"Missy tipped him off that I'd been snooping around. Besides, I got the files."

"You did? How?"

"It doesn't matter. I've got them."

"I won't be able to go through mine. Someone else will have to," V said, giving me a probing look. "Or maybe you already did."

"No, I haven't read it. That wouldn't be right. But I did see something in yours. By accident."

V let out a long sigh. Like a balloon losing its air.

She slumped back against the wall.

"You're eighteen. Why are you still here?"

"Is that what you saw? My birthday?"

"Yeah. Why? What else is in that file? Whatever it is, does it explain why you're still here, why you of all people, you who hate this place so much, are still here?"

V shrugged and shrank farther back toward the wall. She was a tall girl, but she suddenly looked small, fragile, broken. I reached out to touch her wrist. She looked up at me, fear in her eyes.

"V, tell me."

She pinched the bridge of her nose and took another breath. "I lied to you. I lied to all of you. My dad's not a diplomat with the United Nations. Not anymore. He's dead." V started to cry.

I was stunned. All I could say was, "I'm so sorry."

She sat back, straightened out her shirt and wiped her eyes. "My dad used to work for the UN. We lived all over the place, in some pretty wild places: Ghana, Sri Lanka. His last a.s.signment was in Baghdad, but Mom and I couldn't go with him that time; it was too dangerous."

"Oh G.o.d. He got killed in Iraq?"

V looked up at me through misty tears and let out a bitter laugh. "No. I mean that's what you'd expect to happen. I was at least a little prepared for that. Mom and I both were. People were getting blown up left and right. But no, he stayed safe there until the UN cut his mission short. He came home and it was great. Mom and I were so relieved. Then two weeks after he got back, he and Mom drove up to Connecticut to see my grandparents. On the way home, their car was broadsided by a drunk driver. Mom walked away without a scratch, but Dad was killed on impact. Can you f.u.c.king believe it?"

I was numb. All I could do was stroke her hand and say, "Oh V," over and over. She kept going, the words tumbling out of her.

"After that, I kind of came unglued. Mom and I both did. It was more awful than anything I could've imagined. I missed him so much, and every morning for ages I'd wake up expecting him to be there. It was like losing him all over again. Every day. You know what that's like, don't you?"

I thought of my mom, the secret wish I'd nursed every morning that I'd find her downstairs, making breakfast. I nodded.

"So that was that. And then my whole world seemed to go berserk, and I felt like I couldn't trust my footing anymore. I just got scared to go out, scared I'd get hit by a car or electrocuted by a power line or bitten by a dog. It was totally irrational. It got so I couldn't even leave our apartment. It felt like doom was lurking in the most random of places. It was obvious that I needed some help. So here's the really crazy thing, Brit. I'm the one who chose Red Rock. I chose this place."

"Why? Why would you want to come here?"

"It felt safe to me. It still feels safe to me. We're way out here in the middle of nowhere. We're watched. We're taken care of...."

"We're spied on. It's horrid. You hate it here. You hate it more than most."

V barked out a cutting laugh. "And I really do hate it. That's the oddest thing. I hate what it does to smart, mouthy girls like you. But for me, it's comforting. I know what to hate, what to fear, what to expect."

"And you also know how to keep yourself here."

"I guess. All the level demotions are just for show, although Clayton and Sheriff are as hard on me as anyone. My mom will let me stay here as long as I need to. She's petrified of losing me, too." V stopped and wiped her tears, her caustic laugh weakening to a nervous giggle. Then she looked up and bore into me with those eyes of hers. "Did you see your file?"

I nodded.

"And were there any bugaboos?"

"A letter from my mom, one that no one had shown me."

"Was she raving mad?"

"No, that was the strangest part. She was lucid. She knew what was happening to her. For that moment, anyway." I shook my head.

"What?" V asked.

"It's just that we'd like to think that craziness and sanity are on opposite ends of an ocean, but really they're more like neighboring islands."

V stared at me. "Is that what scares you? The thought that Brit Hemphill may be living a little too close to the island of the crazies?"

"Everyone else seems to think I'm already living on Crazy Island."

"Like who?"

"Clayton. Dad. I never told anyone this, but he came to visit me in the spring, and while he didn't admit as much, I could tell that's what he thought."

"Forget your dad. What do you think?"

I felt my shoulders retreat into a defensive shrug, but then I pulled them back down. V had come clean to me, and it was my turn. I owed it to both of us. "I'm scared," I said, my voice a tiny croak.

"Of what?"

"That I'm going to end up like her, that it's my destiny," I whispered.

"And what makes you think it is?"

"I look like her, I sound like her, I act like her, like she did when she was younger."

"But I thought your mom was the coolest, that everyone loved her."

"She was," I said.

"Then you should be thrilled to be just like her."

