Trey whips his head around as somebody enters the office behind us.

It’s Sawyer.

He looks as puzzled as we are.

The cop asks us our names, and then the principal comes out, and they make us go back into his office, and the only thing I can think of is that my dad went postal and took out Sawyer’s parents and then killed himself. Mom, I think, and now I’m freaking myself out and telling myself to calm down.

We sit in chairs, and none of our parents are there, most likely because they’re dead, and then the cop says, “Where were you at lunch today?” And this is weird, but right then I realize he’s the guy who fills in once a week for our regular beat cop, Al, by the restaurant, and somehow knowing that makes me feel better.

“Wait.” Sawyer holds his hand out. “Um, did somebody die? Why are we here?”

Principal Grimm interjects. “Mr. Angotti, kindly answer the question.”

Trey sits up, his eyes sparking. “You’re not going to tell us if somebody died?”

“Nobody died,” the cop says.

“Jeeezabel,” I say, slumping back in relief. “You gave us a heart attack.”

The cop and Principal Grimm exchange a look. And then the cop repeats the question. “Where were you at lunch today?”

“We ate lunch in the cafeteria. Together,” Trey says. “And then we wandered the halls until the next period started like everybody always does. Are we in trouble or something?”

The cop looks at me. “What did you talk about?”

“What?” I ask, confused as hell, and then my blood runs cold. Somebody overheard something. I sense Trey stiffening in the chair next to me.

“We received a 911 call from a student who says he overheard you three talking about something suspicious. Do you want to tell me what you were talking about?”

I keep the puzzled look on my face. “Let’s see, we talked about the weather warming up, we talked about our work schedules—me and Trey at Demarco’s Pizzeria, and Sawyer at Angotti’s Trattoria—” I add, in case it helps. “And, gosh, I don’t know,” I say, looking at the boys on either side of me. “My psych project, maybe? TV shows, video games?” I start throwing out random things, hoping one of them will save me.

“Call of Duty,” Sawyer says. “You ever play?” He looks at the cop. “It’s kind of violent, but . . .”

The cop doesn’t answer. He looks at me and my cast, and then at the scratches I almost forgot I have on my neck. “You’re the Demarco kids who saved this guy’s parents’ restaurant,” he says, flicking a thumb at Sawyer.

“Yes,” Trey says. “Well, it was mostly Jules.”

I blush appropriately, for once. “You’re our beat cop when Al has his days off, aren’t you?” I ask.

“Police officer,” Principal Grimm corrects.

The cop grins for the first time, rolls his eyes without the principal seeing. He pockets his little notebook and adjusts the gun on his belt. “Yeah, I’m your fill-in beat cop,” he says to me, and then he turns to the principal. “I think we’re done here.”

The principal’s eyes flicker, but he nods. “Thank you, Officer Bentley.”

The cop leaves, and then the principal looks at us. He clasps his hands together. “Well. You may go.”

We all stand up and file out to the reception area. Principal Grimm flags down Miss Branderhorst to write us excuses to get back into class.

Once we’re in the hallway and my heart starts beating again, I let out a staggered breath. I don’t dare say anything or even look at Trey and Sawyer. When we turn the corner, Sawyer puts his arm over my shoulders, and then Trey puts his arm over my shoulders and Sawyer’s arm, and I reach around both of their waists, and we don’t talk. Not a word.

Except for when Trey says, “All right. I’m in. But only to keep you bozos from getting killed.”

Nineteen

After school Trey and Sawyer head to the library while I drive Rowan home. She observes me loftily. “Are you going to tell me what happened to your neck?”

My fingers automatically reach up to touch the scratches. “Oh. Stupid Roxie took something and I accidentally scratched her trying to get it back, so she lunged at me and scratched the hell out of my neck.”

“Wow. Well, I guess she’s probably jealous.”

I raise an eyebrow, check my speedometer, touch the brakes just slightly. “Of what?”

“Come on,” Rowan says. “Pay attention for once. She’s been in love with Sawyer for years.”

“Years? How would you know?”

“The same way you sophomores know more about the junior class than you know about the freshman class. Everybody watches up.”

I’m a little surprised at how delicious this news feels. “I thought they were just friends.”

“Please. Is anyone just friends? There are always other motivating factors in relationships. Maybe not constant, but consistent.”

I look at her.

She looks back at me, her face certain.

I shrug, wondering how she became such a philosopher all of a sudden.

“So now what?” Rowan says.

“Now what what?”

“Now what are you guys doing? You, Trey. Sawyer. Something’s up.”

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

She flips the visor down and examines her face. “My flight is Sunday morning,” she says. She rummages through her backpack and pulls out a pair of tweezers, then starts plucking invisible hairs from her perfect eyebrows.