“Ha-ha.” He playfully squeezed my arm, then looked over my shoulder down the hall. “Your mom still trying to swindle people out of their money?”

“Fund-raising breaks for no one.”

He lowered his brow. “I’m pretty sure it breaks for me.”

“Yeah, me too.” I sighed. “Maybe she can let someone else be in charge of the next race.”

“Are you going to suggest that to her or am I?”

“Totally your job. I’m too young to die.” The second the words were out of my mouth I wished I could take them back. “Sorry.”

He pulled me into a hug. “Don’t be. You are. Far too young.”

Two hours later, I sat on Amelia’s bed, my laptop open in front of me, studying fake Heath Hall’s account. I was writing down anyone who’d commented on his posts and especially those he’d commented back to. Amelia had her laptop open as well and she was furiously scribbling names into a notebook of the people from our school who followed him. He had about six hundred followers, so it was taking her a while to weed out the ones that went to our school.

“So thinking back to that night at the pool,” Amelia said, pausing for a moment. “You can’t remember anything about him?”

“I remembered he was a he,” I said.

“Right.” She tapped the notebook with the pen. “What about his ethnicity? Was he white? Black? Latino?”

“He was wearing a rash guard. And the light from the pool makes everyone all glowy.”

She lowered her chin. “Seriously?”

“I was angry! And I was in my prerace zone! And . . . I don’t know. I think he was white?”

“You are no help whatsoever.” She picked up the notebook and ran her pen along the page, her lips moving silently as she did. “One hundred and seven people from our school follow him. If we weed out all the girls . . .” She counted again. “That’s seventy-two. He must be one of these seventy-two.”

I hugged one of her pillows to my chest. “You think the real person behind the mask follows his own fake profile?”

“Yes. I do. And do you know who is on this list of guys from our school who follow him?” She gave me a sympathetic look that I didn’t understand.

“I have no idea,” I said when I realized she was waiting for a response. “The fake Wolverine?”

“No. Robert.”

I held back a gasp and managed to keep my expression in check.

“Robert,” she said again as if I hadn’t heard her loud and clear the first time. “As in, your ex.”