“Naomi’s been a bit jumpy since…you know,” Cara said, walking Pip down the hall to her locker. There was still something awkward between them, only just starting to melt around the edges. Though they both pretended it wasn’t there.

“Well, she’s always been a bit jumpy, but even more now,” Cara continued. “Yesterday Dad called her from the other room, and she jumped so hard she threw her phone across the kitchen. Completely smashed the screen. Had to send it off this morning to get fixed.”

“Oh,” Pip said, opening up her locker and stacking her books inside. “Um, does she need a spare phone? My mom just upgraded and has her old one.”

“Nah, it’s fine. She found an old one of hers from years ago. Her SIM card didn’t fit, but we found an old pay-as-you-go one with some credit left.”

“Is she OK?” Pip said.

“Don’t know,” Cara replied. “Don’t think she’s been OK for a while. Not since Mom died, really. I always thought there was something more she was struggling with.”

Pip closed the locker door and followed her. She hoped Cara hadn’t noticed the dark circles under her eyes, barely covered by makeup, or the bloodshot veins running through them. Sleep wasn’t really an option anymore. Pip had finished a personal essay, read it twice, and deleted it again. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t her. So now she had to start from scratch with just two weeks to go. Her deadline for keeping Naomi and Cara out of everything was ticking down every second. And when she did sleep, there was a dark figure in her dreams, just out of sight, watching her.

“It’ll be OK,” Pip said. “I promise.”

Cara gave her hand a squeeze as they turned their separate ways down the corridor.

A few doors down from her English classroom, Pip stopped sharply, her shoes squeaking against the floor. Someone was trudging down the hall toward her, someone with pixie-cut white hair and black-winged eyes.

“Nat?” Pip said with a small wave.

Nat da Silva slowed and stopped just in front of her. She didn’t smile and she didn’t wave. She barely looked at her.

“What are you doing in school?” Pip asked, noticing Nat’s electronic ankle monitor as a sock-covered bulge above her shoes.

“I forgot all details of my life were suddenly your business, Piper.”

“Pippa.”

“Don’t care,” she spat, top lip arching into a sneer. “If you must know, for your perverted project, I’ve officially hit rock bottom. My parents are cutting me off, and no one will hire me. I just begged that slug of a principal for my brother’s old janitor job. They can’t hire violent criminals, apparently.”

“I’m sorry,” Pip said.

“No you’re not.” Nat picked up her feet and strode away, the gust of her departure enough to ruffle Pip’s hair.

---

After lunch Pip returned to her locker to grab her history textbook. She opened the door, and a folded piece of printer paper was sitting on top of her books, pushed through the top slit.

A flash of cold dread. She looked over both shoulders to check that no one was watching and reached in for the note.

This is your final warning, Pippa. Walk away.

She read it only once, folded the page back up, and slipped it under the cover of her textbook. She pulled out the book and walked away down the hall.

It was clear. Someone wanted her to know they could get to her at home and at school. They wanted to scare her. And they were succeeding; terror had chased away sleep the last three nights. But if this person was really prepared to hurt her or her family, wouldn’t they have done it by now? Pip couldn’t walk away from this, from Sal and Ravi, from Cara and Naomi. She was in too deep.

There was a killer in Fairview. They’d seen her last capstone project entry, and now they were reacting. Which meant that Pip was on the right track somewhere. A warning was all it was—she had to believe that, had to tell herself that when she lay sleepless at night. Even though Unknown might be closing in on her, she was also closing in on them.

Pip pushed the classroom door open with the spine of her textbook, and it swung forward much harder than she’d meant.

“Ouch,” Mr. Ward said as it crashed into his elbow.

The door bounded back into Pip and she tripped, dropping her textbook. It landed with a loud thwack.

“Sorry—Mr. Ward,” she said. “I didn’t know you were right there.”

“That’s OK.” He smiled. “I’ll interpret it as your eagerness for learning rather than an assassination attempt.”

“Well, we are learning about 1930s Russia.”

“Ah, I see,” he said, bending to pick up her book. “So it was a practical demonstration?”

The note slipped out from the cover and glided to the floor. It landed on its crease and came to rest, partly open. Pip lunged for the paper, scrunching it up in her hands.

“Pip?”

She could see Mr. Ward trying to make eye contact with her. But she stared straight ahead.

“Pip, are you OK?” he asked.

“Yep.” She nodded, flashing a closemouthed smile. “I’m fine.”

“Listen,” he said gently, “if you’re being bullied, the worst thing to do is keep it to yourself.”

“I’m not,” she said, turning to him. “I’m fine, really.”

“Pip?”

“I’m good, Mr. Ward,” she said as the first group of chattering students slipped in the door behind them. She took her textbook from his hands and wandered over to her seat, knowing his eyes were following her.

“Pips,” Connor said, shoving his bag down on the place beside her. “Lost you after lunch.” And then in a whisper, he added, “So why are you and Cara acting all weird? You have a fight or something?”

“No,” she said, “we’re all fine. Everything’s fine.”