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shift them aside. But something stops me. The locker itself is everything I remember. Neat. Organized. But it didn't mean anything back then. Now that we're working together—now that I know Jaden, that we've spoken, that we've shared Sun Chips—rifling through her personal things seems almost...wrong.
    There's no way Jaden McEntyre is my link.
    I close the door and move on to the next without searching it.
    But that nagging voice in my head—the detective inside refusing to shut up—reminds me that I don't know she's not my link—not for sure.
    Everyone else is getting checked; why does Jaden always get the free pass?
    I re-open her locker—avoid looking at her, Blake, my own reflection—and push the books aside.
    Nothing.

 
     
    C HAPTER E IGHT
     
     
    I grab a notecard from my bookbag during my last hour Chemistry class and uncap my Sharpie.
    Jaden , I begin. I finished reading Ethan Frome over the weekend and was wondering if you wanted to meet —
    That doesn't sound pathetic at all. And the handwriting is almost impossible to read. I blacken the words and grab another card.
    Jaden, I was going to the library this afternoon, and —
    Frustrated, I scratch through this, too, finally settling on two, simple words: Zeena Sucks . She'll know what it means.
    I lift my hand. Coleman is working on a problem via an ancient overhead projector. The lights are out, the blinds closed, and the machine hums. He's put in enough years—he should know by now this is a recipe for disaster. Sure enough, the entire back row is asleep.
    I clear my throat to get his attention, and he finally calls on me.
    It's so close to the bell that I grab my helmet and bag on the way out, ending my day early. I can't remember exactly which locker is hers—they all look the same after a while—so I start midway down the hall and pull the first door open. Not it. I hold the latch, close the door, then guide it back in place. The door doesn't make a sound.
    I check over both shoulders to make sure no one is approaching. It's risky, scouring lockers during school hours, but I continue down the line. Open. Close. Open. Close.
    And there she is, staring back at me.
    I toss the card inside and quickly shut the door.
    The library is empty when I arrive. The librarian eyes me suspiciously on the way in.
    I know I don't belong here , I want to tell her. That's the point.
    I sit down at our table and check the time on my cell phone. The bell's about to ring. I suck in a quick breath and release it, waiting. It's so quiet I can hear the shuffling of things around the counter, the moving in and out of the office, the stacking and re-stacking of books. I check the time again.
    I can't sit here and act like I'm not doing anything—like I'm waiting for her. Because that would look pathetic. And not that I'm even expecting her to show. She probably has some sort of "Save the Rainforests" meeting to go to, anyway.
    I slide my Geometry book out of my bag and open it to today's lesson. The bell rings, and the hallway fills with people. I wait. Capping my pen. Uncapping it. Flipping pages. Checking the door.
    The parking lot empties, everyone leaving for the day.
    I should've said something about the library. It was stupid of me to assume she'd get the message—that she'd know what it meant.
    I turn back to my Geometry book.
    One set. If she's not here in twenty minutes, I'll leave.
    Halfway through the second problem, the door swings open. My spine stiffens. I force myself not to look—to relax—to listen to the sound of footsteps moving closer. And, when a backpack hits the ground with a thud....
    I'm holding my breath. I didn't even realize….
    "So?" she asks, pulling out the chair directly across from me.
    "So?" I struggle to keep my tone casual, nonchalant.
    "What do you think? I mean, besides 'Zeena Sucks'?" She smiles brightly, showing off these perfectly straight, white teeth—her pink lips freshly glossed.
    Look away from the lips, Whalen .
    "I