Emi snaps at her cameraman and darts into the street toward us.

I’ve loathed Cullen Henking since middle school, which is all I can think about as I bite the inside of my cheek and duck inside his car. Sinking into the leather seat, I hide behind the tinted windows. The reporters yap at their cameras in the courtyard while Emi Vega picks up speed, trying to block us.

Cullen climbs in. The car revs and peels off in the other direction, making a dramatic escape.

Adam’s not going to let me hear the end of it.

“Where to?” Cullen asks, as though he doesn’t have a care in the world.

I brace my feet against the vacuumed floor mat and fumble for the seat belt. There’s no way he cleans his own car.

“You love this, don’t you?”

His grin widens. “Love what?”

“Acting like you’re rescuing me.” I’m so angry for letting it happen, I stutter.

“Is that how you see me?” He squeezes my knee. “Lia, I’m touched.”

I slap his hand away.

Cullen chuckles and turns left, away from the school.

“It’s a game, Lia. They’re so hungry to tell a story that sucks people in. Why not create that story for them? The one you want to tell. In my story, I get to rescue you.” He flashes his irritating one-dimpled smile. “In your story, you get to hang out on Navy Pier for no other reason than to celebrate your late, hard-working father.”

In the thirteen years we’ve gone to school together, it’s the most honest thing I’ve ever heard him say, and I wonder if I did enough to silence the media’s speculations. My dad was so good at spinning stories, controlling what the media reported. Why didn’t I inherit that?

We pass beneath the “L” track. “Head toward Division and State.”

“Gold Coast? Interesting. Didn’t expect that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Cullen looks me over and shrugs. “Didn’t peg you for a rich girl.”

I cross my arms. Of course, the entire Henking family would snub anything without a designer label. “You’re a jerk.” I try not to squirm in my tight jeans, T-shirt, and cardigan sweater.

“And you’re quite the actress. Quit changing the subject. I don’t believe for two seconds that you knew nothing about the attack before it happened. And I certainly don’t believe you couldn’t identify anyone there.”

I cast him a dirty sideways glance. “I don’t care what you think.”

My phone chimes in my bag. Twice. I dig through it to find texts from Adam.

you let CH help you?!?

your story was pathetic BTW. Somehow I think it worked.

Nice to know they didn’t waste time broadcasting.

“Go ahead, Lia. Tell me your little secret. How did you know there’d be an attack?”