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words.
    “Well, what kind of clue would you suppose the similarity between you is?” she asked, clearly curious enough to indulge me.
    I thought about it for a few seconds, though I didn’t really need that long. I had been thinking about it for eight hours a night for over a month now.
    “I think whoever lured me there was sending me a message.” There, I said it. Talk about breakthroughs. Two secrets revealed in one session. This had to be my record. And saying it out loud only clarified it in my mind. Whoever was behind this planted a girl who looked just like me, to make sure I saw the connection. To make sure I protected her. To make sure I pulled the trigger.
    That’s who LeMarq was talking to on the phone—the one he thanked for the “delivery.” There was a man behind the curtain, pulling the strings. A mastermind. But I couldn’t fathom who or why.
    “Maybe one of the other criminals I’d been following discovered me and was trying to get me killed or arrested,” I said, thinking out loud. “Maybe someone who had a grudge against my mom.”
    “Ruby,” Dr. T said, “why don’t we break a bit early today. I don’t want you to go crazy overthinking this.”
    I looked back to her, expecting a symbolic cookie for my hard work in “opening up.” Instead, she’d said the C-word and started putting papers in her briefcase.
    I was about to ask what I’d said wrong when she stood and spoke first. “I’ll see you on Friday.” My mouth dropped open in shock—she’d never ended a session early. And she’d never reacted so brusquely.
    Before I could voice my confusion, she promptly turned tail and exited the room.
    Leaving me wondering what had just happened.
     
     

CHAPTER 4
     
    Art, schmart. I didn’t get it. And certainly not much of this stuff created for the Huntington Beach High School Art Fair.
    I walked around the muggy, fried-food-scented cafeteria, just like the rest of the sheep, staring and baahhing at the individual pieces. I found myself lingering in front of a violent explosion of black, purple, and red paint on white canvas. I think it was supposed to be abstract, but it was probably just some emo kid’s attempt to throw something together for a grade. To me, it looked like one of those inkblot tests psychologists used to determine a person’s emotional well-being. Good thing Dr. T didn’t use this kind of thing on me.
    I pulled my notebook and pen out of my backpack and tried to formulate my thoughts. We were supposed to find two pieces of art that “appealed” to us and then write down why. It was an official assignment, which meant I had to do my best if I wanted to stay on the rails of my valedictorian train track. One that was increasingly steep and treacherous these days.
    I took a sharp breath and narrowed my eyes on the textured colors .
    The first words that came to mind were blood spatter , grim reaper , and—
    “Seriously, do I have to force feed you normal?” Alana appeared beside me, looping her arm through mine and dragging me away from my morbid tendencies. “Come over and see the painting of La Jolla Cove that I did. It has blue skies and sunshine.”
    “Does it have chubby little baby seals in it, too?” I put my pen behind my ear and followed.
    “No, seals are too loud and ugly and smelly. But maybe in the distance there’s a certain hot boy in board shorts kissing a certain brown girl in a bikini.” She licked her lips in a way I didn’t need to see.
    “Are you ever going to grow out of the boy-crazy phase?” I teased her.
    “Don’t be jealous,” she said. “Kissing’s no crime. You should try it again sometime. You know, like therapy. And I know someone who would be happy to help with the treatment.”
    “Alana, give it a rest, for, like, a day,” I said, finally pulling away from the WWF armlock she had on me. Plus, who would want to kiss me anyway? My Social Point Average had taken an even deeper nosedive after the shooting.
    “Just