I scraped up one of my knees on the bricks getting in, but I made it, tumbling into the stall. We quickly pulled the bars back into place and shut the window. We changed back into our pajamas frantically. There was still a lot of noise coming from the common room. We looked at each other, then began our slow walk down the hall. The idea was to casually pass the door. As we did, I glanced inside. The bottom of the screen read NO FOURTH BODY FOUND. Jazza kept on going, slipping along in her fuzzy socks.

And then we walked right into Claudia, who was adjusting a notice on the board in the front hall.

“Going to bed?” she asked.

“Yup,” I said.

Jazza started hurrying up the steps, but I pinched the back of her fleece to slow her. Casual. Innocent. That’s how we had to look. We said nothing until we were safely in our room. We both went right for our beds without switching on the lights, as if light made you louder.

“I think . . . it’s okay,” I said, sticking my legs straight up in the air and creating a teepee out of my blanket.

Silence from Jazza’s side of the room, then a pillow made contact with my legs, knocking down my teepee. Jazza had a strong throwing arm. Then I heard a smothered giggle and what sounded like some kicking feet. I threw the pillow back and heard a little high-pitched squeal as it made contact.

“Why did I go up on that roof?” she whispered happily. “I hope Charlotte finds out. I really do. I hope she hears, and I hope she swallows her own tongue.”

Even through the dark, I knew she was smiling. I pulled out my phone and sent Jerome a text.

The eagle has landed, I wrote. Operation successful.

His reply came a moment later: Understood.

Then a moment after that: Still no body.

Then a moment after that: He’s hidden this one well.

Then: See you tomorrow.

Which was completely unnecessary, because of course he was going to see me tomorrow. He saw me every day. It was the kind of thing you said when you wanted to say something and that was the best you could do just to keep talking, keep the conversation going.

I decided to do what they always say in romance columns—I didn’t reply. I grinned stupidly at my own suavity.

“Who were you talking to when you were out there?” Jazza asked.

“That guy,” I said.

“What guy?”

Jazza was instantly on the alert, sitting bolt upright.

“The one who said good night to us.”

“I didn’t see anyone,” Jazza said.

This made no sense. There was no way Jazza could have missed him.

“Who was it?” she asked urgently. “Someone from school?”

“No,” I said. “Just some guy on the street.”

“Are you joking? Because it’s not funny.”