What’s going on in his head? Why is he looking at me like that?

“Don’t look at her,” Trey growls, getting in Masen’s face. “What’s the matter? You can’t speak?”

“What’s going on?”

We all turn to see Principal Burrowes standing in the middle of the hallway, her black suit and burgundy blouse crisp and ironed.

Trey stands up straight and backs off Masen. “Nothing, Gillian,” he mocks his stepmom and then looks back to Masen. “We’re cool. Right?”

Masen’s eyes are on the floor, and he doesn’t speak.

“Where are you supposed to be?” Burrowes asks Trey.

But I answer instead. “Foster is sending us to the library to research.”

“Then move.”

I nod, and we all quickly start walking down the hall.

“You, too,” I hear her say behind us, probably to Masen.

Why didn’t he do anything? Not that Trey’s a small guy he could easily take, but I get the impression Masen has been in fights before. He’s volatile and impulsive, so why did he hold back?

We jog up the stairs and enter the library. All of the other students are already here, whispering, moving about, and gathering the materials they need. Some are on the computers, and some are in the stacks. Our library consists of two floors and a nice view into the main level from the balcony up above. I dump my bag on a table toward the back and see Lyla and Masen take seats two tables up.

J.D. and Trey plop down in the seats at our table, and Trey puts his feet up.

Yeah, not happening. “You guys go to the computers and look up ‘Annotated Bibliographies,’” I tell them. “Print off some examples, and I’ll go find some from secondary sources.”

I’m not doing this worksheet on my own.

Trey heaves a sigh, and J.D. laughs to himself, both of them getting back up off their asses.

I twist around and head back to the non-fiction section.

The shelves loom high, and I skirt around a rolling ladder and turn left, diving farther into the back of the library, away from the tables of students and their hushed whispers.

I reach out and graze my hand along the spines of the books as I pass. My mom’s going to wonder why I haven’t even started Fahrenheit 451. Not that I’ll get into trouble, but she’ll wonder what’s been distracting me.

“You know, that kid,” I hear someone say, and I jerk my head to look behind me.

Masen approaches, and my heartbeat picks up pace.

“The one writing on the walls at night?” he continues. “We have something in common. I like to write on things, too.” He stops in front of me and takes my hand. “But you know that, right?”

My skin warms where he touches it, and I try to jerk my hand free, but he holds on tight.

He likes to write on things, too? What? And then I remember the wall at the Cove, my chalk wall in my room, my locker that first day…

I jerk my hand harder, yanking it free. “What? Did you find Trey a bit too big and scary, so you’re going to take your fight to me instead now?”

He gives me a casual grin and snatches my hand again, pulling out a Sharpie from his pocket with his other hand.

“Let go.”

He sticks the marker in his mouth, bites off the cap, and flips the pen around, shoving it back inside the cap. “But I thought you wanted my phone number. For the drive-in, remember?”

He looks down at me with an innocent expression on his face, and I don’t know what he’s doing, but I have to admit I’m kind of afraid to put up a fight this time. Throwing me into a pool when no one’s around isn’t that embarrassing, but I highly doubt he’s going to give a shit that we’re not alone right now if he deems it necessary to put me in my place again. I don’t want his fucking number.

He takes my left index finger and starts writing on the inside of it, while I grind my teeth and glare at him.

“You know, I remember so much of what was in that diary,” he muses as he writes. “I can say whatever I want. I don’t need proof. Not with them.” He jerks his chin, indicating all the students sitting over in the table area that we can’t see.

I pull away again, but he tightens his hold.

“Don’t worry.” He smiles down at my finger as he sketches. The velvety tip tickles my skin. “I have no interest in tormenting you. Not like that anyway. I just have one question.” And then he stops drawing and looks up, peering at me. “Who’s Delilah?”

I freeze and stare at him, forgetting that he’s holding my hand as the hair on my neck stands up.

“What?”

“You had her name doodled all over your notebook,” he tells me. “Who is she? Secret girlfriend? Secret shame?” He drops his eyes and continues writing. “A regret?”

“You read my notebook. You should already know.”

“I didn’t read anything,” he retorts.

I glare at him. He didn’t read it? But…

“I flipped the pages and saw her name on the inside cover,” he explains. “You think I give a shit about what goes on in your mind? I’ve got better things to do.”

Then why are you asking if you don’t care?

I yank my hand away, growling under my breath. “You’re an asshole.”

I keep my voice low, even though I don’t see anyone around.

But before I can walk away, he places his hands on the bookshelves, locking me in. “You know I could’ve taken him and his friend in one breath just now. What was I waiting for?”