“Come on, Bron. Like the chance of her wrath didn’t factor in? We talked about it.”

Bronte nibbles on her bottom lip before coming to a decision.

“It’s not that. She said I was getting everything—valedictorian, a lock for Stanford. Begged me to let her have this one thing. I wanted to be nice. She came to me crying, actually. Really upset.”

Amber snorts. “Crocodile tears, I’m sure.”

So am I. Natalie was legacy for Stanford, for one. But it’s interesting. Natalie didn’t go through with blackmailing Bronte. She chose pure emotional manipulation instead. And now I wonder: Is there any proof Natalie actually went after anyone?

“What about Addison?” I ask. “Natalie never used that?”

Exhaling a groan, Bronte rolls her eyes. “No. I didn’t even know she knew until you told me about the therapy file. It’s humiliating, honestly. I was a sophomore. and Addison was a senior. She begged me, said this one grade would make or break her for keeping her USC admission.” Bronte looks down at her nails, picking at a rogue cracked cuticle, and mumbles, “I thought she’d let me be her girlfriend.”

Amber cackles but pulls Bronte into a sideways hug, gives her a wet smack on the cheek. “Her loss, my gain.”

Bronte focuses in on me again. “Did you think Natalie blackmailed me? That I could have done it?”

“No,” I answer honestly. “I knew you and Amber couldn’t have. You both have alibis. Plus, I hope I have enough good judgment to know you two aren’t killers.”

“Joke’s on you—I’ve got a knife in this thing.” Amber pats the front of her bustier. “And I know you’ve given up your Harriet the Spy ways, but if you’re wondering, my dad finally has everyone’s alibis. Except Gabriel’s.” Amber pointedly looks to her girlfriend, who fidgets.

“Gabriel told your dad where he was.”

“Yeah. Conveniently alone, for no particular reason.”

“Wasn’t he with Luke?”

“No, Luke was with someone else.” Amber coughs. “But that’s his business. All you need to know is my dad is satisfied enough to eliminate him as a suspect.”

So where was Gabriel?

“You really think it could be a student?” Bronte says to me. And to Amber: “Does your dad think that?”

Amber and I give shrugs of vague assent.

“Then why zero in on Gabe and not Ben? Does he have an alibi?”

“Of course he does,” I assert. “He was in the locker room. He’s on camera going in, in his mascot costume. He doesn’t come out during the murder window. Gabriel does.”

“I promise you it wasn’t my brother.”

“I know,” I say, because it’s what I should say. Because I want it to be true. But even Amber casts a sideways look at Bronte.