Once I’m out of the car, I’m tearing down Broadway as fast as I can run. It’s not easy because I’m wearing heels, but if I lose sight of this girl, I’ll never forgive myself. This is my only chance to clear my name.

“Chelsea!” I cry out when I’m within earshot.

The girl doesn’t turn. Her blond hair gets tossed by the wind as she strides down the street, clutching a Hot Topic bag. I’m getting seriously out of breath chasing her. Also, my heel gets jammed in a crack in the pavement and I nearly go flying, but I miraculously manage to right myself. It takes me another second, but I finally draw close enough to seize her arm.

“Chelsea,” I gasp.

She turns, blinking her blue eyes in surprise. It’s the same girl, all right. Same one who talked to me about what a wonderful, selfless person Monica Johnson is. And then her phone line inexplicably got disconnected.

“Excuse me?” she says.

“I…” I’m still gasping to catch my breath. Wow, I’m really out of shape. Good thing I’ll have fifteen years to get buff in prison. Isn’t that what people mostly do in prison? Work out and get tattoos of skulls? “I’m Abby Adler. We… we talked a while ago about Monica Johnson.”

She blinks a few more times. “Who?”

What?

“Monica Johnson,” I say again. “Your roommate.”

She shakes her head at me, her brow furrowed like she’s really trying to figure it out. And now I really think I’m losing it. Did I imagine the whole conversation? Was this entire thing a meth-fueled fantasy?

But then her eyes light up. “Oh! You’re that lady who wanted the baby!”

I’m not insane. Thank God.

“So how’d it go?” she asks me.

“I’m assuming you don’t live with Monica anymore.”

“Uh…” She scratches her upturned nose with the hand not holding the Hot Topic bag. “The truth is…”

I raise my eyebrows at her.

She smiles crookedly. “Monica and I were never roommates. She just asked me to say we were.”

What?

“So…” I narrow my eyes at her. “How do you know Monica?”

She shrugs. “We were sort of friends in college. Not really though. Mostly, I used to be close with her roommate.”

“So why didn’t she give me the number of her actual roommate so I could talk to her?”

She laughs so loudly, a few people on the street turn to look at us. “Oh, she wouldn’t want you to do that.”

My stomach churns. This was the whole purpose of Sam’s plan to vet Monica—to find out if she was a wack job. But then she gave us all made up friends and family. I never tried calling her mother again, but now I wonder if the woman on the phone was even really her mother.