“Why not?”

“I have a really important meeting after school.”

“You’re currently staying with your uncle, correct?”

“Yes.”

Mr. Grady picked up the phone on his desk. The phone was big and heavy and looked like something you’d see in a black-and-white movie on cable. “Maybe you can give me his phone number. I can call and explain why you’ll be late. If he says it’s an emergency and you can’t serve it today, fine, you can serve detention tomorrow.”

Panic made my mouth start flapping: “Troy took my friend’s laptop. He grabbed me first. I just defended myself.”

Grady cocked an eyebrow. “That really the way you want to play this, son?”

No. I calmed myself. There was really no option here. I asked whether it was okay for me to send a quick text before serving detention. Grady said that it was. I texted Rachel that I’d be out in an hour and could she please wait for me?

No reply came in.

I had never done detention before, but then again I’d never spent time in an American high school. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it was basically one hour of pure boredom. You sit in the driver’s ed classroom with other students. No phone, no gadgets, no books, nothing. Most kids put their heads on the desk and took naps. I looked for patterns in the tile floor. Then I started reading all the posted safety information on drinking and driving, texting and driving, speeding, and whatever else could happen.

I thought about my dad. I thought about our car crash and wondered if the driver of the SUV was drunk or texting or speeding. I thought about the paramedic with the sandy hair and the green eyes and how his face told me that my life would never be the same.

When the hour was finally over—the slowest hour imaginable—I grabbed my cell phone and checked for texts.

Nothing from Rachel.

Feeling dejected, I headed out the front door of the school—and there she was. I rushed over to her. “Thanks for waiting.”

Rachel nodded, said nothing. She looked distracted, unsure of herself.

“So you were going to explain?” I asked.

“You said you saw me on a surveillance video, right?”

Now I could see. She wasn’t distracted. She was frightened. “That’s right.”

“How? I mean, how did you get a hold of school security stuff?”

I shook my head. I didn’t trust her enough to tell her about Spoon. “It’s not important.”

“It is to me,” she said. “Do other people know?”

“What’s the difference?”

“Why would you have been looking at video surveillance?”

“I told you. I’m trying to figure out what happened to Ashley. Why were you at her locker?”

“Why do you think?”

“I don’t have a clue,” I said. “You told me you didn’t really know her.”

“I didn’t,” she said.

I spread my hands. “Yet there you are, cleaning out her locker.”

Rachel looked off and shook her head. “You don’t get it.”

“You’re right. I don’t. So explain it to me. And while you’re at it, why don’t you explain to me why you were pretending to be my friend?”

“Ashley asked me to do that.”

“Ashley asked you to pretend to be my friend?”

Rachel sighed, as though there were no way I would understand. “She wanted me to check up on you. She wanted to make sure that you were okay.”

“Okay?” My head was spinning. “What are you talking about?”

“Ashley didn’t want you hurt. She didn’t want you involved.”

“Involved in what?”

“It’s not my place to say. She said I shouldn’t tell you.”

My heart picked up speed. “Wait, hold up. Ashley said that?”

“Yes.”

“So you know where she is?”

She didn’t reply.

“Rachel?”

She looked up at me slowly. Our eyes met. I know that I should know better by now, but if this was an act, if I was just being played . . . No. They say the eyes don’t lie. I saw something there, in the way she looked at me, and it wasn’t just deception. “Yes,” Rachel finally said. “I know where Ashley is.”

“Where?”

“Come on,” Rachel said, finally breaking eye contact. “I’ll show you.”

Chapter 19

WE WALKED IN COMFORTABLE SILENCE for a while. I tried to wait her out, hoping that she would volunteer some information, but she didn’t. Finally I asked, “Where are we going?”

“My house.”

“And Ashley is there?”

She made a face like maybe-yes, maybe-no. “You’ll see.”

“What does that mean? What happened?”

“I’ll let Ashley explain.”

“I’d rather hear it from you.”

“Like I said before, it’s not my place to explain.”

We walked in silence a little more.

“Mickey?”

I looked at her.

“I wasn’t pretending to be your friend. I mean, Ashley did ask me to look after you and maybe that’s why I started talking to you at first, but then . . .” She stopped, keeping her eyes on the pavement, and said, “Never mind.”

I wanted to do something here, reach out and take her hand, something. But I didn’t know what. My cell phone buzzed. It was a text from Ema: where r u?

I showed it to Rachel. She shook her head. “Don’t answer it.”

I nodded, put my phone away. Rachel’s sprawling estate—it wasn’t a house, it was an estate—sat atop a hill. There was an electric gate at the end of the driveway. Rachel pressed a code into the number pad and it swung open. We started up the drive.

“Are your parents home?” I asked.

A smile crossed her lips. “No.”

The smile was saying something, but I wasn’t sure what.

“Is Ashley here?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“The guesthouse in the back.”

“How long has she been here?”

“Over a week.”

“So your parents know?”

“Let’s just say”—again she flashed the small smile, only this time I could see it was a sad one—“that my parents aren’t around very much.”

Everything about this place said big bucks. We walked around back, past the marble patio and clay tennis court. There was a small house next to the pool. I gestured toward it with my chin.