But he’d promised Mateo, and besides, there was no way to know for sure whether what Maria had seen that night was important. Not until she’d told the doctors every last detail. If there was any chance she might know something, anything, that could help Delilah, it was a chance worth taking.

Brandon took a deep breath.

“You should tell someone you were out with Delilah that night,” he said. “You should tell them about the drugs you flushed, too. The doctors, or the cops, or the dean, or someone.”

“What difference would that make?” Maria blinked up at him again. “They know what happened to her.”

“You still have to tell them. There might be something you haven’t thought of that could help the doctors figure out how to help her.”

Maria’s smile was gone. The only look left on her face was pity.

“You really think she’s going to wake up?” Maria sighed. “I know we’re all hoping for a miracle—it’s only natural—but, look, she hit her head. She’s probably got pretty serious brain damage, and—”

“Stop it.” Brandon wanted to shake her. Instead he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Be normal, okay? It’s me. You can stop putting on this act. Tell me the truth.”

“There’s nothing to tell. I’m not acting, Brandon.”

She ran a hand through her long, dark hair. It was combed into smooth, perfect waves that always took half an hour and three palmfuls of hair product to get right. Maria used to only bother styling her hair when she was going to a dance or giving a presentation. Ever since the accident, though, Maria’s hair had been perfect every day.

“Why did you let her do acid?” He could hear the desperation in his voice. “I know she’s not your favorite person, but why didn’t you stop her? And why did you let her go upstairs by herself when you must’ve known there was something really, really wrong with her? Do you really hate her that much? Come on, Ree, just tell me.”

Maria leaned in toward him. In the tight space, the motion was enough to put her face an inch from his. He heard her take in a long, slow breath.

“Why don’t you ask me what you really want to ask me?” she said.

Brandon clutched his hands into fists. “I did ask you.”

“No, you didn’t. Go ahead. Ask me if I pushed her.”

“No.” Brandon tried to back up, but his head collided with the wall. Stars sprang up in front of his eyes. “That’s not what I said.”

“But it’s what you thought, isn’t it? That I hate Delilah so much I’d want to murder her?”

“I didn’t think that!”