Lia licked her lips and stood. She let her sleeve fall over her hand to cover the safety scissors. Faith waved at her with one hand, and her other held the knife to Devon’s thigh. He glanced at her and shook his head. Lia shrugged.

“He’d survive that,” Lia said.

Faith snorted. “You should’ve paid more attention in biology, but you being here makes this easier.”

“Because I killed him?” Lia pointed to Devon.

Faith nodded. “Of course.”

“Okay. Sure.” Lia laid her hands flat against a desk, the scissors biting into her palm. Anger and fear flooded her veins. The knife wasn’t real. She just had to remember that the knife wasn’t real. “You’ve been banking on the scholarship for years, and if Abby, Cassidy, and Devon don’t take them, one will fall to you, sure. But why Ben and Georgia?”

“Oh my God, you’re impossible.” Faith tilted her head back and shook it. “I had to kill Ben so that May would turn down her scholarship and to throw the cops off. It’s not like he was doing anything. Georgia, same. Mostly. I think she scored higher than me.”

She had finally said it.

“You think?” Devon spat.

“Why the messages?” Lia asked. “Why make me look like the killer?”

“Because you’re jealous, obviously. You’re an easy target. Poor little Lia Prince stuck in the shadow of her brother and jealous of all her smart friends ruining the one thing she has,” she said. “And honestly, that journal makes you look like a killer anyway, scholarship angst or no.”

“You really think you earned it?” Lia asked.

Faith lunged, pulling the knife away from Devon and pointing it at Lia’s throat. “I am worth it. I’m a Franklin. I’m a legacy. I earned this, and then Abby came in and got it without even trying. Devon’s fine—was fine—and all, but, I mean, but emergency medicine? Really? You might as well be a medical examiner for all the worth you’ll be. You don’t even know what you’re doing! I’ll be enough. I am.”

Lia knew exactly what she was doing now.

“Why would I kill Devon?” Lia asked. “I can’t figure that out.”

“Of course you can’t.” Faith rolled her eyes. “You wanted to date. He didn’t. He wanted to date. You didn’t. Murder-suicide, blah blah blah. Maybe I’ll make you leave a note.”

The knife scraped up Lia’s face to the corner of her eye. Even fake, that would do damage.

Devon grabbed Faith. “You don’t—”

Faith spun. She slammed the knife into his chest, blade sinking all the way to the hilt, and blood splattered between them. Faith pulled back, the knife still in Devon’s neck. He grasped the blade and fell from the chair. Blood pooled in the dirty cracks of the classroom floor.