The trash can was empty.

That’s when I made this weird, high-pitched sound that was kind of a sigh and kind of a gasp. I’m pretty sure I would have had a complete nervous breakdown right then and there if David Stark hadn’t poked his head in and said, “Uh . . . Pres? You gonna hurl again?”

I turned to look at him, and the smirk fell off his face. “Holy crap,” he said, crossing the room and grabbing my arms. “Harper? What’s wrong?”

I saw my reflection in the mirror, and totally understood why he looked genuinely freaked. My eyes were huge and glassy and my skin had gone gray. Not that I really cared. I mean, I’d gone crazy. I was crazy.

For some reason, that thought was way more upsetting than the idea that I’d turned into some sort of superhero who’d killed evil Dr. DuPont with my shoe. That had been traumatizing, I guess, but it had also been . . . well, kind of cool. Like something out of a comic book. But going insane? That was real.

“Harper?” David said again, giving me a little shake.

I think I would’ve caved then and the whole story about Mr. Hall and Dr. DuPont would’ve come tumbling out in a series of sobs and shrieks. But luckily, Bee chose that moment to push the bathroom door open.

“God, there you are!” she exclaimed, and her voice reverberated off the tile walls, hurting my ears. Behind her, Amanda, Abigail, and Mary Beth crowded into the bathroom, too.

Then they saw David, and all of their normally pretty faces twisted into sneers. I wasn’t the only one who didn’t like David’s editorials.

One of Bee’s best qualities was loyalty, but it sometimes had an ugly way of showing itself, especially where David was concerned. “What are you doing in the girls’ room, paper boy?” I wondered if I’d ever looked at David like that.

“Are you stalking Harper?” Amanda asked, folding her arms over her chest.

David wasn’t holding my arms anymore, and he certainly wasn’t looking at me with concern. His usual scowl was back in place. “Yeah, that’s it, Amanda,” he said, trying to shove his hands into the pockets of his skinny jeans. “I’m a stalker. And what a charming and unique insult.”

Amanda rolled her eyes, which was her standard response when she didn’t have a comeback, and Bee looked at me. “Whoa, Harper, what’s wrong?”

“I think she’s sick,” David said, stuffing his hands in his pockets, his eyes focused on a spot somewhere over my head.

“Probably because she’s been talking to you,” Abigail snapped back.

“Abigail,” I said, but David just laughed. “Lovely talking to you ladies,” he said as he walked out the door.

“Did he do something to you?” Bee asked as soon as he was gone.