Ash shakes her head. Derek and PJ both slap me five as they settle into their seats. It’s been like this ever since spring break. We’re friends.

Lillia gives me a smile, but then looks down at her lap when Ash leans across her to talk to Derek like she’s not even there. Those two are still on the outs, I guess.

We shoot the shit for a few minutes until Alex clears his throat and asks, “Does anyone know if Reeve’s coming?” Everyone shrugs their shoulders and avoids looking at one another.

Lillia keeps her eyes down, sweeping invisible crumbs off the tabletop. Neither of us have a clue how people found out about what Reeve did to Mary. I’ve been telling as many blabbermouths as I can to get their facts straight, the girl didn’t actually die, but it hasn’t really helped stem the tide. Gossip has a life of its own, and people are going to believe what they want. It’s hitting Reeve harder than hard. I feel bad for the guy, but what else can I do? He did do some effed-up shit. The thing I can’t figure out is who let that secret out. It definitely wasn’t Lillia. And even if Alex knew, he wouldn’t do that.

Finally Derek says, “Um, he might not be in school today. Or, if he is, he skipped our English quiz.”

Alex twists in his seat so he can see the clock on the wall. “Okay. Well, we’d better get started.” Alex opens the meeting by using his empty soda bottle as a gavel. “Let this meeting of Jar Island prom committee officially come to order. It looks like we’ve got someone new with us today. Would you care to introduce yourself?”

Lillia laughs, and I roll my eyes. Alex is so corny sometimes. “Shut up, Alex. Look. Basically I’m here because I think it’s a stupid-ass idea to have prom at a freaking nightclub all the way in Boston. I think we should have it here, on Jar Island, like we do every year.”

PJ shrugs his shoulders. “I doubt we’ll be able to get a new location. It’s already crawling with tourists again. This stuff needs to be reserved a year in advance.”

I fold my arms. “Well, then no one’s going to come.”

Ash sighs. “I hate to say it, but Kat might be right. Nobody’s buying tickets because they can’t afford it.”

Lillia says, “Even if we did find another location, we don’t have any funds to reserve it. We’ll lose our deposit on the club for sure. They made us sign a contract and pay them in full.”

“What about our gym?” PJ suggests. “I bet the school would let us use it.”

No one says anything. Me either, actually, because a high school prom in our ugly gym sounds lame.

Lillia, being a good sport, clears her throat. “I mean, sure. I guess we could ask the janitors to clear out the mats and light some scented candles to get rid of the smell.”

Ashlin moans, “OMG, this is going to be the most low-rent prom in history. Even worse than the time they had prom at that nursing home rec room a couple of years ago. Remember it smelled like Depends? I wonder if they’re booked. . . .”

I glance across the table at Alex. “What about your house?”

“Huh?” He snorts. “My house is big, but we can’t fit the entire senior class in it.”

“Then we’ll rent a big tent and pitch it in the backyard. Didn’t your uncle have his wedding there?”

“Third wedding. Yeah. And he invited a ton of people.” He cocks his head to the side. “This could work. My mom loves to put on an event. She was talking about throwing me a big graduation party. Maybe she could do this instead.”

“All right, cool,” I say. “But we’re going to have to kick planning into high gear to get everything ready. I’ll take the lead.” I open up my notebook and start delegating work and subcommittees and all that shit for the next thirty minutes straight, and everyone’s nodding their heads, totally on board with me taking over.

A few weeks ago I planned on graduating without ever attending prom, and now I’m basically running the show.

The bell rings, and we head out. Ash drops her makeup bag on her way out of the room, and Lillia picks it up and runs it to her. Ash takes it and quietly says thank you, but it’s not exactly warm.

If I’ve learned anything this year, it’s that life’s too f**king short. I wasted too much time being angry and bitter. I wish I could go back in time and say a thousand things to Rennie. It’s too late for that, but it’s not too late for Ash and Lillia.

Chapter Forty-Eight

LILLIA

KAT TEXTS ME ABOUT AN emergency prom committee meeting at Ash’s house, seven p.m. It makes sense. We’ve got so much to do. It’s already April.

