She took a folded poster of Julie Zale out of her pocket.

“Tell me again what it looks like, everything you can see … or saw.”

“A pink-and-white checked bedspread. White carpet. Green walls. Lots of white pillows on the bed. Oh, and a brown stuffed rabbit with a black nose.”

I took a deep breath. I’d never been a very good liar, and I didn’t know if I could do what Clara was asking me. But the pleading look in her eyes made me feel like I had to try.

I keyed in the number and hit send on the call, my hands shaking. I held my breath between each ring, hoping it would go to voicemail. Clara stared at me with such pleading intensity that I had to turn away.

On the fourth ring, a woman answered. “Zale residence.” My voice was caught in my throat. “Hello? Hello?”

“Oh, uh, hi. Mrs. Zale?” Clara reached out and put her hand on my arm.

“Yes? May I ask who is calling, please?” She was formal, but polite. Almost warm.

“Hi, uh, you might not remember me, but I’m a friend of Julie’s. I’m Lauren. I, uh, was in history with Julie freshman year.”

“Oh … hello, Lauren. How … how are you?” She paused, and I knew that whatever I said next would have to be a leap. Clara looked at me beseechingly. I wanted so badly to hang up.

“I’m sorry. I hope it’s okay that I called. I was just thinking about Julie today.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” she cooed. “Yes, well. I think of her all day, too. Not a minute goes by. Even if I’m not thinking of her, I feel it. I feel it in my bones.” I felt hot, sweat collecting under the neck of my blazer. I was no better than them, was I? Matthew and Ramona. All three of us were liars, fakes, even if the lies were supposed to be in service of something good. I took another deep breath.

“I was just thinking of the time I was over at your house that spring. I don’t know if you were home.”

“Yes, sweetie? Maybe I wasn’t. I volunteer at the library, or I could have been down at the store.”

She must have heard the shakiness in my voice. But I had gone this far. There was no backing out of it now without hurting Mrs. Zale, leaving her confused or forlorn. “I was thinking of how much I liked Julie’s room. How cozy it felt. How it felt like her, all of the decorations and colors.”

“Oh, yes. Well, she hated those pink walls. Ha.”