She felt badly for Gray. Her father had cut her out of his life. Her mother was a selfish b.i.t.c.h who would have been just as happy if Gray disappeared forever. That was so sad. Brittany had great parents. They didn't always see eye to eye on things, but she knew her mom and dad loved her. They would never in a million years throw her out of the house, throw her away like she was a broken doll or a piece of trash.

"Maybe she had her own reasons for wanting Gray to sleep over," Jessie said sarcastically. "A little girlie action, Britt?"

Brittany looked at her, seeing the nasty little gleam in her eyes. Jessie considered Christina her BFF and was easily made jealous. If anyone had lesbian tendencies, it was Jessie, but Brittany didn't have the nerve to say so.

"Maybe I'm just a nice person," she said. "Maybe if your mom kicked you out, you would like somebody to be nice to you too."

"Leave her alone, Jess," Christina snapped, conveniently forgetting that she had made the same kind of nasty comments before that night at the Rock & Bowl. All was forgiven now.

"What did you tell the cops?" Aaron asked.

"That we went to the Rock and Bowl and that Gray got p.i.s.sed off and left."

"And you told them that we were all there," he said. "Thanks, Britt."

"What difference would it make if I did?" she asked defensively. "What difference does it make who was there? Gray left. That's all that matters."

"Did you tell them that douchebag Hatcher was there?"

"I didn't tell them anything about anyone!" Brittany insisted. "Stop trying to make me feel like I did something wrong! They're the police, Aaron. You think they wouldn't find out whatever they wanted to find out?"

He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Was one of them Hatcher's mom?"

"No."

"Then how come he's not sitting here?"

"How would I know?"

"He's your boyfriend."

"He is not! How can he be my boyfriend? You're the one who keeps saying he's gay."

"Aaron, stop it," Christina snapped. "This isn't Britt's fault. Kyle probably told them we were all there. Who knows what he might have said."

"f.u.c.king loser runt," Aaron muttered, staring down at his fists on the tabletop. He had a tendency to pout, his full lower lip jutting slightly forward, his eyes narrowing to slits.

When Brittany had first seen Aaron Fogelman, like every other girl in school, she had thought he was hot. He was tall and athletic and good-looking in a young Channing Tatum kind of a way. She had fantasized about him being interested in her, but that hadn't lasted long. First of all, he was Christina's boyfriend. But as she'd gotten to know him, the hot looks had faded behind the fact that he was spoiled and sulky and not very nice to a lot of people.

She hated the way he treated Kyle-the bullying, the nasty gay references-even if Kyle did sometimes ask for it. As she looked at him now she could hear Kyle's voice: Nice friends you've got there, Britt. . . .

Her phone vibrated in her hand. She held it down in her lap and tried to read the text surrept.i.tiously.

@home. Suspended.

"Did you see what he put on Twitter?" Eric Owen asked the room in general. He was snickering when he brought the picture up on his phone and held it so everyone could look. He laughed even though one of the cartoon figures was clearly himself.

Aaron swore half under his breath, reached over, and s.n.a.t.c.hed the phone out of his buddy's hand.

"Hey!"

"It's not funny, d.i.c.khead!" Aaron declared.

It wasn't funny when Kyle did it to Aaron, but it had been hilarious when Aaron had done it to Kyle. Brittany wished she had the courage to say it, but she didn't.

"Where do you think Gray is?" Christina asked her.

"I don't know."

"You haven't heard from her?"

"No, but why would I?" Brittany asked. "She thinks I set her up."

"You did," Jessie Cook said smugly.

Brittany looked down again at Kyle's Suspended.-and thought, Wish I was there.

She wanted to deny Jessie's charge, but what good would it do her? She wanted to believe she hadn't known Christina was going to retaliate that night. n.o.body had told her in so many words. Christina had texted her, knowing full well Gray was with her, and told her to come to the Rock & Bowl. Brittany had convinced Gray to go.

Now she felt ashamed of herself for being a part of it, for not being brave enough to say something that night.

"She had it coming," Emily Peters said.

That was true. Gray had invited the trouble-as she always did. She had written a nasty poem about Christina called "Queen of the Cla.s.s" and read it out loud at PSI's monthly Artist's Open Mike Night right before Christmas break had started. Brittany could see it in her head like a scene from a movie: Gray standing at the microphone wearing a look that always meant trouble-half-mean, half-excited-as she began to read.

Queen of the Cla.s.s

Princess of sa.s.s

Boss of the cool elite.

Mermaid hair Down to there Never has tasted defeat.

Believes she's adored Everyone is so bored Pretending to worship her s.h.i.t.

Each one and all Can't wait for her fall Just wishing she'd take a big hit.

But life as a rule Is exceedingly cruel To the queens of phony glory.

They all fall down And break the crown And that be the end of their story.

The ones they look down on The ones that they frown on Are only too happy to say, Fool We knew all the time That this was your prime b.i.t.c.h, you peaked in high school.

Gray had been so pleased with herself. She loved making people uncomfortable when she believed they deserved it. No one had been able to make eye contact with Christina. They all knew the poem was about her. Christina's face had turned to stone.

"You know they think she's that dead girl that fell out of that car New Year's Eve," Aaron said. "The zombie."

