What had happened was bad enough.

I take another drag and start coughing.

“Nasty habit, huh?”

I look up and, to my amazement, see Linnea standing there.

“Nope.”

“It’s too bad.” Linnea slides her sneaker over the pavement. “Lucas just told me how hard you found it to quit.”

“I can quit again,” I say, acting tough, but I know she’s right. Last time, nothing helped. Not nicotine patches and not chewing gum. When I finally quit, it was for her. But I don’t have that motivation anymore.

“Quitting for the second time is even harder.”

“What do you know about it?”

“I used to smoke too.”

What? Linnea smoking? I can’t picture it.

“Seriously,” says Linnea. “A pack a day.”

I flick the butt onto the street and then watch as the glowing tip of the cigarette slowly fades.

“So what did you actually come out here for?”

Yesterday in the park she seemed delighted when we finally got to go our separate ways.

“Just for a talk.” Linnea stares ahead. She seems nervous, keeps rocking forward onto her toes.

That’s the Linnea I know. Her blue eyes always look like she’s being hunted. Her fidgeting is getting on my nerves. Linnea is even more irritating than jazz.

She wants to talk, so why doesn’t she say something?

“Hey, great chat. Now I’m going back inside.” I walk past Linnea and toward the entrance.

I have to come up with a plan to unmask Room Service. If I figure out what he wants, I can make this stop.

But then I suddenly hear Linnea’s voice behind me.

“Who’s Isolde?”

Linnea

For a moment, there’s silence, as if someone has paused the movie we’re acting in. And then the picture suddenly speeds up to make up for the lost time.

Fender pivots and puts his hand around my throat. Shoving me against the wall, he brings his face right up to mine.

“What did you say?”

“I…” I can hardly speak. Fender’s eyes are suddenly black, as if someone turned off the light.

Let go. You’re scaring me.

“Answer me!”

I can’t breathe, you idiot. Let go of me!

I’m gasping for breath and start coughing. Fender lets go and takes a step back, as if I’m infected with something.

“Hey, you!” The doorman comes running toward us and grabs hold of Fender. “What’s going on here?”

I touch the painful place on my throat. It’s like Fender’s fingers still have hold of me.

What just happened? Why did he flip out like that?

“Think you’re a tough guy, young man?”

“I’m sorry,” Fender quickly says. “I didn’t know what I was doing.”

You did know. You just completely snapped.

“That’s pretty obvious!” The doorman looks at me. “Are you okay?”

No, of course I’m not.

“Yes, I’m fine. We…We’re friends.”