I say this more to myself than to Nia, but she asks, “Why are you interested in Evie? Have you been perving over her Insta or something?”

Not exactly, I think. But, out loud, I say, “Do you know Amy Pearce?”

When she doesn’t answer, I pick up my phone and show her an image of Amy standing behind Evie. But Nia shakes her head. “Never seen her before.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Nia takes her breakfast to her room, so that’s the end of the conversation. It went better than I expected. At least she was polite.

It doesn’t help me, though. How can someone go unnoticed through six years of school? I don’t know the name of everyone in my grade, but I know their faces. Amy was there. She even went to their parties. Yet she’s always on her own. She’s always hovering at the back of someone else’s moment.

I should have asked about the rumor. That kind of thing would have spread like wildfire. But I’ve used up my Nia allowance for the day. Instead, I keep searching Evie’s social media for any mention of Amy’s dad. There must be comments if it happened recently. But, before I know it, I’m seeing Evie and her friends as kids and realize I’ve scrolled through five years of her life.

Not one mention of Amy’s dad. Not one comment about the lie that got him attacked and forced his daughter to another school. That’s not how life works. Those kinds of stories take over. Until something bigger comes along, it’s all anyone goes on about.

Nia would have known Amy if her dad and Evie were the talk of the school. She would have seen her face and remembered the rumor, because things like that infiltrate every single clique. But she didn’t recognize her. She looked like she was staring at a stranger.

A stranger who went to parties but was never seen and seemed invisible in her own school.

33

I look at the holes in my door for the first time in days and run my hands over the words on my wall. Then I scroll through the images of Amy haunting other people’s pictures.

She said it had nothing to do with her. She said the holes were here when she moved in, and the words were hidden behind wallpaper her dad put up. But she also said she was Evie’s best friend, and there’s no evidence of that.

I want to believe her. Yet every thought is tangled with doubt.

“What’s up?” Zak says, jolting me out of my daydream.

“Nothing.”

He knows I’m lying, but he doesn’t push. He just nods and starts talking about last night’s TV.

Outside sociology, I say, “Amy’s lying about the locks.”

“How do you know?”