A cold calm descended on Emma. She stood up, moving robotically. Her mind was eerily still as she walked to the car and carefully pulled back the wiper to grab the piece of paper. She held it in her hand for a moment, feeling the Mercers’ eyes on her. She knew without looking where it had come from, but if she didn’t open it, if she didn’t see the familiar, blocky handwriting, she could still pretend to herself that the note could be anything. From anyone. A parking ticket, a flyer for a party, a love note. Anything but what it really was.

But she had to open it. Because the person who had left it was probably still watching.

She unfolded the note. It was on the same lined notebook paper as the other notes she’d gotten. The handwriting was rigid, the letters carved so deeply into the paper they almost tore through it in a few spots.

Sutton didn’t do what I told her, and she paid for it. Don’t make the same mistake. Keep up the game, or Nisha won’t be the only person you care about who dies for your sake.

Her gaze shot up. She looked frantically up and down the rows of cars, trying to see who might have left it. How long had it been there? How had the murderer known so quickly that the body had been found? The parking lot glittered serenely around her. Several rows away, two girls in aviator shades got out of a silver Miata, one sipping a Frappuccino. Then Emma glanced toward the school, and her blood ran cold.

A boy sat staring out a window, a notebook open on the desk in front of him. His lips were twisted into an ugly, knowing smirk, a look of delighted malice lighting up his eyes. He watched her hungrily, almost eagerly, like he couldn’t wait to see what she’d do next.

It was Garrett.

Emma refused to look away. Adrenaline surged through her body, and she held Garrett’s gaze, determined not to reveal how terrified she was.

“Sutton?”

Back on the lawn, Mr. Mercer had taken a few uncertain steps toward her. Mrs. Mercer and Laurel watched her with wide eyes from the picnic table. Emma propped herself up against the side of the car.

“What is that? Are you okay?” Laurel asked, frowning. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

If only, I thought grimly.

“Flyer. For a car wash,” Emma muttered, shaking her head. “Sorry. I . . . I guess I’m kind of in shock.” She glanced again at Garrett. He had turned back to his notebook and was scribbling something frantically. Then, without glancing at her, he lifted the notebook so she could read what he’d scrawled there.

Bitch.