Then Chris’s face falls into a wince, and he exhales with contrition. He fishes his hand into his cross-body messenger bag, pulling out a giant sheaf of paper.

“It’s my novel,” he says. “I wanted Maura to read it. I thought if I got close to you, you could put in a good word. I followed you last night. That’s why I was at the game. Why I chatted you up at the pool last week.” He thrusts a manuscript toward me and I catch the title page. Death by Therapy by Chris Wang, it reads. “It’s a murder mystery, of course. About a, um, therapist. Maura might really like it, and if she does, maybe she could send it to her agent.”

“Dude. Not the time,” Ben cuts in, firm but with undertones of amusement.

I myself have to push down the chirp of an incredulous laugh. This is absurd.

“So you followed me from the football stadium to the school, and what? Waited outside?” I find myself oddly grateful he didn’t follow me into the bathroom.

“Yes,” he confirms, as though that were an entirely normal thing to do. “And then I heard you scream, so I rushed inside. I didn’t see anyone, though. It was dark.”

Chris pauses, seems to chew on his own memory. “Wait, you think one of Maura’s fans did this? And you came here because you suspect me?” His laugh is sharp, cold. “Honey, I am not the cuckoo-crazy fan you’re looking for. There are some psychopathic bitches in this fandom, trust me, but I’m not who you want.”

He drops his voice, casts down his gaze. “It’s actually not a bad theory, if you ask me. I’ve certainly wondered before if some of the fans were using Maura’s books as…a primer.”

“A how-to for…killing someone?” Ben throws a metric ton of skepticism into his tone.

“And get away with it. Not all of Maura’s books end with the killer behind bars. Some of the best ones have an unsettling ending,” Chris affirms. “Though of all of them, Cassidy was the sloppiest. The teacher was pretty obvious. Teachers and students is an overdone trope.”

“Well, in real life, it wasn’t the teacher,” I hear myself say—echoing Morgan. “It was the janitor.” I truly think about it for the first time: what happened fifty-two years ago. Like everyone else, I’ve been focused on Maura’s story—hyperfocused. What about the real murder? The original.

I rise to leave, but Chris catches my arm.