I check to make sure Sawyer hears it, and he nods. And then, with tears in his eyes, he mouths, “I’m so sorry.”

Later, after Trey has been wheeled into the ER, a doctor checks me over. He gets an intern to cut my blood-soaked cast off, and we decide there’s no reason to put a new one on since I was getting it off later in the week anyway.

While I’m sitting there, the cops arrive to interview me and the others who have trickled in. I tell them what happened, my voice getting shaky all over again. “We were sitting in chairs,” I begin, “and Ben was leading the meeting. The girl and blond guy got up and pulled guns out. My friend Sawyer and I both reacted—the shooters were right in front of us so we saw them. The girl was yelling hate speech against the LGBT students. I dove for the girl’s legs to knock her off her feet. Her gun went off a bunch of times . . . I’m not sure how many. I saw that Sawyer had the other guy on the floor.” I tell them how the girl got away from me and held the gun to Ben’s head, and then how my brother burst in and broke the glass in the door, and how that distracted the girl and Ben punched her and she shot Trey instead.

And when they ask me how I knew to react so quickly, I just look at them. “I don’t know,” I say. The cops seem satisfied, and they’re gone before my parents arrive.

My parents.

Yeah. Five things I don’t want to talk about:

1. Why the heck Trey and I were getting shot at

when our little sister was missing

2. Why we were clear on the other side of the city

when we were supposed to be grounded

3. How on earth their good son could be with them

one hour and shot in the arm the next

4. Why we want to give them so much grief, because

first the crash and then Rowan and now this

5. How that Angotti boy fits into all of this mess

And all I can think to say in response is “At least I didn’t wreck the balls.”

They are not amused. But thankfully they have a lot of other stuff on their minds.

And after the docs get a good look at Trey and fix him up, they tell us we are very lucky, because the bullet passed through the muscle of his arm and didn’t hit any bones and barely nicked an artery. And while there may be some nerve damage, he should regain full use after a few months. They’re going to keep him here for a couple of days.

Once I get to see that Trey’s all right, I wonder where Sawyer is. I leave Mom and Dad in Trey’s room and venture out to the waiting room. And there, either stupid or stoic, is the boy I love. The blood on his face is wiped clean, and he has a couple of stitches on his forehead. Sitting next to him are two guys. One I don’t recognize, and the other is leaning forward with his face in his hands, and I don’t realize who he is until he looks up. It’s Ben.

Sawyer stands up fast when he sees me. He looks me all over. “You okay?”

I nod. I have some bruises, a few cuts, but that’s it. “You?”

“Fine. How’s Trey?”

“Trey’s okay,” I say, and it’s clear by the look on Sawyer’s face that he hadn’t heard anything yet. “I’m sorry, I thought they’d tell you.”

“No.”

“Have you heard anything about the others?”

“They’re alive,” Sawyer says.

Ben glances at Sawyer with a puzzled look. “How do you know?”

“I mean, I guess I don’t know,” Sawyer says, giving me a look that says he really does. Because the vision changed, I’m sure, like mine did, right there at the end. “But they were alive when the paramedics took them. So I hope . . .”

Ben stands up and comes over to us. “Hey,” he says to me. “I don’t know if you remember. I’m Ben Galang—”

“Freshman,” I say. “Just voted in as next year’s secretary.” I smile. “Your first charity event ever.”

Ben’s face crumbles, and I feel terrible. Because he doesn’t know everybody lives. He doesn’t know how bad it could have been.

“Shit,” I say. “I’m sorry. I’m stupid. I’m just a stupid non-college student who is, um, stupid.”

He holds back his emotion, and then he says, “You guys saved our lives.”

And you know what’s funny in a not-funny way? I almost forgot that part, because I got so wrapped up in the clues that none of the tragedy seems real. And I hate that about me. Sawyer shrugs and says, “We just had the clearest view of what was happening.” He looks at me. “Gotta stay on your toes when you run with danger girl’s crowd.”

I squelch a smile. “You guys want to check on the others? I should get back to my family. See if I can get my parents to stop freaking out.”

Sawyer gives me a sympathetic smile, and then we hold each other for a long minute, unable to talk about it all right now, but both of us saying everything we can with a kiss to a forehead and one to the lips.

When his arms stiffen, I turn around, and he lets me go. My mother is there in the doorway. She shakes her head and opens her mouth to speak, and then shakes her head again, like she can’t believe my gall. And then she closes her eyes and sighs heavily. “Hello, Sawyer,” she says.

“Hi, Mrs. Demarco.”

“You’re not too badly hurt?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Your parents . . .” She looks around.

“They’re not here.”