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which was a fact, since I didn’t know his number. “If I did, what would we talk about? Weep on each other’s shoulders because we can’t be together? Somehow . . . he and the rest of my friends seem like strangers to me.” Again, Iwas speaking nothing but the truth. “In fact,” I mused aloud, “who would I call if I had a phone? Nobody. What’s the point? I guess I won’t bother.” I heaved a leaden sigh and stared out at the horizon.
    â€œMorgan, I’m so sorry. You are having a tough year. I wish there was something I could do to cheer you up,” said Brooke.
    â€œWe-e-e-l-l,” I said, “you could put the top down. And if it did start to rain, I could put it up again at a red light.”
    â€œOh, Morgan,” she said with a laugh.
    But she pulled over the next chance she got, and we put the top down. The sun came out from behind the clouds and the wind whipped through our hair, and everybody we passed stared after us enviously.
    Yeah, I could get used to this life. . . .

    Janelle’s clothes were definitely too big on me, especially in the bust. However, they were a lot more expensive than the ones I used to wear, so I spent some time in my room trying them on and seeing which ones could be adapted for my figure. There were lots of things, like scarves and jewelry and even shoes, that I could use, and I enjoyed my exploration of the suitcase. Janelle would be getting pretty sick of wearing the same outfit soon, though maybe you didn’t need too many clothes on your honeymoon.
    Tap, tap, tap! It was Brooke knocking on my bedroom door.
    â€œUm . . . Morgan, there’s something funny. . . . Could you come and look at this?”
    Obediently I followed her into her room. Hmm. Definitely bigger than mine, and crammed with goodies. Brooke’s laptop was showing a Facebook feed page. Her finger pointed out a post. I sat down at her desk and looked at it.
    That stupid Janelle!
    She was supposed to be incommunicado in the wilderness, lying low in order to evade detection, yet here she was on Facebook, posting a GIF animation of herself embracing Ashton in front of a muddy-looking body of water. Over and over and over again she bent to kiss him, in a never-ending loop.
    I uttered a hiss of fury. Brooke looked at me, wide-eyed.
    â€œWho is that?” she asked. “Somebody is posting under your name. It’s your account—remember? We became Facebook friends a week before you came.” She studied the image for a moment. “She kind of looks like you.”
    â€œShe does not,” I said coldly, eying the little roll of fat on Janelle’s stomach. “She’s got to be thirty pounds heavier than I am, and trust me, that hair is dyed.”
    â€œBut who is she?”
    â€œMary Ellen Lipinski,” I said, conjuring this name up out of nowhere. “My ex-friend . And that”—I pointed anaccusing finger at Ashton’s self-satisfied face—“is my ex-boyfriend . How could they? I haven’t even been gone for twenty-four hours.”
    â€œOh, Morgan!” cried Brooke, aghast. “I am so sorry! That’s terrible!” She reached out her hand and touched my arm gently. “But,” she said, her face clouding over with confusion, “why would she post using your name?”
    â€œYou don’t know the half of it,” I said, my voice somber. I didn’t know the half of it. I opened my mouth and waited to hear what would come out of it. What villainy could Mary Ellen Lipinski be guilty of ?
    â€œI didn’t want to believe she would go this far, but I guess it’s only logical if you think about it.” I stared at the jerky image of the couple, who appeared to be trying to eat each other’s faces. “She has been . . . How do I explain? Ever since she transferred to our school last year, she’s been trying