“That’s great!” I said, trying—and failing—not to scream.

“Under one condition.”

“Condition?”

“You have to be there with me. You started this mess, you have to see it through to the end.”

I considered the offer. But not for too long. I was in, obviously. I was so totally in.

I nodded my head like an idiot.

TWENTY-FIVE

“EZRA” WAS RELEASED FROM the hospital later that morning. Mom saw to that. I waited outside while Wynezra underwent a routine checkup and some quick tests—performed by Mom herself—to make sure nothing was ruptured or hemorrhaging or concussed. Fortunately, Humpty-Dumpty appeared to be in tip-top shape.

Just in time for school.

Wynezra and I rode together. She drove, while I attempted to call Roscoe. After my third missed call, I left a desperate voice mail.

“Hey, it’s me. Um, Ezra. I know you don’t believe me, and you probably don’t want to talk to me right now, but… look, Wynonna is willing to talk to you. The real Wynonna. So… yeah. Call me back. Please. Thank you. Um, bye.”

I hung up.

Wynezra just shook her head in the driver’s seat. “This is gonna be so much fun.”

She was being sarcastic.

“It’s a good thing I like you, Ez,” she added—dare I say coyly?

I thought she was being sarcastic again. But then she smiled. It was a super-suspicious smile.

“What?” I said.

“What do you mean, ‘What?’”

“What are you smiling about?”

“I’m not smiling,” she said, which only made her smile even more.

“Are you kidding me? You’re not even trying to lie properly!”

Wynezra sighed. Still smiling. In fact, her smile had reached a critical breaking point. “Okay. Fine. I have a secret, too.”

I stared at her. “Which is…?”

“Well, I can’t tell you. Otherwise it wouldn’t be a secret.”

“Are you kidding me? You have to tell me!”

“Relax, Ezzie. You’ll find out soon enough.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? And since when do you call me Ez or Ezzie?”

Wynonna just smiled—that knowing, tantalizing smile.

She was right. I did find out soon enough.

When the lunch bell rang, I barely took a step outside of class when I saw Imogen, leaning against the opposite wall, a gigantic Union Jack purse slung over her thin shoulder. Her legs were locked straight, her hands were tucked behind her back, and her lips were pursed, small and impenetrable.

Her eyes were reddish and puffy, like she had been crying.

I halted barely a step outside the doorway, forcing the rest of the class to squeeze around me on either side. Remarkably, no one told me to move. Wynonna had that sort of reputation.

“Can we talk?” said Imogen.