“It’s fake.” Kate snatches the paper from my hand. “Room Service has faked her diary.”

I stare at the letters, handwriting that very few people could read. Her writing was like her bedroom: chaotic. Whenever her mom and dad let her work with them in the hair salon, she left scissors and clips all over the place.

“How did that madman get hold of her diary?” Linnea’s question hangs in the air.

No one knows, but I can see that everyone’s searching for the answer.

“Maybe she gave it to him.” Kate glances my way. I know what she’s thinking, because it’s a thought that already shot through my head too. It has to be someone she knew, someone she trusted.

A new boyfriend.

So it’s true?

“There’s more,” says Kate. “Want me to read it out loud?”

“No.” Lucas shakes his head furiously. “I’ve heard enough. Please, just leave the rest. He has her diary. Fine. But how does that help us?”

He’s kind of right. What’s the point of reading more?

But this is her diary, her feelings.

The truth, no matter how much it’s going to hurt.

These are the things she never dared say to me.

The only thing I can do is read on.

This afternoon he was here.

Of course he was.

He watched me from a distance.

He thought I couldn’t see.

But I always see him.

I want to tell Fender everything.

But then I’ll have to be one hundred percent honest with him.

I don’t know if I dare.

Kate reads out the last sentence, because my voice is trembling too much. I put down the paper and clench my jaw.

“Fender…?”

I don’t want to look up. I don’t want to see Kate’s pity. Something is bubbling up inside me and it wants to come out.

What was she up to?

Who is this about?

A he.

A boy.

Someone else.

No, it’s impossible.

I think about all our moments together at the harbor, under our little boat.

We sometimes sat there together for hours, talking and kissing. If something had been wrong, I’d have noticed, wouldn’t I?

“I’m not going to listen to this anymore.” Lucas crosses his arms. “Someone’s trying to drive you crazy, Fender. You need to realize that!”

But I still read on.

Tonight he was across the street.

He must have been waiting for Fender to leave.

I went outside. Think I gave him a fright.

“This has to stop,” I say.

“What do you mean?”

“What do you want from me?”

“Hey, you know what I want.”

He tried to kiss me, but this time I turned my face away.

I crush the paper. The picture of the mouse crumples in my hand.

“Fender…,” Kate pleads. “Just stop.”

But there’s one bit left.