Damn, I was so out of it I didn’t even notice the cop approaching until he was right in my face.

“Yes, Officer?”

“You’re the one who found the girl, miss?”

I clear my throat. “That’s right. We were—” I start to gesture to Lily, but she’s already at the edge of the garden, as if she’d tried to put as much distance as possible between herself and the house. “We were walking home, and I saw a girl jump in the pool. Only, it looked wrong. And she wasn’t really resurfacing, so I told my friend. She jumped, got her out. She wasn’t breathing, so I did CPR, and then, we called the ambulance.”

I’m rambling, only he was going to ask all those questions anyway, so might as well blurt the answers out.

“I see. You said you were going home; is that to the dorms?”

I nod. “That’s right.”

“And would you have been coming back from the party up the road?”

“Yes, in the Wyvern House.”

“I see. Did you notice this girl in the Wyvern House?”

I shake my head. “No, I—” I clear my throat. “I’m new. I don’t know many people, and there were so many faces. Maybe she was there. You should ask Lily. My friend. She’s on the phone.”

The officer glances up from his notes to spare one look at Lily, but doesn’t move. “There was alcohol at the party?”

“Well, yes, it’s a college party.”

“Drugs?” he prompts.

“I wouldn’t know.” I don’t like that line of questioning at all.

“Think. Were people acting strange?”

“Maybe? I certainly didn’t take any.”

“Of course not,” he replies like the idea didn’t even cross his mind. “But it’s possible someone might have slipped something in that poor girl’s drink. Would explain how she tripped.”

Except she didn’t trip. She jumped, I saw her, and I told him so.

“If they did, I didn’t see them.”

“You’re new, you said. A freshman at Rothford?”

I nod again.

“So, what, you’re eighteen, nineteen? And a little tipsy. Did they serve you at that party?”

“No,” I lie immediately. It doesn’t feel right to throw anyone under the bus for giving me delicious champagne and cocktails. I made that choice. “I helped myself.”

There. It’s not like people get more than a slap on the wrist for underage drinking. Serving to minor is a different story.

“So there was alcohol available for you to help yourself?” the officer insists.

“I stole it,” I hiss.