As I approach Victoria's Secret, I slow. In my head I have it all worked out, what I'll say: "Hi. You called me?"

She'll be shocked to see me in person. Or will she? Do people go running to her whenever she beckons?

"Did you want to say something?" I'll ask.

Because we've said everything there is to say. Haven't we?

She'll go, "No." She'll lower those big brown eyes and look embarra.s.sed. Or be triumphant that she's yanked my chain.

I'll say...

I haven't worked out the rest of the conversation.

She's inside the store, near the front, not doing anything. Just gazing out into the mall. I duck behind a bank of gumball machines across from the store, feeling like an idiot.

She didn't notice me, I don't think. She stands there with this blank expression on her face, her eyes glazed over. A bolt of anguish shoots straight through me: She's coming to terms with Swan's death.

The most I've ever done is window-shop at Victoria's Secret and wish I had the guts to go inside and browse.

It takes every ounce of willpower I have to force my feet to move, to step out from around from the gumball machines and enter the store. Liana's eyes widen when she sees me.

"Hi," I say. I forget my next line; I have to improvise. "Would you help me? I'm looking for a gift for my great-aunt."

Liana says flatly, "Do you have something in mind? How old is she?"

I remove a red negligee from a nearby rack and hold it up. "She turns eighty-five tomorrow."

That coaxes a smile out of her.

"Liana, there's inventory to do as soon as you're done talking to your friend," a voice calls from the cash register.

Liana rolls her eyes and says under her breath, "My supervisor."

I call back, "I'm not a friend. I'm a customer."

"Oh. Excuse me." The supervisor skirts the counter with an armload of bras.

When she's out of earshot, I say, "I was thinking my great-aunt Wilma might like some lacy b.u.t.t floss."

Liana shakes her head. "You're bad." She considers for a minute, and then says, "I have just the thing."

Do her eyes twinkle, or am I hallucinating? She leads me to a center rack, where a collection of corsets and babydolls hang. She takes one off the rack and shows it to me.

"Definitely Great-Aunt Wilma." It's leopard and lace with black garters.

Liana grins. "It's called a merry widow." Her eyes sort of lose their l.u.s.ter. After a long second, she says, "I dare you to put it on."

The mischievous glint is back. I take the lingerie from her and say, "Where's the fitting room?"

She points.

As I pa.s.s her supervisor, I smile sweetly.

The fitting room is ice cold and goose b.u.mps rise on my skin, especially since I have to strip down to practically nothing to s.h.i.+mmy into the garment.

It's totally revealing. My b.u.t.t cheeks and b.o.o.bs hang out. A knock sounds on the door and Liana says, "How's it going in there?"

Dare I? I unlock the door and swing it open.

She eyes me up and down, making me feel even more naked than I am. Then she covers her mouth and starts to giggle. That makes me giggle, and I pull her inside the dressing room.

"I should make you try it on," I say.

She can't stop giggling.

"Shut up. Does it make me look fat?"

"No," Liana says. "You look..." She swallows hard. Her face sobers and she glances away. "Can I ask, how did you and Swan meet?"

I want to change back into my regular clothes if we're going to have a serious discussion, but she sits on the bench, facing me.

"On a ski trip the over winter break," I tell her. We're close enough that I can feel her body warmth. "A friend of Swan's was supposed to come, but she sprained her ankle."

Liana blinks. "Ice-skating with her the week before. I fell and sprained my ankle."

Cacophonies of consequences churn in my brain. What if Liana had gone to Winter Park? What if Swanee and I had never met? What if Swanee hadn't died?

"Liana?" the supervisor calls.

Liana pushes to her feet. "Coming." She pauses at the door and pivots around. Our eyes meet and hold. Instinctively, I cover up my exposed areas-or try to.

After she's gone, I feel heat swelling from every pore, exposed and otherwise. She's hot. Very hot.

I get dressed and take the lingerie out front and see that Liana's busy with inventory or something. The supervisor's at the cash register and I say to her, "I'll take this." I hand her my Visa, which I'm only supposed to use for necessities.

As I'm leaving the store, I stop behind Liana and watch her punch a number on her calculator. I say, "Thanks for your help, miss."

She turns and glances down at the bag. "You're getting it?"

"Everyone over eighty needs a merry widow."

She laughs. All the way home the resonance of her laughter radiates through me.

My persuasive paper is due tomorrow and all I've written so far is the t.i.tle. Typically, before Swanee, I never put off a.s.signments, unlike normal people. My MO is to obsess over unfinished business.

I set my laptop aside and lie back on my pillow. To think. Concentrate.

Liana might not be home from work yet. It's only, what? Seven thirty? Maybe she's working overtime.

I prop up my pillows again and pull my laptop over in front of me. If Liana doesn't call by ten, I'll call her. I'll say...

What? "Do you have any more questions? Ask me anything."

I can't compose a mental script when I'm supposed to be working on this stupid essay.

Ignorance is ignorance. It seems so simple, or redundant. So why am I having trouble defending it?

I wish I'd chosen the other side of the argument. Ignorance is bliss. Being kept in the dark and not having to deal with the truth is easy. It's denial. Swanee told me that Asher and Jewell declared bankruptcy last year. They refused to see, or admit, that they were living beyond their means.