So after dinner I drive over to Ash’s. I must be the first one to arrive, because there aren’t any other cars in the driveway. Their housekeeper, Sheila, lets me in, and I go straight up to Ashlin’s room. The door is closed, so I knock. She doesn’t answer, so I poke my head in. She’s asleep under the covers. Ashlin has always loved an after-school nap. I clear my throat. “Ash?”

Ashlin stirs and rolls over. “Lil?”

I stand in the doorway awkwardly. “Sorry I woke you up. Is anyone else here yet?”

Groggily Ash sits up. She’s in one of her big cheerleading T-shirts and pink-and-green polka-dot underwear. Her fluffy blond hair looks like chicken feathers in the back. She looks so—Ash. I didn’t realize how much I missed her until this moment. She checks her phone. “What are you talking about?”

“The emergency meeting.” That’s when I realize—this is Kat’s doing. She’s trying to bring Ash and me back together. I can’t believe it. I step in and perch at the edge of her bed. “Sorry. I guess I heard Kat wrong.”

Yawning, Ash eyes me. “So is it true you and Reeve are done-zo?”

I nod. “The whole thing was a mistake from the start.”

“I don’t blame you for breaking up with him. You think you know somebody . . . I mean, bullying a girl so bad she kills herself?” Ash shakes her head.

“I know,” I say quietly. “Who told you?”

“Some girl from yearbook. She went to school with him at Montessori.”

My heart is beating wildly. “What’s her name?”

“I don’t remember. She has blond hair. Pretty. Kinda soft-spoken.”

Chills tickle my spine like piano keys. It’s Mary. It has to be.

Ash continues, twirling her hair around her fingers. “When Reeve transferred back from Montessori, he seemed totally fine, like no big deal. You’d never have known a girl had just died because of him.”

“He was young,” I say, my voice thin. “And I think it hit him a lot harder than anybody knows. He just didn’t let anybody see.”

“True. That’s how he deals, right? He doesn’t.” She leans back against her pillows. “When Ren died, I don’t think I saw him cry once, and he knew her the longest of everybody. He just keeps things locked up inside. Like, I think that being with you might have been his way of not dealing with his pain.”

“We never should have been together in the first place.” Saying it out loud makes me feel like crying, but I know it’s true.

“I don’t know. I still think what went down was a betrayal to Ren. Like, no matter what, it was effed up, what you guys did. But I think you and I both know that Reeve never saw her that way. They never would have ended up together. And he’s always had a thing for you, and Ren knew it.”

“No, he hasn’t,” I say. “He hated me.”

“Maybe so, but freshman year he told Derek that you were the hottest girl in our class and he wanted to hit it.” Ashlin scratches her neck. “You’ve always had a love-hate thing. I’ve been thinking about this a lot. I wonder if Rennie’s dying isn’t what finally brought you guys together.”

I let this idea roll around in my head for a second. “What do you mean?”

Slowly she says, “Well . . . I don’t know. I mean, you guys knew her best. So maybe it was a natural thing for you to reach out to each other when she died. Maybe that’s why it was so intense and crazy.”

The thought never occurred to me. Because Reeve and I started having feelings for each other before Rennie died. But now I’m starting to wonder if things would’ve gotten so serious with us if Rennie hadn’t died. We were both grieving for our friend, and then everybody was shunning us and all we had was each other. It was us against the world. I never knew Ash had such a perceptive side. But she’s making sense.

My eyes well up. “I miss you. I know I messed up. But, Ash, high school’s almost over, and I don’t want to leave it like this, with you hating me.”

Ash looks down at her comforter. “I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t?”

“No. I’ve missed you, too,” she admits. “Spring break wasn’t the same without you and Reeve. Kat was so annoying. It’s like, okay, we get it, you’re a badass. You can stop walking around the boat in a wifebeater with a cigar hanging out of your mouth. But I did have fun with that girl Brianna.”

