“For the next few days, Callum and I will be keeping an eye on you,” he said. “One of us will always be around. And remember, you have to say she stepped out into the road and didn’t see the car.”

Claudia threw open the door before Stephen hit the buzzer. I never thought I’d be happy to see her, but there was something reassuring about her indomitable presence. She checked me over with what seemed like genuine concern, then sent me upstairs while she spoke to Stephen. I gave him a final nod of good night from the steps.

Jazza was awake. Every light in our room was on, including my bedside light. The moment I stepped in the door, she sprang up and threw her arms around me.

“Is she okay?”

“I think so,” I said. “Well, she’s awake. She has some broken bones.”

“What happened? You went to the toilet, and you never came back.”

“I was just feeling a little sick,” I said. “I went out for some air. I walked around the block. And . . . she followed me. She was on the phone. I guess she . . . she just didn’t see the car.”

“God, I feel so terrible. All those things I said about her. But she really is sweet. Oh, God, but she really doesn’t pay attention, does she? Are you all right?”

“Fine,” I lied. I mean, I was physically intact, but inside, I was quaking.

“I warmed your cheese for you,” she said, pointing at the radiator.

“I love it when you talk dirty.”

I was in no shape to eat any Cheez Whiz, so I went right to my bureau to get out my pajamas.

“Where did you get those clothes?” Jazza asked.

“Oh . . . they lent them to me.”

I quickly removed the Eton sweats and shoved them into my laundry bag.

“The police lent you clothes from Eton?”

“I guess they had them around or something.”

“Rory . . . you leave the party and Boo follows, then Boo gets hit by a car . . . I don’t know. I don’t want to pry, but . . . what’s going on?”

For just a second, I thought about telling her. I wanted her to know. I imagined all the words coming out of my mouth, the whole ridiculous story.

But I couldn’t do that.

“It’s all just . . . a lot of bad luck.”

Jazza slumped a bit. I wasn’t sure if it was relief or disappointment. Luckily, we didn’t have to talk about this anymore, because there was a knock and pretty much everyone from the hall came in to get the news.

When I closed my eyes that night, two things ran through my mind: the image of Boo on the street, and the Ripper himself.

No one understood. Not my classmates. Not my teachers. Not the police.

Jazza slept. I didn’t.