We turn out the light and get into bed so Mom will think we’re asleep. Otherwise, she’ll come in and talk for a while. We want to watch News at Eleven on our own. My iPad’s glow lights our faces and some of my room. Everything else is dark. The news begins with a close-up of the reporter’s face. “I am sad to announce,” she says, “that the body of Kristina Sullivan was found this evening in a wooded area near the end of Marie Drive.”

I grab Skylar’s hand, not believing what we’ve just heard. It’s like a car crash in my brain. It can’t be true. There must be a mistake.

“No,” I whisper. “No, please no. NO! NO! NO!”

The reporter keeps talking. “The police have issued no further details, but we expect a full report tomorrow. In the meantime, our thoughts and prayers are with Ms. Sullivan’s family and friends. We mourn the tragic death of a young and brilliant teacher.”

Skylar and I cry and hold each other tight.

“I can’t believe it,” Skylar says, sobbing. “It’s not right. It’s not fair.”

A policewoman appears on the screen. She talks about Ms. Sullivan’s car, which is missing. She shows another photograph. In this one Ms. Sullivan stands beside a small gray car, her hand on the hood, smiling into the camera.

“It’s a gray 2005 Honda Civic,” the officer says, “Maryland plates, 3MB5098.”

Skylar gasps. “Oh my God, I was right. It is Ms. Sullivan’s car. It was her we saw, your teacher, I can’t believe it.”

I sit beside her like I’ve gone catatonic, can’t move, can’t speak. I can hardly breathe. I didn’t hear what I just heard, I didn’t see what I just saw. It just won’t sink into my brain.

The number matches the license plate in my pictures.

The policewoman is still talking, but her voice seems muffled, far away, hard to hear. “If you have any information about this car, contact the police immediately. It’s essential to our investigation.”

Skylar grabs my arm, shakes me. “Abbi, we’ve got to tell the police about the car and the SUV. What if they don’t know that Ms. Sullivan was meeting a man in secret?”

I stare at my iPad, holding it so tightly my fingers turn white. Skylar sounds far away too. Her words are meaningless.

She tightens her grip on my arm. Her fingernails press into my skin. “Listen to me, Abbi. We have to tell the police!”

I wince and pull away from her. She’s right, we have to tell the police, but what about Mom? She’ll find out, she’ll be so angry. I can’t, I can’t . . .