“What the hell does that mean, Zoe?” I feel desperate now, panic welling in my chest. “Did I do it or not?”

She pauses. “I don’t know.”

A rush of nausea crashes into me with full force, nearly causing my knees to buckle. Zoe looks as though she wants to say more, but she refrains. Even if she did, I probably wouldn’t have heard her. My mind reels with this new information, and I don’t understand how any version of me could be okay with intentionally endangering someone’s life.

“Oh my God.”

“Maybe you got angry and did it before you could really think about it,” Zoe breaks in quickly, reaching out a hand. “One of those things that happen in the heat of the moment.”

“Impulsively booking a flight to Europe is a heat of the moment thing, this is on an entirely different level, Zoe,” I emphasize, panic creeping into my voice. “This is—this sounds premeditated.”

Her posture has become stiff again, her face solemn, though her eyes look like they’ve been lit by a flame. “People do what they have to in order to get what they want. It doesn’t define them.”

I can’t help the humorless laugh that escapes me. Swallowing, I try to force myself to calm down. “What happened? Why didn’t Jacob come back to school?”

Zoe looks away. “He recovered but . . . they were probably worried something like this would happen again.”

“God, no wonder they hate me. I feel sick.”

“Allie, I never said you actually did it,” she says, her fingertips grazing my arm again, but I move past her, not wanting to hear anymore. The fact that she doesn’t know for sure is indication enough of my character. “It’s just a dumb theory.”

Pulling the heavy door open, I storm back into the school. I don’t know where I’m going, but I know I need to get out of here as soon as possible. Being at school, knowing what I know now, makes me feel like I’m itching to get out of my skin. All the attention I’ve gotten, the constant stares and awareness of my presence, the way no one genuinely cared about my birthday, it’s all beginning to make sense.

There’s no getting around it: I was a bad person. Maybe I still am. I’ve done a lot of terrible things. How is it that someone like me was able to push the reset button and start over? Where’s the justice in that?

I pass by the bathrooms, debating whether or not I should hide in there for the remainder of the day, but I think now might be a time to use my “get out of school free” card. Sniffling, I head toward the entrance, stepping out into the rain and pulling my cell phone out of my pocket.