I don’t know what her life is going to look like when she comes back. I don’t know how she got caught in the first place—my mom didn’t offer, and I didn’t ask. There’s definitely some irony in that I took the ticket out she’s probably going to wish she had, but she has no one else to blame for that. Saving your sister from herself is strictly a Salem Grayson move, I guess.

Then again, Sabrina doesn’t know what really happened, and neither do I; maybe Sierra was saving me from a life I shouldn’t have been living. I mean, it is because of her that I’m here, that I got a fresh start at romance and friendship and making a name for myself. And for once, it’s not her fault that I’m hovering somewhere around a C+ at it all.

I argue with myself for hours about whether it’s worth reaching out to someone to get some answers, watching the clock move like molasses when my eyes are on it, then way too quickly when I look away. I’m tired, but I won’t be getting any rest at all until I can get some of this off my chest. If only I kept a diary.

Then I hear it, the slight creaking above me that means either Matt or Salem is up and about. I look at the clock, and see that it’s a little past three in the morning. Probably just a quick bathroom trip. But the urge to talk to someone is so great, I feel it with the same desperate ache I felt wanting Salem to hug me.

It’s sad, and it’s pathetic, but I just need a friend.

I slide into my slippers—designed to look like aces of spades, naturally—and creep upstairs, not particularly worried about being caught by Hoffman at this hour. But my hopes of catching Matt or Salem in the hallway are dashed when I see their door is closed; apparently, no one left the room after all. I stand there, staring at it, willing it to open, but there’s nothing other than silence, and no way I’m knocking.

My entire body deflates as I turn to go back downstairs, and then, miraculously, I hear the knob behind me turn.

“Evie?” Salem says on a yawn.