And I noticed how all of them always had the latest fancy phone model the day it came out. I close my eyes, think about all the times I saw Emma on her phone in the past few months. Her old case and her new were nearly identical. The new one was pink. The old one was lavender.
I picture Emma texting furiously during dinner. On a lavender phone. It feels familiar, fresh—was it last week? The week before? Or am I forcing the mental image, fusing much older memories with newer ones?
“You look like you’re thinking about something,” Ethan says.
“I—” My throat catches as I conjure up a picture of our room. Where would Emma have stashed that old phone? Underwear drawer, maybe? “Emma might have had another phone,” I concede. Ethan preens. “It’s worth checking. But if it was in our room, the cops might have it, too.”
“Or they might not.”
He’s right, it’s something.
“I’ll search my room between exams, and maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“Which ones do you have today?”
“Only AP German and Brit Lit, which is a paper.”
“Lucky.” Ethan rips into his toast and speaks midbite. “I’m dreading AP Bio and Art History.”
“Art History?” I rib him. “So hard critiquing all those pretty ballerina paintings, huh?”
“Hey, it’s all a bitch to memorize. Birth dates, death dates, moving-to-Paris dates, painting dates.”
“That’s a lot of dates.”
“And yet somehow I’m still single.” Ethan’s eyes sparkle, and my breath nearly leaves my body. Hastily I finish my bacon, give myself time to craft the perfect retort—something magical, flirty, the perfect invitation.
My phone buzzes on the table, and I see the camera icon on the notification bar. Thwarted by Instagram. Ethan’s looking away now, spearing a piece of melon. Spell’s broken. With a sigh, I swipe and tap, and my heart rate spikes so hard I feel my ribs ache.
Kaila replied.
Is this about Emma?
Shit. What do I say? Before I can type out a reply, another message appears.
I was sorry to hear what happened. I’m in Boston today, but I’ll be around tomorrow. Can you come down to Northampton?
I message back a hasty yes, asking her what time. Tomorrow is Sunday, with the final senior exams on hold until Monday morning, so the hardest part for me will be finding a ride to the train station.
“I’m meeting Kaila tomorrow,” I tell Ethan.
“Do you need me to go with you? As backup?”
It’s the first time it’s occurred to me that I might need it. “She’s not violent.” I hope.
“Isn’t the whole point of meeting with her to figure out whether that is the case?”
Kaila is, indeed, a wild card, and that’s the very problem. Safety in numbers is smart, but who knows what Kaila will reveal about the Ivies, what grudges she holds. She wasn’t one of us, but she was close. Used to date Tyler, in fact, so we all ended up at the same parties and lunch tables.
But I really could use the backup. “I’ll let you know what time she agrees on.”
“I’ve been thinking.” Ethan leans forward. “About the security cameras. If the system was hacked, we should talk to Sierra.” He pauses. “Though it’s also possible she’s the one who did it.”
I’m quick to defend my friend. “No way. She wouldn’t.” Instinct pushes the words out of my mouth, but they come out hollow. The thought has crossed my mind.
He shrugs. “Maybe it had nothing to do with the murder. All a coincidence. But really anyone taking CS classes is a suspect.”
“That’s a lot of students.”
“It is, but Sierra is president of Girls Who Code, the obvious expert we should talk to first. Even if she didn’t do it, she’s our best bet at knowing how someone could. I understand if you don’t want to do it, given everything going on. I can talk to her.”
“No!” I bring a hand down on top of his, stopping him from picking up his phone.
“I was only going to check the time.”
I don’t move my hand. His skin is soft. Finally I pull it back. “I’ll figure out how to get to Sierra.”
Ethan nods. “Okay then.”
* * *
—
I complete my AP German exam in forty minutes flat—it’s multiple choice, which is a gift. As I walk out the door, I can hardly believe that the most important thing to me less than a week ago was nudging my GPA high enough to go up a spot in class rank. Like it’ll matter in ten years. Now all I can think about is finding Sierra. I walk through the plan as I head to my work-study shift. I’m so distracted that I miss the warm body blocking my path.
“What the—”
“Miss Winters!” Detective Cataldo hastily stows her phone in a navy crossbody purse and flashes a tight smile. “You finished early.”
“Uh, yes, hi.”
“I need to ask you a few questions.”
“So you waited outside my class?” I can’t help the accusation in my tone. My hackles are up.
Cataldo shifts uncomfortably. “Let me walk you to— Where are you going?”
“I have my work-study job.”
“Austen Hall, then.” She grimaces. Clearly not her favorite place. Wonder why.
I drag my feet, following her to the stairs, down them, and out into the chilly mid-December air. We shrink in our coats, each burrowing into the warmth. A few students mill about. A boy crosses the quad hauling a large beige suitcase behind him. Guess he’s not sticking around long enough for Tyler’s candlelight memorial. I wonder if the detective will be there.
Austen Hall is a short walk across the main quad, and Cataldo seems determined to drag out our tête-à-tête. She walks slow and talks fast.
“Did Emma ever share her passwords with you?”
“No. Why?”
Cataldo’s breath puffs white in the frigid air. “We got into Emma’s phone easily, but her laptop is another story. Her parents don’t know it. I was hoping that since you were roommates…”
“In my experience, friends don’t usually share their computer passwords with each other,” I say.
“Okay, what about Tyler, then?”