I know Jewell's a shopaholic, and Swanee always got anything she wanted. For her sixteenth birthday, she got the Smart car. If she knew her family was in financial straits, would she have accepted the car? When did she learn they were having money problems? Did she try to give the car back? As much as I want a car, I know I'd be conflicted if my parents were struggling to put food on the table.

For my seventeenth birthday in November, I got a Visa. Big whoop. The monthly limit is so low that if I exceed it, which I do every month, Mom and Dad get on my case.

What time is it? I check my laptop clock. Almost eight.

I key in a couple of paragraphs about avoiding the pain and messiness of real life, keeping yourself emotionally safe. Ignorant. It sounds lame.

"The darker the shades, the easier life is on the eyes," I write.

Mrs. Burke is going to give me a flaming F.

What time is it now? Eight twenty. Close enough.

I dial Liana's number and it goes to voice mail. I don't know what to say, so I just hang up.

She obviously doesn't check her missed calls immediately the way I do. See? Obsessed.

An hour later I'm still staring at a silent cell.

I run through the events of today. We had a good time. At least I did, and she seemed to. We shouldn't be having fun, since we're both in mourning. But for some reason I think that creates a bond. Both of us being victimized by Swanee's lies.

I can't think of one more thing to add to this essay. All I can do is hope that a lot of people write c.r.a.ppy essays and that Mrs. Burke grades on a curve. That might earn me an F+.

Mom and Dad are in the living room with the lights off and the TV on. Dad's giving Mom a foot rub. As I snag Dad's keys, Mom cranes her neck over the sofa back and asks, "Are you going out?"

No, I just wanted to suck on the keys. "There's something I need at Swanee's. I know you told me not to go over there, but..." But what? I need to get out of here and clear my head.

"What is it?" Mom asks.

Swan still has jewelry that I gave her, not that I really want it back. I'd rather look for that ring. I tell Mom, "This T-s.h.i.+rt we made in GSA for Day of Silence." The lies are flowing freely again. The Swanee Effect.

Dad says, "It's too late to bother them on a Sunday night. Can't you stop by and pick it up in the morning?"

Mom adds, "I have a better idea. I'll call Jewell and ask her to drop it off on her way to work. What does it look like?"

"She can't go into Swanee's room, Mom."

Mom frowns. "Why not?"

Do I really have to tell her? "She just can't set foot in there."

That shuts Mom up.

"We'll work something else out," Dad goes.

Which means no. I storm back upstairs and almost slam my door. That, I know, would cost me, especially if I woke Ethan. Thankfully I stop myself and lose the att.i.tude so my credit card limit doesn't dwindle to zero, or something worse.

I catch the glow of Swanee's cell in my bag and take it out. She has two texts from today. They're both the same number, but it's not Liana.

The first one reads: if u have this cell ur a thief n im reporting u to the cops The number looks familiar. I check Swanee's contacts and it's not in there. Then I think to check my cell. Aha. It's the number Joss has been using. I should've known.

The second text reads: if u want to keep the cops out of it put the cell in an envelope and send it to this address It's a rural address in Hudson; probably that trailer where I left her today.

She's not getting Swanee's cell. Just as I'm dropping it back in my bag, my cell rings. It's a text from Liana: Sorry I missed your call. My mom always asks who I'm talking to and there's nowhere in this house I can have a private conversation Now I'm not even sure why I called her.

I text: I hear you. Not literally She texts: LOL. I can't believe you bought the merry widow I text: Hey, you're the one who picked it out. In fact, I'm wearing it right now. I made dinner in it for the rents and now I'm doing laundry LMAO.

I text: Do you like working there?

It's OK. Better than Chuck E. Cheese's But you'd get free pizza there And salmonella. At VS I get to dream about girls in lingerie all day There's a lull in the conversation, like maybe we shouldn't be having it. Then she texts: I know you're not supposed to speak poorly of the dead, but what Swan did was wrong and unforgivable. Except I'm Catholic, so I have to forgive her. I don't want to hate her. I did at first. Every lie I found out about was like a stab in the back. But I don't want to let hatred control my life Swan never should've done what she did to Liana. Or Rachel. Or me. No, there's no comparison with them and me. I know in my heart that Swanee loved me. She just wanted to make sure I was fully committed to her before she broke it off with Liana.

One more day and she would've known.

Yeah, it hurts to find out she was seeing someone else at the same time we were coming together. But given the chance, I would've proven to Swanee that no one could love her as much as I did.

Liana texts: I have to go Before she disconnects, I text: Wait A pause.

What?

That's the question, I think. Why am I making her wait? She needs to get on with her life, and so do I.

I text: Nothing. Never mind

Chapter 13.

When I hand in my persuasive paper, Mrs. Burke scans the mostly empty page and then turns it over to see if I've continued on the back. She gets that same look on her face that Mom gets when she's disappointed in me. I almost say, Quality over quant.i.ty, right? I'm surprised teaching doesn't bring out the serial killer in more adults.

On my way home I pa.s.s Swanee's street and see the Smart car parked at the end of the cul-de-sac with a FOR SALE sign in the window. LIKE NEW. $18,500.

Oh my G.o.d. Joss.