The bell rang. Emma dabbed a bit of concealer she’d found in the bottom of Sutton’s bag under her eyes, gave her dark hair a final fluff, and strode out the door as confidently as she could, even though her stomach was roiling. The hallway was packed with people at their lockers, girls hugging and squealing about their summer vacations, and guys in football and basketball jerseys shoving one another into the water fountains.
“Hi, Sutton!” a girl called as she passed. Emma forced the corners of her lips into a smile. “Can’t wait for your party next Friday!” a guy yelled to Emma from the other end of the hall. Inside a classroom, two dark-haired girls whispered and pointed right at her. The note flashed back to Emma’s mind again. Anyone could’ve written it . . . even someone at school.
She pulled out the schedule Mrs. Mercer had given her at breakfast. Luckily, she was close to Sutton’s first class of the day, something simply abbreviated as G-103 in Room 114. As Emma crossed through the doorway, she saw a big black, red, and yellow flag hanging from the post by the blackboard. A placard that said RESPECT THE MIGHTY UMLAUT! stood on the teacher’s desk. Along the far wall was a poster of a pudgy-faced boy in lederhosen. A speech bubble by his mouth contained the words EINS, ZWEI, DREI!
Emma scowled. The G on the schedule stood for German. Eins, zwei, and drei were the only German words she knew. Perfect. She willed herself not to start crying all over again.
More kids smiled at Emma as she walked down the aisle and fell into a seat at the back. Then she noticed a familiar dark-haired guy sitting by the window, staring out at the red running track: It was Ethan, the stargazing guy Emma had met last night. Mr. Rebel Without a Cause.
Ethan turned and looked over his shoulder, as if he sensed Emma was watching. His eyes seemed to come alive when he saw her. Emma lobbed him a tiny smile hello. He smiled back. But when another girl walked up the aisle and purred “Hey, Ethan,” Ethan only gave her a terse nod.
“Psst!” a voice called from the other side of the room. Emma swiveled around and saw Garrett’s spiky blond head a few rows over. He waved at her and winked. Emma waved back, but she felt like such an impostor. What would Sutton’s boyfriend think if he knew she was really dead? And now she couldn’t even tell him.
The bell rang again, and everyone scrambled to find their desks. An Asian woman with man-short hair and wearing a long blue dress that looked way too stifling for the Arizona heat marched stiffly into the room. Frau Fenstermacher, she wrote on the board in spiky handwriting, drawing a sharp line underneath. Emma wondered if she’d changed her last name for authenticity.
Frau Fenstermacher pushed her clear, Lucite-framed glasses farther down her nose as she examined the class list. “Paul Anders?” she barked.
“Here,” a guy in dark-framed glasses and a Grizzly Bear band T-shirt mumbled.
“Answer in German!” The teacher was barely over five feet tall, but there was something solid and menacing about her that made it look like she could kick someone’s ass.
“Oh.” Paul blushed. “Ja.” It sounded like yah.
“Garrett Austin?”
“Ja, ja.” Garrett said it like the Swedish Chef. Everyone giggled.
Frau Fenstermacher called more names. Emma ran her fingers nervously over an anarchy symbol someone had carved into the top of the desk. Say ja when she calls for Sutton Mercer, she silently chanted over and over. She was sure she was going to forget.
Nine jas later, Frau Fenstermacher blanched at the roll sheet. “Sutton Mercer?” she called in the angriest voice of all.
Emma’s mouth opened, but it was like someone had stuffed wiener schnitzel down her throat. Everyone turned to stare at her. The giggles started again.
Frau’s eyebrows came to a point. “I see you there, Fraulein Mercer. I know who you are, too. You’re a Teufel Kind. Devil Child. But not in my class, ja?” She spit as she spoke.
The whole class swiveled from Emma to Frau Fenstermacher to Emma again, as if they were watching a Ping-Pong match. Emma licked her dry lips. “Ja,” she said. Her voice cracked.
Everyone laughed again. “I heard she almost got arrested twice this summer,” a girl in a long sweater vest and skinny jeans whispered to a wavy-haired girl across the aisle. “And I heard her car was impounded, too. She had so many traffic violations that they finally towed the thing away.”
“The cops brought her to school this morning,” the wavy-haired friend whispered back.
Sweater Vest shrugged. “Not surprised.”
Emma sank down in her chair, thinking about the file at the police station with Sutton’s name on it. What kind of crazy girl was she? She reached into the pocket and touched the edge of the note, desperately wanting someone to see it, to believe it. But then she loosened her grip, pulled out Sutton’s iPad, and placed it on the desk. Now if only she could figure out how to turn it on.
Six more classes of circumspect teachers. Eight wrong turns. A lunch period with Madeline and Charlotte congratulating Emma on showing up to school in a police car—apparently, to them, it was a good thing. Finally, at the end of the day, Emma opened Sutton’s locker. She’d broken down and looked through Sutton’s wallet for money before lunch, realizing there was no way she could get through the day without eating something. Besides cash, Sutton’s America’s Next Top Model–worthy driver’s license, an Amex Blue, and a wallet-sized Virgo horoscope for the month of August, Emma had found a tiny slip of paper that listed Sutton’s locker number and combination. It was as though Sutton had put it there on purpose, hoping Emma would find it.