“You did, didn’t you?” he goes on. “I bet you chopped her up, put the nicest pieces on your Satan altar, and ate the rest. I bet she was tasty. Wasn’t she.”

They’re all grinning at me. All those bared teeth.

I keep my face blank. I raise my middle finger slowly, steadily in their direction, almost like I’m giving them a salute. Then I turn and walk away.

I’m not sure if my friends—or the people who used to be my friends—overheard. But everyone at the closer tables did. Their faces are a quiet blur as I stride by.

I head through the doors, back down the hallway, moving against the stream of people still heading into the cafeteria. More blurred faces. One flash of long, pale blond hair. More whispers. More stares.

I’ve just made it around the corner when someone says, “Hey. Anders.”

It’s a different voice. Another guy’s. It’s familiar, but I can’t place it yet.

Then I’m flying forward so fast that it’s like the floor has folded in half. My forehead slams something hard and sharp. It rattles. I reel back. There’s a flare of pain above my eyebrow, where my head just hit the corner of an open locker door. The freshman getting his books out of the locker stares up at me, his eyes wide.

I cup one hand over my forehead. Wet and warm. I turn around.

Will and Sasha and Carson stand in front of me. Sasha’s mouth is pinched tight. Will looks blank and observant, as always. Carson is closest. His face has a look of surprise on it, like maybe he meant to shove me, but not into an open metal door. His eyes flick to my forehead. I can feel the blood trickling down now, sliding over the edge of my cheekbone. I don’t wipe it off. Behind me, the freshman slams his locker shut and scurries away.

“What do you know, Anders?” says Carson. He’s trying to sound hard. But I can see that he’s shaken.

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” I say, dry and calm as I can make it.

Sasha jumps in. “About Frankie.” She’s speaking so forcefully, her entire body is quivering. “Everybody saw it. You know that, right? First you sing this song about how nobody should forgive you for what you’ve done. Then you have this huge fight with Frankie, in public.” Her voice is getting higher and tighter. “And then she disappears, and you go into hiding, and—what? We’re supposed to think it’s some kind of coincidence?”

“I’m not telling you what to think.”

Something in Sasha’s twitchy face seems to snap. She lunges forward, grabbing a fistful of my shirt. Maybe she’s the one who shoved me. “Where is she?” she hisses up into my face.

“Look—” I’m trying not to let them rattle me, but I can hear it in my own voice now. “If I knew where she was, I’d be there, too.” I get the words out. Even though I’m not sure they’re true.