“I barely knew him.” A moment from the previous fall came back to her: Sitting in the stadium with Sara and Tina, the three of them huddled between shouting spectators. Maggie had easily spotted Matthew Dawson, standing with his teammates on the sideline, his helmet in the crook of his arm, his blond hair glinting in the sunlight, his number, 35, shining golden on the green game jersey stretched taut across his chest. Thinking aloud, she’d murmured, “Matthew Dawson is the most beautiful man I have ever seen.” And Sara had giggled and slapped Tina to get her in on the laughter before answering, “You think so? Ha. You and every other girl here.”

The memory made Maggie’s skin crawl. Abruptly, she continued, “You made it sound like I’d been pursuing him. Like I wanted him and his buddies to do what they did to me…” Emotion roughened her voice. She cleared her throat, fisted her hands in her coat pockets, dug the nails into her palms. Don’t cry. “I’m looking for someone. Her name is Jane Cannon. She’s a freshman. I think she lives in this dorm.”

“Never heard of her. And I really have to get back to work. I have an essay due tomorrow, so if you don’t mind—”

“I do mind. I want you to help me find this girl’s room.” You can do that. That is the least you can do.

Maybe Sara realized the same, because—after some huffing and puffing and flouncing over to her desk to snatch up a pen and notepad—that’s just what she did.

15

IN THE DIM hall, Sara flipped through the student register she’d gotten from the resident director, a woman named Naomi who also lived on the first floor, across from the main entrance. Sara bent her head lower over the pamphlet. “Here she is,” she bit out. “Second floor.” She jotted the room number on a sticky note, wordlessly handed Maggie the fluorescent pink square, stomped away, then disappeared into her room and slapped the door shut.

Maggie scowled. “Good-bye and good riddance,” her mother would have said. Maggie preferred something shorter and said it aloud to the empty corridor: “Fuck you, Sara.”

She’d crumpled the sticky note in her hand. After smoothing it open to read it, she headed for the stairwell.

Room 2E was easy to find. She knocked softly.

No one answered.

She knocked again, harder, and waited. A minute passed. She pressed her ear to the door and heard a whole lot of nothing. What if Jane was in class? Linnie and Caleb would be waiting for Maggie by the library soon. She sighed, then tried one more time—a loud rap.

A girl with spiky black hair and bags under her squinting eyes swung open the door, muttering a groggy “Yeah…?” It was clear she’d been napping.

Maggie apologized, then asked, “Are you Jane Cannon?”