Depp and Adele.

I tilt my head back so I’m looking at Rowan upside

down. “What exactly do you think you know?”

“Well, I know you have a phone, I know you talk to

Sawyer at night when you think I’m sleeping, I know somebody’s having a vision of some kind of . . . shooting, and you

all seem to think you have to do something about it.” Trey snorts and sits up. “Well, that about sums it up,

Ro.” He shakes his head, laughing. “Thank you and good

night, everyone—I’ve got an early morning, so, uh, Jules?

You wanna take this one in your office?”

I just stare dumbfounded at Rowan.

“Oh!” Trey adds, standing and fishing inside the

pocket of his jeans. He pulls out a familiar key chain.

“Just remembered. Great news. Dad says it’s time to start

advertising at school again.” He gives me a patronizing

smile and hands the keys to the new meatball truck to me.

“Don’t crash it. Have a ball.”

“Har har. Don’t forget my ten bucks,” I mutter, taking

the keys, and then I get up and shuffle toward the door,

dragging Rowan by her pajama collar. “Come on, you

little weasel,” I say. “Girls quarters. Immediately.” Mom and Dad are still in the restaurant. Ro and I go

into our room and close the door. Rowan pulls her terry

cloth robe from the closet, rolls it up, and presses it against

the crack under the door as a sound barrier. I stand at the

closet, take off my clothes, and put on some booty shorts and

my “Peace, Love, Books” shirt, which I got from this dope

bookshop called Anderson’s. Ever since the visions, I started

wearing it to bed because it made me feel calm, and bed plus

calm equals sleep. Which I can always use more of. Rowan turns out the light so when our parents come

upstairs there’s no chance of them seeing any light through

the door cracks and barging in, and we climb into her bed.

I lay on my side and sling my arm over her waist like I used

to do when we were younger, and we talk about what the

hell she’s about to do.

“I guess I want to meet him,” I say. I feel like the mom. She’s quiet for a moment. “Well, come to the library

during second hour, then. Tomorrow. I’m always in that

little study room with the door shut.”

“I have class.”

Rowan sighs. “Honestly, Jules. You’re supposed to be

the bad child.”

“What, you want me to skip class? They’ll call home.” “Not if you have a note from Mom.”

“Right, and that’ll be easy.”

“Oh, Jules. Tsk.”

“What, you forge her signature too? Do you even go

to class at all?”

“I’m pretty good at it, actually.”

I shake my head in Rowan’s pillow and almost laugh.

“One day you are going to get so busted.”

“Nope,” she says. “Because I have you taking the focus

away.”

“At least you admit it.”

“Why wouldn’t I? I’m nothing if not grateful.” I pinch her upper inner arm in the soft spot that hurts

about fifty times more than it should, and she stifles a yelp

and jabs her elbow into my boob.

“Ow, loser,” I mutter.

We nurse our injuries. “Okay, fine,” I say. “Write me a

note and I’ll find you.”

“In my mind it’s already written,” she says.

“Okay, Gandhi.”

“That was Yoda.”

“Not even close.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a little young for Star Wars.” “You’re a little young for having a long-distance boyfriend.”

“You’re a little young for stalking a serial killer.” “It—he—they’re not serial killers,” I say. “It’s a school

shooting.” I spend the next ten minutes giving her the

whole explanation of the past months, including my crash

vision and how everything happened with that, and everything that’s now happening with Sawyer.

And she just listens and doesn’t seem surprised or

incredulous or anything. All she says is “I wonder what the

shooters’ motivation is?”

“So you believe it?” I ask.

“Why wouldn’t I? You, Trey, and Sawyer can’t all be

nuts.”

What a relief.

Later, when I’m in my own bed, falling asleep while

waiting for Sawyer to call me, Rowan whispers, “Jules?” I open my eyes and stare at the blinking neon light on

the wall. “Yeah?”

“You said Sawyer thinks it’s happening soon, right?

And the weather forecast has the snow gone by early next

week?”

“Yeah.”

“Next week is spring break for all public schools

around here. Nobody’s in school. Every classroom in

Chicago will be empty.”

My heart clutches and I suck in a breath. And then my

pillow starts vibrating.

Twenty-Two

“Hey,” Sawyer says, his voice a husky whisper that slides down my spine. “Sorry it’s so late. Did I wake you?” “No, Rowan and I were just talking.”