I hacked into the sheriff’s email again and checked Ben’s alibi. He wasn’t at the game that night. Ben told Amber’s dad he was with your grandmother. Says Maura confirmed it.

That doesn’t make sense. Ben was with me on the bleachers that night, then ran off to do his thing on the field. He was on the school security footage, in his costume, heading for the locker room. We watched in that dusty, claustrophobic office at school. I fire back a question at Bronte.

But Ben is the school mascot. I saw him there.

A second later, her reply.

They rotate the mascot performers. It was Morris Beckwith that night. I checked with him myself.

The dancing. The mascot at the game was really good. Tonight, with me, Ben struggled with rhythm, uncoordinated. Like the awkward mascot from the assembly weeks ago. Bronte’s right.

Where are you?

Ben

And the door opens. I hit Send before I can think about it, or finish.

“Why are you dressed?” Ben’s brow furrows. I see he has two bottles of water in his hands and a sleeve of Ritz crackers. A late-night feast.

“I was cold,” I say. “As nice as the covers were, it’s better with layers. Zip me up?”

I turn, sweep aside my tumble of curls, offering my neck. Cold washes across my shoulder blades, then dizzy heat. Ben’s body is flush to my back, solid fingers applying firm pressure to zip me all the way. I shiver.

“Thanks,” I say, stumbling forward a foot, pulling away a beat too soon and hoping he doesn’t notice. My mind is reeling. But I play it cool. Settle one hand on Ben’s bare chest, tousle his hair with the other.

“I can’t believe I’m dating the school mascot,” I tease. “When I saw you in that costume at homecoming, I’ll admit I had second thoughts…. For like a microsecond.”

Ben grabs my arm, spins me around. I tense, but he greets me with a dopey grin, pulls me flush against his chest.

“And now?”

I will my traitorous heart to slow, paste on a smile, and pray to God I’m a half-decent actress. “Vikings are kind of sexy,” I say. And I let him kiss me. His tongue in my mouth tastes like ash.

Ben is a liar, and my mind is racing. Does Ben have Natalie’s key? Am I kissing him enthusiastically enough? How close is the nearest neighbor?

I need to get away.

“Sorry to kill the mood, but I need to use the restroom,” I say, breathless.

Ben pulls a face, and my insides clench. “There’s only one bathroom I haven’t used. Because the electricity is off, you only get one flush on each toilet. It’s, uh, the one in my mom’s room.”