The moment she recognized it, she threw it down, wondering how it had gotten there in the first place. And then she glanced at her nightstand and saw the phone there. Her cell phone. Beneath it was a note from her mother, and she realized it was probably her mom who’d folded her hoodie and placed it on her bed too.

She picked up the note.

You can have this back on a probationary basis. Mess up again,

and it’s ours for good!

XOXO,

Mom

Of course Violet knew what this was really about. Her parents had hated being unable to reach her, not being able to call and check up on her. Still, the hugs-and-kisses were a nice touch, she thought; glad to have her phone back, no matter the reason.

She scrolled through the messages and realized that she hadn’t been dreaming after all; there were calls and texts from Jay, Chelsea, and Jules, asking where she was. Already she’d missed first period, she realized as she glanced at the time.

Violet sent a quick text to Jay, knowing he’d spread the word for her:

Running late. Be there soon.

Then, setting the phone aside, she hesitantly reached for the sweatshirt, almost as if it might scald her, and she flipped over the fleece to examine it. There was nothing different about it than there had ever been before; it was the same White River High School hoodie it had always been . . . the one she’d worn so often it had lost its shape, the edges of the sleeves fraying and tattered.

Only now she didn’t want to wear it. Now it was just another reminder of the night she’d first encountered James Nua in the police station.

Violet’s face crumpled as she glanced once more at the sweatshirt she held. And then she remembered something. Something she’d very nearly forgotten about . . .

Slipping her hand inside the single front pocket, her fingers searched until they grasped the tiny slip of paper that was wadded into an almost unnoticeable ball. “There you are,” she whispered, the sliver of a smile finding her lips as she smoothed it out. Her eyes were slower to adjust than they should have been. She guessed it was a side effect of the drug she’d taken the night before to help her sleep. Everything about her felt like that: slow to adjust.

When she finally recognized what it was she was staring at, she felt a burst of triumph, even though she had no idea if it even meant anything.

She recalled the way Rafe had been flipping through the pages of the book, sure he’d discovered something. And how she’d watched as the slip of paper tumbled from between the pages to the floor when the cop had interrupted them.

It was a receipt. A restaurant receipt from someplace called The Mecca.

Violet studied it, tracing it with her fingers, considering it. And then she put it away again, realizing she had somewhere she needed to go after school today.

“So, are you planning to tell me what Madame Gemma saw when she was reading your palm yesterday?” Violet stared up at Jay with wide, overly innocent eyes as they maneuvered through the hallways toward the cafeteria. She batted her eyelashes and dropped her voice. Jay didn’t mention how bloodshot her eyes were, or that there were deep bags beneath them, even though she was sure he’d noticed. “C’mon, I won’t tell anyone your secrets . . . even if they’re really, really bad,” she promised, raising an eyebrow.

“Mocking me will get you nowhere.” But he leaned down, his breath tickling the side of her neck, and a rush of warmth flooded Violet’s stomach. “There are other ways to break me, though.”

Violet reached for his hand, drawing him out of the flow of traffic, away from the pushing and shoving of students, until they were tucked into a private pocket of space, just the two of them. “What do I have to do to make you talk?” She pressed against him, standing on her toes so her lips could reach his.

She didn’t have to reach far; he was already meeting her halfway, his arm snaking around her waist. They didn’t speak for several long seconds as Violet savored the feel of his lips against hers, soft and familiar and achingly tender. She shivered inwardly, both loving and hating the way her body reacted—almost instantaneously—to his. She had very little control over herself when he touched her. She felt like a puppet, at his command.

But they couldn’t stand there for long, pretending that no one could see them, when everyone could. She kissed him one last time . . . lightly, softly, sweetly. “So, now are you gonna tell me?” she teased, slipping her hand beneath his T-shirt so she could feel the warmth of his bare stomach.

One side of his lip twitched upward. “There’s really nothing to tell, Vi. I don’t have any deep dark secrets or anything. What you see is what you get.”

“How can you be so sure? What did she say exactly?” Violet’s fingers danced along his waistline, tracing a path to his back.

Jay grinned down at her, reaching for her hand and leading her toward the lunchroom. “Nothing, really. She just kept saying ‘interesting,’ over and over again. If you ask me, she just noticed what everyone else already knows, that I’m incredibly interesting.”

Violet stopped short as they reached their lunch table. “You’ve got to be freaking kidding me,” she muttered under her breath.

Jay flashed Violet a puzzled look. “I didn’t know you two were friends.”

“We’re not.” Violet glared at Chelsea, Jules, and Claire, wondering what it was they were up to.

“Hey, guys,” Chelsea chirped, entirely too cheerfully. “You remember Jacqueline, right?”