I grabbed the bag and popped back up to question her. “Fingerprints like ours?”

“No. Oh, wait. Yes. Never mind.”

She exhaled, blowing her bangs out of her eyes before falling back in frustration.

After a thorough check of my bag, I gave up finding a weapon of any kind among my possessions. I just didn’t think Picasso would be intimidated by a hairbrush. Or a toothbrush. Then again, I could sharpen the tip like they did in prison. Make a shank out of it.

“Do you know how to make a shank?” I asked Crystal. I’d given up on my things and had started rummaging around hers instead.

She rolled onto her side, propped her head up, and watched me. “Sure, I guess. We’ll need soap, a lighter, and an old comb.”

I paused. “What movie did you get that from?”

“Movie?” She frowned in thought. “I used to do it when I was a kid. The trick is getting the mold just right. I can make a wicked shank with a serrated blade and a dragon emblem, given enough time. And, well, soap.”

My admiration of her just increased tenfold. “You’re kind of amazing,” I said.

She looked as though she didn’t understand, like I’d spoken a foreign language. “Thank you,” she replied after a solid minute. “No one’s ever said that to me.”

I bounced up. “That’s a tragedy, because it’s true. I’m going to the dining room early to lift a knife.”

“Okay. Want me to come?”

“No, I don’t want to get you in trouble for stealing.”

She jumped up. “But I can help. I can be your lookout.”

Crystal had a bright future ahead of her, and as much as I wanted the company, I didn’t want to get her expelled. Or stabbed repeatedly, should Picasso show up. “I’ll be okay. You stay here and try to come up with another plan on how we can figure out who this guy is without garnering prison sentences.”

“But I think much better on my feet.”

“Crystal—”

“And you’re not getting rid of me that easily.” She jammed her fists onto her hips, her mind made up.

“Okay, but if you miss out on Harvard because of your time in juvie, don’t come crying to me.”

“Harvard?” she asked, aghast. “I’m shooting for Stanford. San Francisco is calling my name.”

“Nice. Is it saying, ‘Hey, crazy little girl. Want some candy?’”

“How did you know?” she asked, her eyes twinkling with humor.

I laughed as we hurried out of our room. Dinner was not for another hour, but hopefully the doors would be unlocked anyway. Surely they’d have a knife I could carry for self-defense. But the minute I stepped out of my room, I came face-to-face with Kenya. Again. What was with her?

A niggling of recognition registered in the deepest, darkest corners of my mind. I’d been followed before. And, similarly, it was by someone who was not particularly fond of me at the time. Cameron Lusk.

Kenya was acting very much like Cameron might. Shady. Secretive. Volatile. Only Cameron, I found out later, had been following me to protect me. Not to kick my ass. Still, she carried a switchblade. She had a weapon and seemed to know how to use it. I couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not, but as long as she was dead set on tormenting me anyway, she may as well be of some use.

While I would normally be encouraging her to find a better use of her time, suggesting she take up belly dancing or parachute-less skydiving, for once I wanted her close. Of course, I couldn’t let her know that, so I played the part of hapless victim.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” I asked, letting a touch of frustration filter into my voice. “I heard there’s some third-graders who still have their milk money. If you hurry…”

Crystal nodded in agreement, then added, “Or you could go rob a liquor store. I hear there’s a bright future in that.”

I flashed Crystal a surprised smile. She was pretty good at this stuff.

“Or,” Kenya said, her voice just as controlled as mine, just as bored, “I could wait until you two are alone and stab you both to death.”

I stopped and turned to her.

She stopped, too, and probed me with a questioning gaze. “What?” she said, but she seemed wary, suspicious.

Could it have been her? Did she put the note in my pocket? I thought it was that boy, but who knows when the note was deposited? Maybe Kenya put it there earlier and I simply didn’t notice until I was in the bathroom, throwing up my latest meal.

“Was it you?” I asked, astonished she’d go that far with her idle threats. Then again, maybe they weren’t as idle as I thought.

She grabbed hold of my arm and pulled me toward her. “Was what me? What happened?”

I jerked out of her grip. The last thing I wanted to see was her death again, not that I’d ever had the same vision twice. Once usually did the trick. But just in case, I stepped away from her just as Crystal slid in between us.

“Go away,” she said, standing up to the playground bully with the bravado of an eccentric pirate. “Go find your own kind or something.”

Kenya’s gaze slid past her and narrowed on me, her thick liner making her look more menacing than she normally would. “It’s a free country. I can hang out here if I want to.”

“Whatever,” I said, continuing toward the dining room.

But we didn’t shake her. Kenya stayed right behind us. Surely she wouldn’t stab me in front of a witness, if that was her goal. But why? I wanted to look at the note again, but didn’t dare pull it out in front of Kenya. I’d just assumed it was a boy, but I could’ve been wrong. Maybe the note had a clue that I’d missed, one that would let me know the gender of my attacker. It would have to wait, however, with the switchblade stalker fast on our heels.