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“No. It’s just Bronwyn, sending pictures from some play she’s watching. The set’s really great, apparently.” “Is she into that kind of thing?” “She thinks I am. Because I did a play once.” Maeve shakes her head in amused exasperation. “She and my mom are exactly alike. Any time I show the slightest interest in something, they hope it’s my new life’s passion.” A waiter comes by, a tall, thin college student named Ahmed, and I order a Sprite. I wait until he walks away to ask, “How’s Bronwyn doing after that whole mess on Friday? Did she and Nate break up again?” “I’m not sure you can break up when you never officially got back together,” Maeve says, resting her chin in her hand with a sigh. “Bronwyn’s not talking about it. Well, she talked about it at length on Saturday, but now that she’s back at Yale she’s totally clammed up about Nate. I swear to God, that place short-circuits all her emotions or something.” She takes a sip of coffee and makes a wry face. “She thinks Nate was into it. The kiss from Jules, I mean. Which wasn’t my read on the situation at all, but Bronwyn won’t listen.” “Did you tell her it was part of a game?” “I tried.” Maeve bites her lip. “I didn’t want to go into too much detail, because she’d freak if she knew there was even a slight connection to Simon. And she was already so upset about Nate. That stupid picture Monica took was all over social media this weekend. Which reminds me…I’ve been meaning to show you something.” Maeve swipes at her phone a few times, then holds it out to me. “I found this the other day. You remember that revenge forum Simon used to post on?” I nod. “Well, this is a new version, except now the posts disappear after a few hours.” “What?” My eyebrows shoot up as I take her phone. “How do you know that?” “I found it when I was searching Simon’s old user name last week. There was a post a while back that mentioned Bayview, and something about a game.” She drums her fingers restlessly on the table. “I can’t remember exactly what it said. I wish I’d taken a screenshot, but I didn’t know then that the posts disappear.” I scan the handful of posts on the page. Somebody named Jellyfish is seriously pissed off at his teacher. “Okay, so…you think what, exactly? That this Jellyfish person is running the Truth or Dare game?” “Not him specifically,” Maeve says. “That guy seems to have a one-track mind. But maybe that other poster is involved. It’s weird, don’t you think? That the texting game starts by referencing Simon, and then this revenge forum pops up and does the same thing?” “I guess,” I say uncertainly. Seems kind of tenuous, but then again, Maeve knows a lot more about tracking vengeful gossips than I do. “I should set up a monitoring service or something. Like PingMe,” she says thoughtfully. At my puzzled expression, she adds, “A tool that notifies you when a website updates. It’s faster than a Google Alert. Then I could keep track of these disappearing conversations.” Her eyes get a faraway look. Even though I think she’s getting way too obsessed over a random Internet post, I can tell she won’t listen if I tell her so. Instead, I hand back her phone without comment. When she takes it, her sleeve pulls up on her arm, exposing an angry-looking purple bruise. “Ouch, how’d you get that?” I ask. “What?” Maeve follows my eyes, and I hear her breath catch. She pales and goes so still that she looks like a statue. Then she pushes her sleeve down as far as it can go, until the bruise is completely covered. “I don’t know. Just—banged something, I guess.” “You guess?” Her eyes are on the floor, and unease stirs in my gut. “When?” “I don’t remember,” she says. I run my tongue over dry lips. “Maeve, did…did somebody do that to you?” Maeve’s head snaps up, and she lets out a startled, humorless laugh. “What? Oh my God, Knox, no. I promise, nothing like that happened.” She looks me straight in the eye, and I relax a little. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Maeve, it’s that she’s incapable of maintaining eye contact when telling even the whitest of lies. You should never, for example, ask what she thinks of your new haircut if you’re not fully prepared to handle the truth. I learned that the hard way when I decided to go a little shorter last week. “Okay, so…” I pause, because now I can’t remember what we were talking about, and Maeve’s gaze wanders over my shoulder. She waves, and I turn around to see a thin boy with strawberry-blond hair and glasses hovering a few feet away from us. “Hi, Owen,” Maeve calls. “Phoebe’s not working today.” “I know. I’m picking up takeout.” Maeve lowers her voice as Owen approaches the counter. “That’s Phoebe’s little brother. He comes here a lot after school, even when he’s not getting food. Just to hang out and talk with Phoebe or Mr. Santos when they’re not busy. I think he’s kind of lonely.” Somehow, this whole texting game mess turned Maeve and Phoebe into friends, which is the only silver lining so far. Maeve’s been kind of lost since Bronwyn graduated, and Phoebe could use somebody on her side. Slut-shamey crap about her is still flying around school, and her friend Jules eats lunch with Monica Hill’s clique now. I guess Jules found her own silver lining: social climbing via Truth or Dare success. Mr. Santos appears from the back and hands Owen a large brown paper bag, then waves away the bill Owen tries to give him. “No, mijo, put that away,” he says. “Your money’s no good here. How is school? Phoebe tells me you have a big spelling bee coming up.” Owen starts talking a mile a minute, but I’m not really paying attention because I’m still thinking about the relieved look on his face when he put the money away. My mom was an insurance adjuster on Mr. Lawton’s worker’s comp settlement after he died. I remember her telling my dad, when she didn’t know I was listening, that she thought the company’s payout for the accident was a lot less than it should have been. I don’t think Melissa Lawton realizes how quickly that money will go when nothing’s coming in, she’d said. When Owen finally turns away from the counter, he has a big smile on his face. He needed that, I think. Some kind of dad figure, or a big brother, maybe. I get it. I know what it’s like to grow up surrounded by older sisters who might be great but can’t tell you how you’re supposed to function as a guy in the twenty-first century. When Owen passes by our table I find myself saying, “Hey, do you like Bounty Wars?” Owen pauses and gestures to his T-shirt with his free hand. “Um, yeah.” “Me too. I’m Knox, by the way. I go to school with Phoebe.” Maeve nods and smiles, like she’s confirming my trustworthiness. “Who’s your avatar?” I ask. Owen looks a little cautious, but answers me readily enough. “Dax Reaper.” “Mine too. What level are you on?” “Fifteen.” “Damn, really? I can’t get past twelve.” Owen’s entire face lights up. “It’s all about weapon choice,” he says earnestly, and then bam, he’s off. The two of us talk Bounty Wars strategy until I notice the bag he’s holding is starting to soak through with grease from whatever’s inside. “You should probably get that home, huh?” I say. “People must be waiting for dinner.” “I guess.” Owen shifts from one foot to the other. “Are you and Phoebe friends?” Good question. Not exactly, although now that Phoebe is spending more time with Maeve at school she is also, by default, spending more time with me. In the snake pit that Bayview High has turned into lately, that’s probably close enough. “Yeah, sure.” “You should come over and play Bounty Wars with us sometime. I’ll tell Phoebe to invite you. See ya.” Owen waves as he