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I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until I let go of it. Obviously, Patch had manipulated a few details.

“You know I’m not buying it,” Vee continued. “You know I think Patch killed Jules.”Advertisement

In Vee’s position, I’d probably think similarly. I said, “What do the police think?”

“Turn on the TV. There’s live coverage right now, Channel Five. They’re saying Jules broke into the school and jumped. They’re ruling it a tragic teen suicide. They’re asking people with information to call the hotline listed at the bottom of the screen.”

“What did you tell the police when you first called it in?”

“I was scared. I didn’t want to get busted for B and E. So I called in anonymously from a pay phone.”

“Well,” I said at last, “if the police are ruling it a suicide, I guess that’s what happened. After all, this is modern­day America. We have the benefit of forensics.”

“You’re keeping something from me,” said Vee. “What really happened after I left?”

This is where it got sticky. Vee was my best friend, and we lived by the motto No Secrets. But some things are just impossible to explain. The fact that Patch was a fallen­turned­guardian angel topped the list. Directly below it was the fact that I’d jumped off a rafter and died, but was still alive today.

“I remember Jules cornering me in the gym,” I said. “He told me all the pain and fear he was going to inflict. After that, the details get hazy.”

“Is it too late to apologize?” Vee said, sounding more sincere than she had in our whole friendship.

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“You were right about Jules and Elliot.”

“Apology accepted.”

“We should go to the mall,” she said. “I feel this overwhelming need to buy shoes. Lots of them. What we need is some good old­fashioned shoe­shopping therapy.”

The doorbell rang, and I glanced at the clock. “I have to give the police my statement about what happened last night, but I’ll call you after that.”

“Last night?” Vee’s tone shot up with panic. “They know you were at the school? You didn’t give them my name, did you?”

“Actually, something happened earlier in the night.” Something named Dabria. “I’ll call you soon,” I said, hanging up before I had to lie my way through another explanation.

Limping down the hall, I’d made it as far as the top of the stairs when I saw who my mom had invited inside.

Detectives Basso and Holstijic.

She led them into the living room, and although Detective Holstijic collapsed onto the sofa, Detective Basso remained standing. He had his back to me, but a step creaked halfway through my descent, and he turned around.

“Nora Grey,” he said in his tough cop voice. “We meet again.”

My mom blinked. “You’ve met before?”

“Your daughter has an exciting life. Seems like we’re here every week.”

My mom aimed a questioning glance at me and I shrugged, clueless, as if to guess, Cop humor?

“Why don’t you have a seat, Nora, and tell us what happened,” Detective Holstijic said.

I lowered myself into one of the plush armchairs opposite the sofa. “Just before nine last night I was in the kitchen drinking a glass of chocolate milk when Miss Greene, my school psychologist, appeared.”

“She just walked into your house?” Detective Basso asked.

“She told me I had something she wanted, and that’s when I ran upstairs and locked myself in the master bedroom.”

“Back up,” said Detective Basso. “What was this thing she wanted?”

“She didn’t say. But she did mention she’s not a real psychologist. She said she was using the job to spy on students.” I divided a glance among everyone. “She’s crazy, right?”

The detectives shared a look.

“I’ll run her name, see what I can find,” Detective Holstijic said, pulling himself back to his feet.

“Let me get this straight,” Detective Basso said to me. “She accused you of stealing something that belonged to her, but she never said what?”

Another sticky question. “She was hysterical. I only understood half of what she was saying. I ran and locked myself inside the master bedroom, but she broke down the door. I was hiding inside the flue of the fireplace, and she said she’d burn the house down room by room to find me. Then she started a fire.

Right there in the middle of the room.”

“How did she start the fire?” my mom asked.

“I couldn’t see. I was in the flue.”

“This is crazy,” Detective Basso said, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Is she going to come back?” my mom asked the detectives, coming over to stand behind me and placing her hands protectively on my shoulders. “Is Nora safe?”

“Might want to see about getting a security system installed.” Detective Basso opened his wallet and held out a card to Mom. “I vouch for these guys. Tell them I sent you, and they’ll give you a discount.”

A few hours after the detectives left, the doorbell rang again.

“That must be the alarm system company,” Mom said, meeting me in the hall. “I called, and they said they’d send a guy out today. I can’t stand the thought of sleeping here without some kind of protection until they find Miss Greene and lock her away. Didn’t the school even bother to check her references?”

She opened the door, and Patch stood on the porch. He wore faded Levi’s and a snug white T­shirt, and he held a toolbox in his left hand.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Grey.”

“Patch.” I couldn’t quite nail my mom’s tone. Surprise mixed with discomfiture. “Are you here to see Nora?”

Patch smiled. “I’m here to spec your house for a new alarm system.”

“I thought you had a different job,” said Mom. “I thought you bussed tables at the Borderline.”

“I got a new job.” Patch locked eyes with me, and I warmed in a lot of places. In fact, I was dangerously close to feverish. “Outside?” he asked me.

I followed him out to his motorcycle.

“We still have a lot to talk about,” I said.

“Talk?” He shook his head, his eyes full of desire. Kiss, he whispered to my thoughts.

It wasn’t a question, but a warning. He grinned when I didn’t protest, and lowered his mouth toward mine. The first touch was just that—a touch. A teasing, tempting softness. I licked my lips and Patch’s grin deepened.

“More?” he asked.

I curled my hands into his hair, pulling him closer. “More.” pqdm.com