Acceptance. She wanted to scratch at the tattoo. She had pledged acceptance of people’s choices, including sexual preference. She knew gay kids. Gray claimed to be bisexual, which kind of made Brittany uncomfortable because it seemed so . . . darkly . . . brave? Fearless? Creepy? She wasn’t sure what word was the right word.

She knew she was the kind of person who was afraid to leave the straightest, most well-lit road of life. It had taken courage for her to befriend a girl like Gray. She didn’t think Gray fully appreciated that. Not that it mattered now. They would probably never be friends again after what had happened at the Rock & Bowl.

And the emotional merry-go-round came back to guilt while Beyoncé sang in the background.

The group of kids she hung out with now used the word gay as the worst kind of insult, and Brittany pretended to go along with them. The girl with the acceptance tattoo. And what had she just tweeted about Kyle? Get a boyfriend.

Christina had told her talking trash about Kyle was the best way to get rid of him. If he wouldn’t leave her alone, then she had to send a message. He wasn’t the kind of guy she needed to be hanging out with—according to Christina. He was weird. He didn’t try to get along with anyone—except other outcasts. He spent all his time reading comic books and drawing his stupid superheroes.

And if he really liked her, Brittany reasoned, he wouldn’t have put her in the position he had that afternoon. He would have left her alone like she asked him to. He was all Mr. Antibully, but what was he doing to her by hanging around when she asked him not to and pressuring her about the people she wanted to be friends with? He was a bully too, in his own way.

It was his own fault Aaron and Christina and practically everyone else didn’t like him, she thought angrily. It wasn’t her fault everyone got on Twitter and Facebook and talked shit about him. He practically invited them to. But even as she thought that, another wave of guilt swept through her. She could see the accusation and disappointment and betrayal on his face as he had glared at her in the hall today.

Nice friends you’ve got, Britt. I can see why you’d rather hang with them.

She felt like she had betrayed him, and then she felt angry with him for making her feel that way.

On the nightstand beside her, her phone made the little ding! that announced a new text message.

Xtina: R U OK?

Brittany ignored it. She didn’t want to interact with anyone—especially not Christina. No more than she wanted to interact with Kyle. She felt like the two of them were fighting over her like she was a rag doll, one pulling her this way, one the other.

Kyle made out like Christina was an evil witch, which wasn’t true. Christina could be a diva, but she could also be kind and generous, and she was fiercely protective of her friends. She had taken it upon herself to help Brittany survive the first brutal weeks of chemistry and helped her get on the yearbook committee. Christina saw Kyle and Gray as the bad influences. They were the ones trying to separate her from her friends and cut her off from things she wanted to do.

Gray and Christina’s relationship was complicated by the fact that Christina’s father was dating Gray’s mom. Gray felt threatened by the relationship. She felt like Christina was the daughter her mother would have liked. She resented Christina, resented the way she looked and the way she dressed. She resented Christina’s popularity.

Brittany found herself caught in the middle between them—and a little bit used by both of them.

Tired of thinking about it, Brittany looked down at her iPad and tried to distract herself, browsing through the pages and apps she checked every night. She didn’t want to think anymore about Kyle Hatcher or Gray or Christina or anything. She touched the icon for an online magazine called TeenCities. She had used this magazine as her guide since moving to the Twin Cities. It was full of fun articles about things to do and places kids her age could go all over the metro area. There were always great articles about fashion and celebrities and the local music scene.

Those were the pages that interested Brittany, especially after the kind of day she’d had. She didn’t have any interest in the more serious news articles. She didn’t want to read about bulimia or cutting or dire warnings about the latest street drugs. She certainly had no interest in reading a column about cyberbullies.

She sometimes read Sonya Porter’s blog about current issues. She thought the writer had a great hip style that was easy and conversational with a wry sense of humor. Her pieces read as if the writing had been effortless—a quality Brittany longed for in her own writing. And Sonya Porter’s profile picture fit perfectly with that image—hip and cool, the perfect chic blend of sophistication and youth.

Brittany wished she could have been half as cool as Sonya Porter. Fat chance of that. She wasn’t even brave enough to get her belly button pierced. She would never be bold enough to be as cool as Sonya Porter.

She touched the screen to go to Porter’s blog, hoping for one of her lighter pieces. But the piece couldn’t have been any heavier or more depressing. The article was about young women being murdered in horrible ways, their bodies dumped along roadways.

That was the last thing Brittany wanted to look at tonight. She was depressed enough already. She didn’t want to know some girl her own age had been found dead on New Year’s Eve.

Downstairs the doorbell rang. Brittany paid no attention. Her mother was having her book group in tonight. The bell had rung half a dozen times already. The voices of the women rose and fell like a distant wave of conversation and laughter.

She scrolled through the virtual pages of her magazine, unable to find anything that held her attention for more than a few lines. Her mind kept going back to Kyle and the things she had said about him, and the way she knew that would hurt him when he read it. And of course he would read it. He lurked on Twitter and Facebook all the time, reading all the nasty, mean things kids wrote about other kids so he could feel morally superior.

When the knock came on her bedroom door, she jumped, startled.

“Britt?” her mother asked. “Can I come in?”

Brittany set her iPad aside and went to the door, expecting her mother to ask her to turn her music down. But when she opened the door her mother was not alone. Two men in suits and heavy coats stood behind her.

“Honey, these men are police detectives,” her mom said, looking worried. “They’re looking for Gray.”

“Gray?” Brittany looked from one man to the other. Police? One was older; one was bigger. They both scared her with their serious expressions. “Why? Is she in trouble?”

The older cop showed her his ID and badge. He was lean and hard-looking, with a lot of gray shot through his thick hair. His eyes seemed to burn right into her.

“Brittany, I’m Sergeant Kovac. This is Sergeant Knutson. Penny Gray’s mom told us she was staying with you,” he said.

“She was here for a couple of days,” she said. “Then she left.”

“Where did she go?”

Brittany shook her head. “I don’t know. I thought she went home.”

Police. In her bedroom. Asking about Gray. A chill ran down her back.

“When did you last see her?”

“Um, the night before New Year’s Eve.”

“Have you heard from her in the last day or so?” the cop Kovac asked.

Her heart beat faster. The way he stared at her made her feel like she was some kind of criminal. It was unnerving. She hadn’t done anything wrong, but she was still afraid. Her palms were sweating.

“No,” she said.

“Do you have any idea where she might be?”

“No.”

“She didn’t tell you where she was going?”