“That’s right.”

“And you said you used protection, right? A condom?”

“He’s been over all of this with you,” Dad says. “Chapter and verse.”

Maybe Dad has my back. Or maybe he doesn’t want to watch his teenage son squirm through another examination of his sex life. Either way, I’m glad he’s here.

“I just need to make sure we agree on basic facts, Hunter,” Haley says, an edge creeping into his voice.

“Yes, that’s right,” I say.

“And you said that, as far as you know, Chloe wasn’t sexually involved with anyone else?”

I get a stinging pain in my chest. “Why are you asking me this? Of course not.”

But do I know? Do I know anything for sure?

Why was Chloe acting distant? Why was she so upset the night of the dance?

Why was she afraid at the dance?

Was it Basher?

“But you don’t know for sure,” Haley says.

“I trusted her. Trust her. Completely. We’re committed.”

Haley reaches for the manila folder. He flips it open in a way that seems practiced. Something about it feels like a performance, like Sherlock Holmes lighting his pipe.

“It’s taken us a while to go through Chloe’s computer and phone records. It’s a slow process, and a hardworking teenager uses her computer a lot. And makes a lot of calls. And sends a lot of texts. And we’re kind of understaffed. The state has been helping us, of course, but we don’t have an unlimited supply of computer technicians.”

He picks up a stack of papers from the folder and tilts his head back as he refers to them.

“About two weeks after what you say is your first and only intimate encounter with Chloe, she did a number of Google searches about pregnancy. Specifically, she was looking into the likelihood of getting pregnant if a condom broke during sexual intercourse. Did the condom break when the two of you had sex, Hunter?”

Dad’s staring at me. His cheeks are flushed. Mine are, too. I did not expect our conversation to head down this road.

Not at all.

“You need to answer me, Hunter,” Haley says. “Or we can go back to the station and call the lawyers. You could be there for a lot longer this time. Days, maybe.”

“No. I mean... I don’t think it did. I guess I’m not sure.”

“Chloe also placed a phone call to a pregnancy help line. A nonprofit geared toward young people who might find themselves in psychological trouble or have questions about their bodies. We found a call to that number on her phone. Twice. Around the same time as the Google searches.”

“What did she say to this hotline?” I ask, my voice low, although I wasn’t trying to be quiet.