Was it Colette, after all?

It had to be!

Who else would . . .

Just then, Kennedy came through the back door, and the memory of our conversation the day before slammed into the front of my brain. I’d yelled at her, It’s over! The message said it wasn’t.

“Was someone screaming?” Kennedy asked. “I heard—”

“YOU!” I shouted, pointing at her. “You did it!”

Aunt Maureen sighed and said, “Kennedy, did you write a message on the bathroom mirror to scare your cousin?”

“What are you talking about?” Kennedy asked. “I’ve been with Seb all afternoon.”

“Out with Seb?” her dad asked, narrowing his eyes at her. “Or here with Seb?”

“Out!” Kennedy said, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. Her neck was red like she was allergic to something.

“Don’t lie, Ken,” Uncle Bran said. “You know we’ll take your phone if you lie to us.”

Kennedy looked at me, fire in her eyes. “If you cost me my phone because you accused me of something I didn’t do and they believe you just because you’re a goody-goody—”

“Leave her alone,” Aunt Maureen snapped. “When you have a track record like yours, it’s easy for us to think you might have done something like this.”

“That’s bull—”

“Hey!” both of Kennedy’s parents yelled in unison.

“I’m not going to your stupid art show!” Kennedy shouted at me, her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles were turning white.

“Good!” I shouted back at her, not caring, convinced she’d written the message.

Did you write the first one, too?

If so, why?

“You’re going to the art show,” Uncle Bran said, cutting off Kennedy when she started to protest. “I don’t want to hear it. You’re going, or you’ll hand over your phone.”

Kennedy turned and stormed upstairs so fast that I worried she’d fall. I heard a sob let loose when she reached the loft, which made me feel for her until I thought back to our conversation again. It was just too perfect: scripted even.

It’s over!

IT’S NOT OVER, TESS

I knew Kennedy did it.

Or Colette?

Both were hard to believe.

“Tess, we’re running out of time,” Aunt Maureen said, still holding Kane like a baby despite the fact that his feet went down to her knees. “Go get ready in our room. There’s a mirror in there.”

She got my clothes, toiletries, and makeup so I didn’t have to go back in the bathroom, even though Uncle Bran said he’d erased the message. I didn’t have time to do the hairstyle I’d wanted; I pulled half of it up in a side barrette instead.

“Ready,” I said, stepping out of the room, not looking toward the bathroom.