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Your ego is more bruised than your wrists,” Rune says as we cross the street. “And your backpack only has minor banana-peel damage. Admit it—you’re mad because he stood up to you and won.”
    â€œHe did not win anything!”
    â€œIf you say so.”
    â€œI do.”
    â€œThen I believe you.” But I know she doesn’t.
    We don’t say anything for a block. When we stop at a crosswalk, waiting for traffic to pass, Rune studies me with an odd expression. “I should have been more supportive. Sorry.”
    â€œYou should be—supportive and sorry.”
    She gestures to my jeans. “I never liked those jeans anyway. Let’s hit the thrift stores and find some seventies bell bottoms. My treat for being a sucky BFF.”
    â€œThanks.” I offer a small smile. “And you don’t suck. It’s my whole day that sucks. I shouldn’t take it out on you.”
    â€œYou shouldn’t,” she agrees. “But friends should support each other and I’m always here for you. I hope you’d do the same for me.”
    â€œAlways,” I promise.
    â€œEven if I ask a favor that you won’t like?”
    My silver bangles jingle as I fold my arms across my chest, eyeing her suspiciously. “Depends on what you’re asking.”
    â€œThis might make you mad, but I have to know.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWould you recognize his voice?” By the hero worship in her tone, I know exactly who she’s talking about. I’m disgusted she’s so obsessed with this guy, but she’s my friend and I did promise to be supportive.
    I think for a moment, then nod. “Yeah. I won’t forget his voice.” Or forgive him , I vow to myself.
    â€œSo, if you hear his voice again and figure out who he is, you’ll tell me?” Rune’s practically begging. “Please.”
    â€œWell … yeah.” I shrug. “I’ll tell you.”
    Then she grins—so sappy and silly I want to hurl—and I realize she’ll want me to listen to every guy at school until I find the Grin Reaper.
    It’s not such a bad idea, I decide, but for a completely different reason.
    When I find the Grin Reaper, I’ll reap my own justice. He won’t need to hide behind a mask, a concealing jacket, and gloves anymore. I’ll make sure everyone at school knows exactly who he is—his admirers and his enemies.
    Revenge.

F i v e
    I drop Rune off at her house and continue on to mine.
    Not that I want to go home. More than anything, I long to climb on a bus and return to Sheridan Valley, maybe hide out at my friend Sabine’s house until I graduate high school and can live my own life.
    Dread twines through me like a taut rope, tugging in different directions. I have to go home; I don’t want to go home. I want to be honest; I can’t tell the truth. I need to be myself; my family needs me to be someone else.
    It’s not the wrath of Mr. Sproat or even the weird necklace that worries me.
    It’s the crumbled paper at the bottom of my backpack.
    The letter.
    When I saw my name in the first line, I got a sick feeling. But it was the last paragraph that shot fear through me, as if by reading it I’d unleashed a Pandora’s box of evils on the world.
    On my family.
    There’s no closing the lid once truth is uncovered. I think of lame sayings like “knowledge is power” and “ignorance is bliss.” I’d give anything for blissful ignorance instead of knowing what’s written in there. Even more, I wish my parents didn’t know. How can I face them? I think the letter must have arrived yesterday, given the date on it, but Mom worked late at the church so there wasn’t a chance to talk. Are my parents waiting until after dinner tonight, to talk to me alone? Or will they confront me when I walk into the house? I don’t want to hurt them … but I don’t want to