I doubted pot would cause me to act like that, but I’d overheard a girl at school saying she smoked pot once and unbeknownst to her it was laced with acid and she totally tripped out. I shook my head at the joint being offered. It was the first time since we’d met that I said no to Millie, but she was cool about it. Didn’t make me feel bad at all. And in that moment, I liked her even more.

As I sat so close our thighs touched, I thought nothing could ever tear us apart.

I thought we’d be friends forever.

13

SATURDAY, 4:45 P.M.
ALMOST TWENTY-FOUR HOURS
AFTER DROP-OFF

“HI, MS. CARTER,” Becca answered.

Whitney didn’t bother with pleasantries this time. “Becca, did you get the picture I sent?”

A pause. “Yes, I got it.”

“And?”

“I um...yes...I think I know who that guy is.”

“Oh? ’Cause you never texted back.”

“I know. I just...I was trying to get a hold of Amelia first.”

Whitney’s pulse jumpstarted. She looked away from the pool. At the trees, the green grass, a group of boys walking by in the distance, their voices carried on the wind. “Did you?”

“No. She never answered her phone.” A sigh. “I know we’re not really hanging out right now, but she’s been my best friend for a long time...and I just...I don’t wanna, like, tell on her or whatever.”

Whitney gripped the edge of the fence. “I understand, Becca, but if you care about Amelia, then telling me what you know is the right thing to do.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just that Amelia would kill me if she knew what I was about to say.”

“Amelia may be in trouble. And what you have to say might help her. I think she’d understand.”

“Okay. Yeah, you’re right.” She started sounding more like herself. More self-assured. “Do you remember the last night we had a sleepover and Amelia got sick?”

Something fluttered low in Whitney’s gut. She’d always known there was more to this story.

Voices spoke in the distance, at first nothing more than a soundtrack to Whitney’s slumber. Then the timbre changed, yanking her from sleep.

“Oh, my God.” Becca’s voice rang out.

A door flying open. Footsteps pounding.

“You okay?”

Whitney shot out of bed, heart pounding. Amelia! Practically falling, she blindly stumbled out of the room and into the hall. Amelia’s bedroom door was open, but no one was inside.

Coughing, sputtering and retching came from inside the bathroom.

“Amelia?” Whitney attempted to open the bathroom door, but it was locked. She hit it with her palm. “Amelia.”

“Mom?” Amelia’s voice was thick, pained.

“You okay?”

“She’s fine,” Becca answered. “Just not feeling great. I think maybe it’s food poisoning.”

Food poisoning? Ugh. Thank God Whitney hadn’t eaten fast food with the girls.