Meanwhile, someone at Hollier had put up a Sutton Mercer remembrance page, filled with pictures of Sutton, Elton John’s “Candle in the Wind” playing as background music. A guestbook was already filled with comments from Sutton’s classmates.

I read the page over Emma’s shoulder. Would everyone talk about what a bully I’d been? Would they say I’d deserved what I got? Would anyone even miss me? But most of the comments were superficial. I will always remember how pretty she looked for Junior Prom, someone named wildcat_chick had posted. I had such a crush on her in eighth grade, another comment read, and Remember her sixteenth birthday party? That night made Hollier history! It seemed like no one really knew me underneath my shiny, popular exterior. Then again, I hadn’t exactly let many people see past that part of me.

Emma seemed to realize the same thing. She opened Twitter, certain that she would find something from Gabby and Lili. Sure enough, they’d been commenting on the whole situation.

@LILI_FIORELLO: Calling it now: It’s a prank. This is too crazy to be real.

@GABBY_FIORELLO: Sutton Mercer wouldn’t let herself be taken out by some flimsy black market knock-off bitch.

@LILI_FIORELLO: Joke is getting stale. Cross your heart and hope to die?

And then, a few hours later, simply:

@GABBY_FIORELLO: Sutton, we love you and will miss you forever.

Both of them had changed their user pictures to black squares. Emma’s heart ached. She knew Sutton and her friends had never been touchy-feely, but she also knew that below the surface, they cared deeply about one another. Then she suddenly realized: Gabby and Lili were twins, too. She wondered if they believed the rumors that Emma had killed her own sister. Maybe they were joining CIT at that very moment.

For hours Emma sat bent over the computer, reading story after story and searching for clues. When a car door slammed outside, Emma was shocked to see it was already three. Tiptoeing to the window that looked over the front of the house, she pulled aside a slat in Ethan’s Venetian blinds—and froze.

A cop car had pulled into the driveway, and Ethan was getting out of the passenger door. He paused to say something to the officer in the front—Corcoran again. She recognized the buzzed auburn hair. Then Ethan nodded and walked toward the house.

She met him in the entryway. He looked tired but calm, his backpack slung across one shoulder behind him.

“What happened?” she exclaimed.

“It’s okay.” He went to her, dropping his backpack on the floor next to him. As he straightened back up, she saw a scar on his temple she’d never noticed before, curving out from his hairline. She wanted suddenly to kiss it. “I went in willingly.”

Emma’s jaw fell open. “What?”