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pressed her own hand on the window next to them. She held it there a second, then drew it away.
    â€œWhat the hell . . .”
    Side by side, the smudges weren’t the same.
    Someone else had been in her room.

Sunday
    The fountain, 8:10 p.m.
    The dusk light glowed with a hundred twinkling flames. It would have been romantic if not for the cloud of death hanging over everyone’s heads. Corny Davenport reached for her boyfriend’s hand, but he seemed reluctant to touch her. He fiddled with his candle, pretending to be distracted by a drip of wax. He was obviously embarrassed. Corny wished he would relax and submit to being comforted by her. They were sixteen; no one expected them to be strong.
    â€œHold my hand,” Corny whispered to him. Winn looked over his shoulder first, checking if anyone was looking. Corny felt a twinge of irritation, but it only lasted a second. Poor Winn, she thought. He didn’t know how to deal with death. None of them did. They especially didn’t know how to deal with suicide. Everyone had some crazy explanation for why Brittany jumped, mostly involving the supernatural: The mascot costume was cursed because the football team lost to Lowell four years in a row; the bridgewas cursed because those kids who’d died a few years ago had been Satanists.
    Why is it easier to believe in curses than to believe that a cheerleader could have depression? Corny thought. Being a cheerleader could be very depressing! You were responsible for the happiness of the entire school! Which was a hard job when the football team was having a terrible season, and it was raining a lot, and Lillian Davis’s grandfather died so they couldn’t have parties at his plantation anymore, and it was just generally not being the greatest year. Everyone leaned on the cheerleaders to keep their spirits up, and clearly Brittany had collapsed from the pressure.
    The whole thing gave Corny a sad, motherly feeling, like she wanted to scoop up the entire school into a big hug. She was always hugging people—it’s why everyone called her Corny. Her real name was Courtney Anne, but Corny fit her personality; she was a completely sentimental dork. And she’d never felt so purely in her element as she did at that moment. Everyone was vulnerable; everyone needed a hug. She’d given at least a hundred hugs today and felt like she could give a hundred more. Especially to Winn, who really needed one, even if he wouldn’t admit it.
    â€œIt isn’t fair!” one of the cheerleaders was moaning. “Heaven is full of angels! Why did they need to take Brittany, too?” Then she began crying bitterly. Corny spotted her like a hawk, swooping upon the needy soul to envelop her in a deep, warm hug.
    Winn wiped his hand on his pants. His palm had been sweating for a while, and he’d been wishing Corny would let go of it. But as soon as she was gone, he almost immediately wished she would come back. It made him twitchy and jealous, the way she smothered other people with attention. It was embarrassing, and it undermined him as her boyfriend. All Winn’s teammates on the football team had an exact idea of her body, because she was always affectionately plastering herself on them, pressing her huge, pillowy boobs against their broad chests. Sometimes she even hugged them when they were sitting down, which was pretty much just smashing her boobs in their faces. Winn was always scanning the crotches of his friends to see if they got hard-ons when she jumped on them. It was a gross, paranoid habit, but Winn told himself he was doing it to protect her. Corny was kind of clueless. Actually she was a lot like Brittany in that way. And it was easy to take advantage of girls like that. Girls who didn’t understand the power of their bodies.
    8:30 p.m.
    Benny squeezed his way into the crowd. It was unclear who had organized the vigil, but now almost the entire high school was