Amira gestures for me to follow her into an alcove, out of traffic. “You think you’ll be giving the haters another opportunity to throw stones?”

“My gut says I should avoid any further association of my name with the baby everyone thinks I killed. But I can’t just let them drop her in a hole and forget about her. She deserves better than that.”

Amira nods. “So, what can I do?”

“Just come with me while I pitch my idea to Sophia Nelson. I could use the moral support.”

Sophia is the Key Club president, and I’ve seen them hanging out, a little, since Amira and I grew apart.

She smiles as she lifts her cup for another sip. “I would have done that without a bribe.”

Everyone stares when we walk into English four minutes before the late bell. Mrs. Eagleton is writing on the whiteboard, and she doesn’t seem to notice that all her students have suddenly been struck mute.

Sophia and one of her friends are leaning over Colin Trent’s desk, helping him with the homework he clearly didn’t do. She stands and starts fidgeting with the cowl neck of her pink cashmere sweater when she sees us coming. Then she suddenly breaks away from the pack and heads us off in the middle of the room.

Evidently we were less than subtle in our determined march straight toward her.

“Hey!” Sophia’s smile looks genuine, but the dip between her eyebrows says she’s well aware that everyone is watching us. This isn’t the kind of attention she likes to draw. “What’s up?”

I suck in a quick breath and swallow my nerves. “Have you decided yet on this year’s fundraiser for Key Club?”

“What’s this ‘emergency meeting’ about? Have we ever even had a meeting?”

Cameron Mitchell drops into a chair in the circle of desks Sophia is still arranging around Coach Killebrew’s classroom.

“Once,” she says as she shoves the last desk into place. “To elect officers. That’s how you became my vice president. Remember?”

“Oh shit, that’s right!” Cameron snorts, then he leans over for a conspiratorial fist bump with Payton Cruz.

Payton is wearing a navy Titans T-shirt just like the one Jake showed my mom last night.

“Maybe I shouldn’t be here,” I whisper to Amira, where we’re huddled next to Coach Killebrew’s Keurig. “You don’t need me for this, and no one has to know that the idea’s mine.”

“How would it look if you were a no-show at the fundraiser for Lullaby Doe?” Amira whispers.

“Like I’m guilty.”

“Well, you aren’t. So stop letting them treat you like you are.” With that, she tugs me toward a chair at the back of the circle.