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hadn’t left her bed, her room, hadn’t left Devereaux and found a huge can of paint and carried it up to the tower and dumped it on people.
    Of course she hadn’t.
    But … if she hadn’t gone wandering last night … if she’d stayed in her bed from the moment she got into it until Ivy and Suze arrived this morning … if that was true, then …
    Where had the red paint come from on her white blouse and blue denim skirt?
    Deciding she couldn’t stay in her room all day and go crazy wondering what was going on, Quinn dressed quickly in jeans and a gray university sweatshirt. She snaked one foot under the bed to drag her sneakers forward.
    The left one emerged, lying on its side. The foot went back in and pulled out the right shoe.
    It wasn’t lying on its side. It was sitting upright, laces untied.
    But it was no longer the all-white shoe she had discarded the night before.
    Now, like the white blouse and the denim skirt, the white sneaker wore huge ragged splotches of bright red, as if it were bleeding.
    Quinn stared down at the shoe, her mouth hanging loosely open, her blue eyes silvery with unshed tears. And she knew why her socks were still as clean as when she’d donned them the night before.
    Because if she had gone somewhere in her sleep last night, she hadn’t gone in her socks.
    This time, she had put on her shoes.

Chapter 8
    Q UINN HAD NO IDEA how she got through her classes that day. Everywhere she went on campus, people were talking about Carlie and Donner. There were a dozen different theories about why it had happened. Someone knew a girl who had a thing for Donner and was jealous of Carlie … maybe she had done it. There was this guy on the basketball team who had been following Carlie around … maybe he had done it. Someone knew a practical joker who was always looking for stunts to pull and probably thought dumping paint on people would be a hoot. Maybe he had done it.
    It was all speculation. No one knew anything for certain. Security guards in Salem uniforms were everywhere, asking questions. But no one seemed to have any definite answers.
    Quinn was haunted by the dreadful possibility that she might be the one person on campus who had the answer.
    She met Ivy and Tobie for lunch, but none of them ate anything. Tobie’s face was pale and pinched-looking, and Ivy looked tired, her usual energy riot in evidence.
    They were on the way out of the dining hall when Quinn spotted Simon coming toward them. She could tell by the look on his face that he’d already seen them. His mouth was as straight-edged as a ruler, his cheeks slightly flushed. He was carrying a package from the mall sports shop.
    New sneakers probably, Quinn thought testily. The better to run away from Quinn Hadley.
    He passed the trio with a mumbled “hey.” But Quinn, red-faced, had taken only a few steps when he called out softly, “Quinn? See you a minute?”
    “Go ahead,” Ivy urged as Quinn hesitated. “Catch up with us later.” Then she grabbed Tobie’s elbow and pulled her away, leaving no room for Quinn to argue.
    When she turned to face Simon, he was standing under a huge old oak tree, its new leaves just starting to emerge. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. After what happened to Carlie and Donner, I thought you might be a little shaky.”
    “It was awful,” she admitted. Then she remembered the abrupt way Simon had left her life and became angry all over again. “But I really don’t see how my feelings concern you. I mean, you’ve made it very clear that you’re not interested, right?”
    Instantly, she wanted to kick herself. Hadn’t she promised herself that she wouldn’t ask him what had happened? And now here she was, making a big deal out of a simple question from him. Fool!
    “ I’m not interested?” Simon’s thick, sandy eyebrows married in a frown. “I’m not the one who wrote the letter, am I?”
    It was Quinn’s turn to look puzzled. “Letter? What letter?”
    Simon withdrew a