“Libby, I—”

“You what?” Libby spat. “You wanted to make sure you’d finished the job?”

Sawyer felt herself gape. “What? What are you talking about?”

“You’re the reason Maggie’s dead. You—you tortured her, like, every day. You stole her boyfriend and then flaunted it in front of her. Maggie was so nice, and all you did was act like a bitch to her. And this is what happened. Maggie was so desperate to be friends with you again, but you kept right on bullying her.” Libby sniffed, tears raking over her cheeks.

“No, no, that’s not true. That’s not how it was at all.” Sawyer’s heart started to pound, the blood behind her eyes a painful throb.

“You hit her the other day. You attacked her and knocked her down.”

Sawyer stood up so quickly that Olivia’s flimsy paper plate flipped off the girl’s lap, spilling barely touched food on her lap and the staircase. Libby glared at the mess and then at Sawyer, crossing her arms as if that said it all.

Sawyer pointed to the plate. “That was an accident. And so was the fight in the hallway. Maggie picked the fight with me.”

Libby’s eyes were spitting fire. “Convenient.”

“What’s going on here?”

Maggie’s mother pushed through the crowd—who were all staring at Sawyer—and looked up at Sawyer, her red eyes questioning.

“Go ahead, Sawyer, tell Mrs. Gaines how you treated poor Maggie. What you did right before she died.”

Sawyer felt a bitter, metallic taste in her mouth as heat engulfed her. The crowd in front of her started to shimmer as tears pooled behind her eyes and raked down her cheeks. “I didn’t,” she squeaked, her eyes locked on the anguish in Mrs. Gaines’s eyes, “I didn’t do anything to Maggie.”

It was a croaked whisper while Sawyer backed through the crowd to the front door. “It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t…” Her words were lost in Libby’s last screams, in the coos and whispers of the crowd that tried to defend and calm. She had her hand on the doorknob, the stares around her accusatory, seeming to suck the breath out of Sawyer’s lungs. “It’s not my fault,” she whispered.

Even she had a hard time believing it.

Her cheeks burned, and her stomach seemed to collapse in on itself as she stepped out of the house.

Could this—Maggie—be the message her admirer was talking about?

No. No.

Maggie did this to herself. She—But even in her own head, Sawyer couldn’t form the words. Maggie killed herself.

Sawyer couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t see as tears flooded her eyes, and that was why she slipped on the porch step and fell, chest to chest, against Cooper.

“Oof!” he groaned.

Sawyer stepped back, Cooper’s muscled arms holding her taut and upright.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

His dark eyes took her in from head to toe. “Same thing you are, I suppose.”

Sawyer noticed Cooper’s black suit, crisp white shirt, and simple tie. Had he been dressed this way for any other occasion, she would have complimented the way his broad shoulders looked under the nicely tailored jacket.

“I didn’t even know you knew Maggie.”

Cooper shrugged. “She was in a few of my classes. I just thought it would be nice to…”—his eyes went around Sawyer, to the closed door behind her—“pay my respects, I guess.”

Sawyer nodded. “Me too.”

“It’s nice that you came here. I mean, I remember you told me about what happened between the two—or, three, I guess—of you.”

Sawyer’s eyebrows went up. “Oh, right. At Evan’s party.”

Cooper’s finger was gentle as it brushed against Sawyer’s cheek. She felt a warm shiver go up her spine and then the hot blush of embarrassment.

“Yeah.” She used the heel of her hand to roughly swipe at the tears. “Sorry. Maggie and I had our issues, but I have to remember that we were friends.” Once.

Sawyer immediately set to work stomping out the voices in her head—reminding her that Maggie said Kevin was cheating her, letting her know that if it hadn’t been for her, Maggie might still be alive this minute.

“Sawyer?”

“Oh, sorry, Cooper. What did you say?”

“I said I was just going to go in for a minute. I don’t really know Maggie’s family. Do you want to come in with me? Maybe afterward we can grab a cup of coffee or something.”

There was nothing Sawyer wanted more than to be far away from Maggie’s house and everyone in it. But coffee with Cooper…actually, anything with Cooper sounded good. Sawyer looked at Cooper’s earnest eyes and paused, considering. She took a tentative step, then stopped. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“The other day, when I saw you in the hall?”

“You mean when I was going to the bathroom?”

Sawyer sucked in a breath. “You weren’t going to the bathroom. No one walks completely across campus to go to the bathroom.”

