“All right, fine.” She pulls the hood over her blond tresses. “Be at my house at seven thirty sharp. We can get ready together again.”

I step forward as she pushes the door open. “Wait!”

Zoe stops.

Forcing a contrite look on my face, I fidget with my fingers. “Could you convince Damien to come too?”

A flicker of irritation darts across her pretty features, so quick that I’m not sure if I misinterpreted it.

“I’d really like to talk to him,” I continue. “I don’t want things to be weird anymore.”

Zoe watches me, letting the rain splash onto her oxfords. “I’ll see what I can do.”

With that, she leaves, and satisfaction courses down my spine.

For weeks she’s lied straight to my face, parading around as a friend when she was truly my enemy; it feels good to lie to her in return, to lure her into a false sense of security. The thrill I get from pulling off that small performance makes me feel for the first time like I truly was an actress in my past life.

But this was just the rehearsal.

The way I act tonight has the power to either make everything fall into place or destroy everything we’ve been working toward.

21 | Detonate

By the time Sofia drives me up the Harrises’ sprawling driveway, the rain has stopped and the sun is poking through the clouds, steadily descending toward the horizon, casting the world in warm, golden hues.

There’s a sense of foreboding in the air as the house comes into view. Sofia surveys the ornate building, and I’m not sure whether it’s out of admiration or envy.

“Well,” she says, after she’s put the car into Park, staring at the perfectly maintained garden. “I hope you girls get a lot of studying done.”

I may have twisted the truth a little bit. I doubt she would have driven me here if I hadn’t.

“Me too,” I agree.

I reach for the door handle, preparing to get out of the car, but Sofia’s voice stops me, gentler this time.

“You haven’t heard from Audrey yet?”

The words make my heart sink. It’s creeping up on a week since she packed her things and hightailed it out of the house. She called Sofia from the road but hasn’t spoken to her since then. I understand it’s likely going to take a long time for me to get anywhere close to forgiveness—that doesn’t make it sting any less.

“No,” I say. “I don’t think I’m going to.”

“Neither of you will tell me what happened.”

Nausea threatens to seep into my chest at the idea of her knowing the truth. I’m sure she’ll find out some day, but I hope that day is far off in the future.

“I think it’s better if you don’t know.”