Mrs. Mercer wiped her eyes with a pineapple-print cloth napkin, then let go of her husband. “Did anyone want dessert? There’s some ice cream in the fridge.”

“No thanks, Mom.” Laurel threw her own napkin down in front of her. Emma shook her head, too. Her stomach felt like a lead weight.

Mr. Mercer pulled a chair out for his wife. She sat down, her eyes still damp, and he set about clearing the rest of the dishes. The plates and silverware clattered together, echoing around the silent kitchen. On the muted TV Santa Claus delivered pizzas in his sleigh, the phone number for a regional pizza chain painted on the side.

“Do we have to go to school tomorrow?” Laurel asked, sucking her lower lip anxiously. Mr. and Mrs. Mercer exchanged uneasy glances from across the room. Then Mr. Mercer came back to the table, wiping his hands on a dish towel.

“I wish I could hide you girls from this forever,” he said, “but I don’t know if you should miss any more school. We talked to the principal this afternoon, and she promised me there would be no press allowed on campus. I know it won’t be easy. I’m sure your friends have a lot of questions for you.”

Emma rolled her eyes. That was an understatement. All day long she’d been fielding texts from Madeline and Charlotte. WHAT IS GOING ON???? Charlotte had asked, while Madeline had seemed excited that a “mega-foxy” reporter had cornered her outside campus to ask if she knew Sutton. THIS IS SO CRAZY, she’d texted, along with a photo taken from her phone of a line of news vans just off campus.

The Twitter Twins’ updates had been the most useful real-time description of the school day. Early in the morning Gabby had tweeted:

Media circus at Hollier. How’d the paparazzi find me again?

Lili had followed up shortly after:

Life expectancy of teen girls seems to be plummeting in Tucson. Be careful, everyone.

They’d chronicled each rumor as it circulated and had live-blogged the school assembly at which the principal had announced the discovery of another body. Gabby’s last post had read:

Hollier High needs a hero. Sutton Mercer, come back and lead your people!

She knew the halls were going to be buzzing with rumors the next day, and she would be at the center of it. Even imagining it made her heart beat faster—but not nearly so fast as it did a moment later when the news came back from commercials.

A male reporter with a shellacked helmet of hair stood in front of a coffee shop, talking to a girl wearing an apron over a vintage Bad Religion T-shirt. She wore a pair of black plastic-frame glasses, and her dark hair was spiked in a short, edgy pixie cut. Tears glittered in her eyes. Emma hurried to turn the volume back up.