Cooper opened his mouth to say something but Sawyer stopped him. “And you weren’t sneaking out of trig. You were on the other side of the school. Why were you in that hall?”

Cooper laughed, but it sounded forced, rough. “Wow. Nosy much?”

Sawyer didn’t falter, looking at him hard.

A light blush crept across his cheeks. “Okay, I wasn’t sneaking out of trig. You’re right.” He held up a finger. “But I was on my way back from the bathroom.” Cooper blinked, looking suddenly shy. “I was in class. It wasn’t trig. It was home ec.”

Sawyer narrowed her eyes. “This isn’t 1957, Cooper. Hawthorne doesn’t even have a home ec class.”

“I wish that were true. But Hawthorne does, and it’s taught by Ms. Oliver in room 257, in the arts building. Third period. And if you’re a transfer student hoping to take something more manly—anything, actually, that doesn’t involve an apron or a ladle—you’re shit out of luck.” He shrugged. “It was the only open elective.”

Sawyer tried to hold her lips steady, but they kept creeping up. “You’re in home ec? You were lying to me because you didn’t want me to know you’re in home economics?”

“Yeah.” Cooper lowered his voice. “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t let it get around. It’s hard enough being the new guy without everyone knowing that I can’t bake a soufflé to save my life.”

Sawyer laughed, then clapped a hand over her mouth, relief flooding over her. “A soufflé, huh?”

“Hey, if you don’t believe me, come over sometime. I can make you a roasted potato frittata that will rock your world. All the girls in class were jealous.”

“Sounds like you’re going to make a lovely wife someday, Cooper.”

Cooper batted his eyelashes and pursed his lips. “Someday my prince will come along,” he said in a high-pitched voice. “Hey, so, why the questions though? Is someone keeping tabs on me?”

Sawyer bit her bottom lip, the light playfulness slipping from her body. “Um, no. I was just wondering is all.”

Cooper nodded. “I see. So, that coffee?”

Sawyer’s mind tumbled. “I—” She glanced over her shoulder at Maggie’s closed door and could almost feel the hate and blame seeping through it. She looked at Cooper and warmed when she remembered his lips on hers, his kisses deep, sincere, and sweet. She wanted to go with him. She wanted to climb in his car and drive with him wherever he wanted to go—to drive away and never come back.

Sawyer’s cell phone vibrated and she snatched it up, semi-thankful for the break. “That’s Chloe,” she said, looking at the readout and then looking at Cooper. “I can’t go for coffee,” she said suddenly, pressed back into her normal Sawyer-stance. “But not because of the home ec thing. No, that’s—I’m a modern woman. Just—maybe some other time for the coffee.”

Disappointment flittered across Cooper’s face and tugged at Sawyer’s heart. He tried to hide it with that easy smile. “Sure, yeah. Another time. Totally.”

They stood in a beat of awkward silence before Sawyer started to turn.

“Um, I guess I’ll see you around later?”

He nodded. “Not unless I see you first.”

It was an old and cheesy joke, but Sawyer had a hard time laughing.

THIRTEEN

Sawyer gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles going white as she sped past the police station, then made a U-turn around it. She wanted to go to the police, to talk to Detective Biggs or Stephen Haas, but somehow her admirer knew she was there once.

He would know again.

She sighed and drove away, aimless. Though when she found herself pulling into the Hawthorne High student lot, she wasn’t surprised.

A slow drizzle started to fall, and Sawyer wrestled a zip-up hoodie that lived in her backseat. She slid it over her goose-pimpled flesh and zipped it up to her neck. When she slid the hood up over her hair, Kevin’s scent—cologne and a football field’s worth of cut grass—enveloped her. She closed her eyes and breathed heavily, the weight of remembering heavy on her chest.

Kevin’s fingers slid down her bare arm and laced with hers. She turned to him, startled—they were still a brand-new couple, and the topic of PDA hadn’t been broached yet—but Kevin’s eyes were warm, held that playful crinkle that she loved so much.

“What are you so nervous about?” he asked, squeezing her hand and pulling her closer. “You’re with me now.”

Sawyer caved to the gentle pull and snuggled into Kevin, who brushed a soft kiss over her lips. The fire that started in her belly ran through her bloodstream, warming every limb. I want to feel this way all the time, she told herself.

They broke their embrace—too soon, in Sawyer’s opinion—and turned the corner toward the cafeteria. They were still hand in hand, shoulders pressed together, heads bent as they whispered and giggled and breathed in the comforting scent of one another.