I wipe my eyes with the back of my arm, and Ash offers me the corner of her comforter. “Kat’s actually really cool when you get to know her,” I say. “The badass stuff is just a front.” And then I say, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about me and Reeve. I didn’t want to keep it a secret from you. Things just got so complicated.”

Ashlin nods. “You want to get nachos at Greasy Spoon?” And just like that, our fight, and this conversation, is over. It’s so her. And I’m grateful for that.

Chapter Forty-Nine

MARY

I APPEAR IN THE DOORWAY to shop class and set my sights on Reeve. He’s off to the side of the room by himself, sitting on a stool in front of the table saw, his shoulders hunched, staring at a pile of sawdust on the floor near his feet. His project, a birdhouse, is only half completed. It’s missing a roof and a perch.

“Reeve!”

Reeve slowly lifts his head and looks over at the shop teacher, Mr. Werther. Everyone else in class has finished with their birdhouses. The projects are in a line on Mr. Werther’s desk, and he’s going through and assigning them each a grade.

“What?” Reeve says snottily, without looking up.

“You’ve got twenty more minutes before you get a zero.”

Reeve shakes his head and sneers, “Like I care about a f**king birdhouse,” barely under his breath. Then he turns on the saw blade by stepping on the floor pedal with his foot.

The students look at each other and murmur. Mr. Werther looks momentarily stunned that one of his students would be so rude. He shouts over the sudden burst of noise, “That’s ten points off for operating the saw without your safety goggles.”

“Awesome,” Reeve deadpans.

He presses his foot down more on the saw pedal, and the blade whirls so fast, it turns into a silver blur and lifts up the hair away from his forehead.

I stroll over and lean in to Reeve’s ear.

In a singsong voice I say, “You deserve everything that’s happening to you, Reeve. Every single terrible thing.” I know he can hear me. “You are not a good person. And now nothing good will ever come to you. I will make sure of that.”

Reeve closes his eyes. He hears me. I know he does.

“You’re a murderer.” I walk around the table so that I’m directly in front of the saw, lick my lips, and say, “You killed me. You’ve got blood on your hands.”

Reeve’s eyes pop open. I can see the hair on his neck stand up. I smile and say it a little louder. “That’s why Lillia left you, Reeve. She saw the real you. She knows you’re a monster. And she couldn’t ever love someone like you.”

Reeve takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to push my voice out of his head.

I skip around the room, all around the room. “Murderer. Murderer. Murderer.”

Reeve presses harder on the pedal, and the saw whirs louder. But not as loud as me. I keep skipping, keep taunting him. I can do it forever.

Reeve reaches over the top of the whirling saw blade to grab his piece of wood. His hands are shaking. He tries to line up a cut, but he can’t concentrate. Not with me screaming. He squeezes his eyes shut.

And suddenly Mr. Werther comes running over. I try to stop him, but he pushes right through me, grabs Reeve by the back of the shirt, and pulls him away from the saw.

“What the hell are you doing?” Mr. Werther screams.

“I’m building my damn birdhouse!” Reeve shouts back, but he’s clearly shaken. Reeve shrugs Mr. Werther off him. As he does, his arm flails and he hits one of the saws behind him. “Shit!” he shouts, and pulls the hand in close to himself. He’s cut his finger, not too deep, but it lets out a slit of the darkest, deepest red. I swear I feel it. The warmth of his blood.

Mr. Werther has had enough. “Forget the birdhouse. You’ve got yourself a failing grade for not following safety protocol. You’re practically falling asleep! Now get out of here and down to the nurse.”

Reeve picks up his birdhouse and bleeds all over the wood. On his way out of the shop class, he throws it into the trash can.

I can hear the other kids whispering as he stalks down the hall. I know Reeve can hear them too. He pushes through one of the metal doors and heads toward the parking lot.

“Are you going to cry?” I ask him. “Go ahead and cry, then. Cry your freaking eyes out. But it’s not going to change anything.”

Reeve straightens up, and it’s almost like he hears me. He goes over to his truck and gets in. But he doesn’t turn the key in the ignition. He just sits there. Then he drops his head onto the steering wheel and cries, just like I told him to.