Brittany frowned at him. "Don't say that."

"It's true. Emily, you said you read about it on TeenCities."

Emily nodded. "In Sonya Porter's blog. It was all about how there's this serial killer out there killing young women and doing terrible things to them."

"That doesn't mean it's Gray," Christina said.

"You know," Jessie said, "the way they described that dead girl on the news, it kind of sounded like Gray. G.o.d, how weird would that be-to know someone who was murdered by some sick psycho?"

She seemed almost excited at the prospect.

"If it is Gray, the killer got her after she left the Rock and Bowl," Brittany said. "And she left the Rock and Bowl because of us."

"That doesn't mean it's our fault," Christina argued. "It's not our fault there's some maniac running around killing people. All I wanted was to pay her back for what she did to me. I didn't wish for her to be kidnapped and tortured by some sicko! G.o.d, Britt, is that what you think?"

"No!" Brittany said. "But if that's what happened to her, I'm going to feel guilty, aren't you?"

"I'm going to feel terrible," Christina said, "but I'm not going to feel responsible. I didn't kill her."

Emily chewed at a fingernail, looking worried. "What do you think the cops will ask us?"

"What did they ask you, Britt?" Christina asked.

She squirmed on her chair. "They just wanted to know where Gray went. Had I heard from her. Did she leave with anyone. That's all."

"You told them she got mad and left," Christina said, leaning closer, lowering her voice. "Did you tell them why she flipped out?"

"No."

"They didn't ask?"

"No."

She leaned a little closer and swept a big curtain of gorgeous blond waves back over her shoulder. "You didn't tell them what she said to me, did you?"

"No!" Brittany whispered. "Why would I do that? I wouldn't do that."

"You were the only one who heard her say it," Christina whispered back. "And it's a lie, anyway, but you know how mean people can be."

She said it with a straight face, as if she had never been mean to anybody, her big brown eyes blinking with innocence.

"You won't say anything, will you?"

Brittany shook her head. "No."

Like the police would give a rip about the petty sniping of teenage girls.

Christina reached over and gave her hand a quick squeeze. "You're such a good friend, Britt."

Gray probably didn't think so, Brittany thought.

"You know," Aaron said, "Hatcher left right after Gray did that night. He's the one the cops should be talking to."

"I WANT TO smack this little p.r.i.c.k upside the head."

"That would be wrong," Tippen said with a bored sigh. "Satisfying, but wrong."

They stood in the room adjacent to the one the kids sat in, watching them, listening to their discussion via closed-circuit TV. Kids had no expectation of privacy in school. They were literally spied on all day long, in cla.s.srooms, in the halls, in the cafeteria, in this conference room waiting to be interviewed by the police.

Kovac studied one kid and then the next, taking in their body language, their facial expressions. Brittany Lawler looked the least happy of the group. She wanted to get up and leave. She squirmed in her seat, leaning away from the girl next to her-Christina Warner.

Christina leaned toward her with a look of concern, put a hand on her shoulder, and murmured something the microphone didn't pick up. Rea.s.surance. Comfort. Something like that.

Christina was clearly the leader of the pack. Pretty, stylish, aware of her s.e.xuality, bossy. The others looked to her. She was well aware of her position and her power.

It wasn't hard to imagine there would be tensions between her and a girl like Penny Gray, the perennial outsider. They were opposites, light and dark, manipulative and reactive. Because of the relationship between their parents, they were essentially being pitted against each other for the favor of Julia Gray. Julia Gray, who seemed to have nothing but disapproval and disappointment for her only child. Kovac could easily imagine her saying, Why can't you be more like Christina?

He turned to Tippen. "Let's do this. The two stooges first," he said, pointing to Aaron Fogelman's wingmen. "Then those two girls. We'll make the Fogelman kid wait a while after his pals, see if we can't drum up a little more paranoia in that one. Then we'll take the Warner girl, then Brittany Lawler again. We'll leave her 'til last. Let the others wonder why."

"Dr. Warner is already getting impatient," Tippen said.

"Good. Let him stew."

The parents had been a.s.sembled by Princ.i.p.al Rodgers in his office, Michael Warner among them. They would be allowed to sit in on the interviews with their individual children. At least none of them had brought an attorney along.

Thankful for small blessings, Kovac took one of the Fogelman kid's buddies and Tippen took the other. Neither had much of anything to say. They claimed not to really know Penelope Gray. They claimed to be playing skee ball in the arcade when the argument between Gray and Christina Warner went down. The parents were predictably defensive, doing what parents do: getting between trouble and their kids.

The interviews with the two girls, Emily Peters and Jessica Cook, went much the same.

Kovac took the Cook girl, whose mother was big and square and looked like she might fight for the WWE when she wasn't masquerading as a bank vice president in a sweater and pearls. Momma Bear sat with her meaty arms crossed over her chest and a sour look on her face. The girl had that slightly pinched quality to her expression that spelled a potential for belligerence.

Kovac sat down at the table across from them and began the verbal dance.

"So, Jessica, did you see Gray that night at the Rock and Bowl?"

She rolled her eyes. "You know I did. Otherwise I wouldn't be here, would I?"