“I’m sorry, Ms. Smith, but according to your records, you were maintaining a C average in French. That’s hardly failing. I see no immediate reason to change your schedule.”

“I cheated,” I blurted out in a fit of desperation. “At my old school. I copied off the girl who sat in front of me. I thought she was a straight A student, but it turned out she didn’t do as well in French. See, I didn’t even cheat well. I’ll flunk on my own.”

Mrs. Melrose shook her head. “Do you realize you just admitted to cheating?”

I nodded and lowered my head. “I feel awful about it, which is why I’m telling you. Please.” I leaned forward, placing both hands on her desk and putting my sad, pleading eyes right in her face. “Isn’t there an opening in any other class that period? Sculpture maybe?” Ethan’s class.

Mrs. Melrose sighed and shook her head again, but she typed something into her computer. “There’s one spot open.”

“Oh, thank you!” I practically jumped up and down I was so relieved.

“But Sculpture is an honors art elective. According to your records, you’ve never taken an honors course. You may be worse off than if you stayed in French.”

“I’ll work really hard. I’m interested in art, and I know a few students who take it. I’m sure I could get one of them to tutor me if I need it.” I wasn’t sure why Mrs. Melrose was so worried. How tough could Sculpture be, even if it was honors? Ethan was pulling it off.

“You’ll need both the teacher’s signature and a parent signature on this form to okay the schedule change.” She handed me a form.

“Done.” I smiled back at her. Forging a signature would be no problem.

“You may report to Sculpture & Design for the remainder of the period, but I need this form signed and returned to me on Monday, or you’ll be back in French. Understood?”

“Understood. Thank you.” I took my permission form and ran out of the office before Mrs. Melrose could change her mind. Sculpture & Design was on the first floor, around the corner from the cafeteria. I had planned to meet Ethan at lunch since French was on the other side of the building from the cafeteria, and I wanted to go to my locker in between periods. I decided to go to my locker now. After yesterday’s glimpse at the food selection in this place, I’d bagged my lunch—a turkey and cheese sandwich Ethan had made me at the diner last night.

I took the back staircase. I still couldn’t go near the other one. Everyone was talking about the break-in. The guy hadn’t been identified yet. I wasn’t surprised. His ID was at the cottage in my jeans, not that he looked anything like his school picture anymore.

I tried to force the thought from my mind. I had to focus on being normal. Instinctively, my hand went to the necklace. I held it as I opened my locker. I slipped my copy of The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde inside and grabbed my lunch. When I pulled it out, I saw there was a yellow Post-it note stuck to it.

The necklace suits you. Wear it always.

I looked around the hall as if I expected to find someone watching me, waiting for me to get the note. But I was alone. The necklace wasn’t left in my locker by mistake. Someone had given it to me. Someone who had seen me wearing it today. Was it a student from English class? Or was it someone who had a locker near mine? Either way, Ethan wasn’t going to like this. At all.

I crumpled the note as I shut my locker. I found the nearest trash can and got rid of the note. Ethan didn’t need to know. It would only upset him, and that was the last thing I wanted to do. No, the last thing I wanted to do was kill someone else, and the necklace was making me strong enough to avoid doing that. I knew it was.

I hurried to Sculpture, eager to get there before the class ended, but as it turned out, the bell rang as I stepped into the room with my permission slip. Ethan came to meet me at the teacher’s desk.

“What are you doing here?”

“Transferring out of French. There’s an opening.”

“And you are?” asked the extremely artsy-looking woman teaching the class. Her hair was jet black with a blue streak down the back, and her dress was the deepest emerald green. It stopped at the knee, which was where her black lace-up leather boots came to. And her nails! They were black with silver stars painted on each one. This woman definitely wasn’t your typical high-school teacher.

“I’m Samantha Smith.” I still wasn’t used to the sound of my new name. “Mrs. Melrose said I could transfer into this class. I just need your signature on this form before I have my parents sign it.”

“Are you an art major?”

Major? This was high school. Who had a major? “Um, I’m very interested in the class, and I think I’d like to pursue a degree in art in college,” I lied.

“She’s my girlfriend,” Ethan said. “I’ve seen her artwork. It’s amazing.”

The lies were piling up, and I hoped no one was keeping track of the stories we were telling because they didn’t line up. We’d need to work on that before someone figured out the truth.

“I see. Well, if you are half as talented as Ethan, then I look forward to seeing your work this semester.” She reached for my form and signed her name.

I glanced at it, wanting to thank her by name to pretend like I already knew who she was. “Thank you, Ms. Matthews.”

“See you Monday.”

Ethan draped his arm around my shoulder as we walked to the cafeteria. “This is great. Now we’ll have two periods in a row together.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

We sat down at the same table, and I dug into my sandwich. Ethan had packed two sandwiches for himself, an Italian sub and a meatball sub. The guy was a bottomless pit, and he never gained an ounce. The thought made me picture his perfect abs again. I shoved my sandwich in my mouth to cover up the drool.

“So, did you hear?” Beth asked, taking a seat with her tray of unidentifiable food.

“Hear what?” Ethan said. “That Sam is going to be in our art class? It’s awesome, right?”

“Cool.” She smiled at me. “But that’s not what I was talking about.”

I tensed up, expecting Beth to say something about the guy from the stairwell. About the supposed break-in.

“Trevor is missing. He never went home after school yesterday.”

“Who’s Trevor?” Ethan asked with a mouthful of meatball sub.

“Trevor Davis. He’s the star pitcher of the baseball team and one of the best running backs our football team has.”

Ethan shrugged. “I don’t know him.”

I did. I’d been too chicken to look at his student ID, but as soon as Beth said Trevor’s name, I knew who he was. My stomach lurched, and I put my sandwich down.

“You okay?” Ethan asked. “You look a little green.” His eyes dropped to my sandwich. “Is the food making you feel sick? Jackson said the cold cuts were fresh.” He picked up my sandwich and sniffed it.

“The sandwich is fine, but I don’t feel so hot.” More like cold. Stone cold. Deathly cold. Cold-blooded killer cold. I clutched my necklace like it would give me support.

“You want me to walk you to the nurse?”

“No. I’ll be fine.” I sipped my water, and Beth took that as her cue to continue.

“Anyway, Trevor never went home, and Shannon is, like, freaking out.”

“Shannon?” I choked on my water. “Shannon who?”

“Tilby. According to her, she’s the Shannon of the school. I heard from Angela that there was a sophomore named Shannon, but Shannon made her use her middle name instead.”

“No way,” Ethan said. “That can’t be true.”

He hadn’t met Shannon Tilby. I didn’t doubt she’d bully a sophomore like that.

“They had a date,” Beth said. “Trevor was supposed to take her to this fancy restaurant. She told everyone about it. He never showed up. She called his cell, but he didn’t answer. So, she drove to his house to ream him out in person, and his parents said he never came home from school. Turns out he left his cell at home, too, which is why he never answered.”