I feel stupid for jumping to conclusions now that I know Amy’s actual story. How must she have felt when I asked about things that had nothing to do with her? And why, after that, did she still pick me to tell?

I grab my phone and search for Amy’s social media, but I can’t find anything. I try different variations of her name, hoping I stumble across whatever she calls herself online.

When nothing comes up, I type in a different name: Evie Wells. The girl who lied about Amy’s dad. It takes me ages to find her, but she’s there. It looks like she’s in college, now, but, when I scroll back far enough, I see her with Amy.

Except that’s not quite true. Amy’s in the background. She stares sadly at the camera while the people in front of her smile. She hovers in the corners of a hundred different photos.

The way she looks at the camera, it’s not an accident. She wanted to be in those shots. And yet there’s a creepiness to every single one, because, I think, unless you were looking for her, you wouldn’t notice she was there.

She isn’t photobombing them. She isn’t making faces or doing it for a joke. She looks like a ghost. I can’t find a single photograph focused on Amy. They’re all of Evie and a group I don’t recognize.

Then something catches my eye—a different person; one I’m not expecting.

Nia—slightly out of focus—stands in the background, talking to a boy. My stepsister looks happier than she ever does at home. But I suddenly can’t wait for her to wake up because, maybe, she can explain what’s going on.

Amy said she was Evie’s best friend before things went wrong. The problem is: Evie’s Instagram goes back years, and they look like complete strangers.

32

“Morning.”

Nia grunts a reply. My heart is racing because I’m about to have an actual conversation with her, or at least try to. And that hasn’t gone well in the past.

We have an unwritten rule: we may live in the same house, but that doesn’t make us family. And it definitely doesn’t make us friends. It’s Nia’s rule. I just accept it.

“Do you know Evie Wells?”

My stepsister doesn’t reply right away. I think she’s trying to figure out how to answer, because she keeps looking at me then away.

Finally, she sighs and says, “What about her?”

“Is that a yes?”

Nia fills her mouth with cereal, watches me as she chews, then says, “She used to go to my school. She’s not there anymore.”

“So she was a senior?”