before dawn even broke.

Mateo nodded at two of the groundskeepers he knew, Peter and Daniel, and they nodded back, their lips tight. Sometimes when he saw these guys out on campus Mateo would stop and talk to them—the groundskeepers and the cafeteria workers were the only people here he could count on to speak Spanish—but he couldn’t imagine doing that tonight. He went back to the common room.

Nearly everyone else had gone back to their rooms or fallen asleep in the stiff-backed chairs by the time Ross and the cop came in. Ross looked awful, his shirt still wet from the rain and his eyes red, a paper coffee cup clutched tight in his hand. He went over to a girl who was crying and gave her a hug. The cop sat down and wrote something on a clipboard. Ross turned to the room and said, as though he was already tired of saying it, that Delilah was still alive, she was in surgery, and she’d tested positive for drugs.

Everyone gasped. Mateo rolled his eyes. Like everyone didn’t know Delilah liked to party.

Then the cop told them what drug the test had found. LSD.

LSD?

Delilah did oxy. Everyone knew that. They knew it as well as they knew their own names.

What the hell was Delilah doing? Dropping acid by herself and jumping out of windows?

That wasn’t like her. Not with a championship game three days away.

Or was it? Delilah had been high more and more often lately, Mateo had noticed. A couple of weeks ago he’d asked her if she was okay. She’d laughed him off, and he’d let it go.

He should’ve kept asking.