Two deep slits formed a gaping cross at the top of the flour sack. Clearly the K.s had investigated the substance inside, unable to trust that it was just ordinary enriched white flour like the label promised. Did they rip it open? Lick an index finger and swab the substance? Rub it over their gums? Perhaps the odd artwork—a kitty with a key around its neck—made them suspicious. Because everyone knows that’s the new secret code for cocaine.

I pulled a length of Scotch tape from the roll on the counter and sealed the gaping flaps.

Five pounds of fake baby to lug around was tough; nearly ten pounds was sure to be exhausting. “You’re just trying to impress Doc Ramsey,” Kori’s voice chided loudly in my head.

“I’m too tired to even argue with you.”

I must have said it aloud, because the principal’s secretary looked up from her Sudoku puzzle. She just smiled one of those sympathetic smiles that never makes anyone feel better, and told me, “Mrs. Kitzler said you could clean out Kori’s locker, if you’d like. Tomorrow one of the custodians will break the lock and let you in.”

“That’s okay. I know her combination.”

“Okay, honey. Bring us her books when you’re done?”

I nodded and headed out, meeting up with Cole and Lexi to go to lunch. When we walked toward our round table, my filled tray bobbled. The vulnerability of sitting there without Kori hit from all directions. I could see the drill team licking their chemically whitened teeth and extending their acrylic claws as they edged to make their move.

Cole’s hand was firm on my back. “She’d hate us if we gave it up.” Cole was good at reassurance; she’d had a lot of practice watching out for Lexi. But it was Kori’s job to watch out for me.

Who was going to do it now?

The thought plagued me through the Very Special Assembly we were required to attend after lunch. It came complete with three rehabbed teens, two Mothers Against Drunk Driving, and a state trooper in a pear tree.

I barely listened to Principal Teasley as he reiterated what everyone else had been mumbling about—drinking and drugs are bad. Bad! Bad! Bad! Don’t do them. You’ll end up dead or in prison, where surely Parker would be soon. It was almost as if he was happy to have proof that everything he’d told us was true.

His speech fell just shy of him jumping up and down, shooting finger-pistols at us and yelling, “I told you so! Huu-ahh!”

Yeah, his bald head’s a regular crystal ball.

He concluded with an informative declaration that the Friday night football game would be played as scheduled, and the Kismet High Cougars would kick ass in Brian and Curt’s honor.