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everywhere he went, it wasn’t long before the entire Peter Maxx fandom felt as if they knew everything about Sandy and Peter.
    Everything, that is, but the truth.

7
    PING!
    Josie snapped awake and sat up straight.
    Josie, where r u? duh!
    Oh, no. Ashley. 7:34 a.m. and Josie and her mom were supposed to pick her up at 7:30 so they could get to school by 7:52, the latest they could walk into first period without being marked “tardy” and assigned to detention hall that afternoon.
    Forgot 2 set alarm. Sorryz. . . b right over.
    Josie had forgotten to tell her mom she needed a ride to school. The good news: Josie’s neighbor, Delilah, was a senior and drove a 2005 Honda beater to school every day. Delilah served as backup transportation for when she missed the bus or her mom had already left for work because, on Fridays, her mom went in early so she could get out early and drive the hour down to L.A. to see her boyfriend, Thomas. She was relieved that her mom was finally moving on from the divorce; after two years of kissing frogs she had found someone she loved and who loved her (even if he was a nerdy accountant). But it was doing nothing for her ability to get to school on time.
    Seeing her hair was a mess, Josie put on a purple baseball hat with a pink heart logo on the front. She ran out of the apartment just in time to catch the attention of Delilah, who was backing out of her parking spot.
    â€œD!” Josie shouted over the muffler rumble as she ran toward the car. “D!”
    D rolled down the window.
    â€œWhat up, Brant?”
    â€œCould I catch a ride with you?”
    â€œWhy? Where’s your mom?”
    â€œWork.”
    â€œOh, that sucks.”
    â€œYeah.”
    Delilah looked at the time on her phone. 7:42 a.m.
    â€œOkay, whatevs. Hop in.”
    Josie plopped into the passenger’s seat. “Is it okay if we pick up my friend? It’s on the way.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œShe’s a sophomore,” Josie said tensely.
    â€œDon’t tell me it’s that cheerleader chick who’s always at your apartment.” D’s face twisted into a sourpuss. “That girl is whiter than a roll of toilet paper.”
    â€œAshley?”
    â€œDon’t know her name. But, yeah, she looks like an Ashley.”
    â€œWell, actually, yeah, Ashley is her name. But she’s really not lame at all. She’s pretty cool.”
    D thought for a few seconds, and then declared, “There’s no such thing as a cool cheerleader.” D looked at the time on the dashboard clock. 7:43 a.m.
    â€œAll right. Whatevs. Let’s go.”
    D threw the transmission into drive and peeled out of their apartment complex and headed south on Gosford Avenue for about a half mile. She swerved right into the Oaks, one of the dozens of upper middle-class subdivisions spread around Bakersfield. When Delilah banked a hard right onto Ashley’s street, the wheels squealed into the morning air.
    â€œWhoa!” Josie said, her right shoulder pressing against the door frame.
    But D howled like she was doing loops on a rollercoaster.
    â€œThe tires only squeal ’cuz they’re bald,” Delilah explained with an almost maniacal laugh. “No worries—unless the road’s wet. Then we’d be in the ditches like bitches.”
    Luckily, Josie thought, it hadn’t rained recently.
    Ashley stood in waiting at the end of her driveway, a drab-blue book bag on her shoulder matching the bummed-out look on her face when she saw the black Honda streaking toward a stop in front of her.
    â€œJeesh, Josie.” Ashley plopped into the backseat. “You weren’t out that late last night! I mean, I’m the one who should be tired. I was out way later than you.”
    D shook her head in disgust and wiped her tongue across her purple lipstick-caked lips, as if she was mustering every ounce of energy in her body not to haul off on the perkycheerleader in