In the hallway, people were flaunting their flowers like badges of honor. I thought I’d run into Kane there, as we usually crossed paths between homeroom and second period, while he was on his way to his level two English class, which was next to my Spanish class. But I didn’t see him. I frowned as I walked into English and saw a small collection of unclaimed flowers on the desk. I looked through them, wondering if mine had gotten lost in the wrong homeroom. But they were all for Kane, from various girls.

Where was Kane? And why did Declan not give me a flower?

Then I sat down for the world’s most mind-numbing lecture on conjugación en pretérito. Meanwhile, I kept sneaking looks at my phone under my desk, hoping Declan would reply.

But he didn’t even read the message.

When I drove home early that afternoon, around lunchtime, I thought I’d be a good girlfriend and bring him chicken soup. Not homemade, strictly Campbell’s, but knowing Declan, he’d appreciate it. There was no snow yet, just a bit of a weird, spritzy fog. When I pulled into the driveway, I looked at his window. The blinds were closed. He was probably on death’s door in there. I went inside, then cursed when I opened our pantry and realized we didn’t have any soup at all.

When I next looked outside, it had started to snow.

That was when I heard a loud, mournful wail.

Monday, July 8

Evening

By the time Kane returns home, it’s dark. I’d helped Mrs. Weeks take all the bags of garbage to the curb. I’d hid the trophy in my backpack, then smuggled it into my room. When he pulls up at his house, I’m waiting for him. I push open my window and scream his name as he gets out of his car.

He turns to me and starts to jog over. He stops at the driveway, and maybe he can see me trembling, because he says, “What? What happened?”

I go downstairs and let him in, then take him upstairs to my room. Kane has a sunburn that’s threatening to become a tan on his cheeks, and he smells like sunshine and seawater. He keeps asking me what the problem is, but I don’t speak until I’ve closed the door and locked it. “Declan…”

I can’t say anymore. A thousand thoughts are going through my mind, but nothing comes out. I reach under my bed, pull out the trophy, and lay it on my bed.

His eyes widen. “Where did you get that?”

“In your bedroom.” I stare at it, shaking uncontrollably. Every thought in my head has arrived at the same conclusion: This is the murder weapon that killed Declan. “Kane, what did you do?”

He holds out a hand. “You need to chill out.”