"Not if the end of that path is insanity," I said. And then it was all out there. Everything. It was said out loud. V didn't stroke my hand or say my name or hug me. She just watched me, her eyes sharp and glinting and wise.

"Cinders, I would've thought you of all people would know better. There are no wicked stepmothers and there are no fairy G.o.dmothers, and there are no Prince Charmings. There is no preordained destiny. You get to decide that. You decide your destiny."

"But what if I have it? Like a sickness. Inside me."

"Then you have it, and maybe one day it gets you. But you decide how you live your life in the meantime. You can hide in fear. Or you can live life."

I looked into V's eyes. She was sitting up straight again, the fragile little girl gone for now. She was my tough-a.s.s friend, my sister. And she was right, in more ways than one. "Maybe it's time you took your own advice," I told her.

Her gaze found mine and held it for a second. "Maybe you're right."

Chapter 26.

If Bebe and Ca.s.sie thought I was foolish to attempt it, Ansley and Beth thought I was downright nuts. When I called them with my plan, they were dead against it. I told them it was the only way.

I didn't have a chance to tell V what I was going to do, but I thought she'd approve. Her words, after all, were driving me.

I broke out the same way I had in March, through the same unarmed door, jammed open with a rock. And Ansley and Beth were waiting for me the same as before, only this time with more trepidation than antic.i.p.ation.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Ansley asked. "You don't exactly have a good track record."

"We could bring him your files," Beth suggested.

"It's the only way. He's got this idea of us as these bratty, stupid kids. If I meet him in person, maybe he'll take me seriously."

"He might also blow a hole in you with a shotgun," Ansley said.

"Ans, don't scare her."

"Well, it's Utah. Everyone's got a gun, and he could mistake her for a prowler."

"I'm not a prowler. I'm a teenaged girl, and I don't get the feeling he spooks easily. He won't shoot me."

We drove on in silence, through St. George and up toward Zion, where what seemed like years ago I'd spent part of a night with Jed. Instead of cutting into the park, Ansley turned north until the road emptied out again. It was late, around 11:30, but when we pulled down the tree-lined drive to Henley's giant ranch, the lights on his three-story adobe house were blazing. At least I wouldn't wake him.

"We'll wait right here," Beth said.

"If he starts shooting, duck and run for the car," Ansley said.

As I walked up the front path, dogs started barking inside the house, and before I could ring the bell, the door opened. Henley was old, with a shock of white hair. He wore tattered old pajamas and held a fat book, his finger bookmarking his page.

"What the h.e.l.l do you want this time of night?" he growled. "Don't tell me you're selling Girl Scout cookies."

I looked down at my Red Rock uniform. "Mr. Henley. My name is Brit Hemphill. I called you a few weeks ago."

"Not you again. I told you. I don't care." He tried to shut the door, but I shoved my foot into it. He turned around to look at me, kind of surprised, but he didn't close the door. I walked through it.

"I don't recall asking you in."

"I know, but just hear me out. Here." I presented him the file the Sisters and I had ama.s.sed. It was almost as thick as his book.

"What's this?"

"Evidence. About Red Rock Academy."

Henley guffawed. "Evidence? What, that they're using dog meat in the tacos?"

"I know it seems funny to you, but I can a.s.sure you, there are some serious transgressions going on at the school. And yet no one seems to care. No one believes us."

"I've heard about your school. It's for rich little drug addicts and runaways," he said, eyeing the tattoo on my arm. "I've no interest in that."

"Please, if you would just read this. Take a look. Evaluate it."

Henley picked up the file, gave the folder a cursory glance and handed it back to me. "Stop wasting my time, kid. It's past your bedtime, no more games." He started to walk toward the kitchen.

"Why won't you just look at it?" I shouted. "Why won't you give us a chance?"

"I gave you a chance last time by not calling your b.l.o.o.d.y princ.i.p.al. And I'm giving you a chance now. A chance to leave before I call the police."

"Right, because authority is always right, Mr. Henley? Were they right in the Alabama town you grew up in, when they burned down black churches? Were they right when they bombed women and kids in Vietnam? Were they right when they locked up South African freedom fighters?"

He stared at me, his ears turning red. "You can't be comparing yourself to those people. You simply cannot."

"I'm not. I know it's not that bad. But it's still wrong. And no one seems to care about it because we're kids and our parents sent us to Red Rock. As if adults don't screw up, too!"

"Look, I feel your pain. But I'm not your man. Leave now."

"Wasn't it you who said that the only way to guard freedom was to question those in power? That's what you said when you won your first Pulitzer. Doesn't that hold true anymore? There's something happening in your backyard, and it's bad, and you're the only one who can help change it. We need someone to help us!" I was yelling now. "I read what you wrote. I know all about you. You used to care about injustice. Please, please listen to us."

I threw the folder on the floor, and before Skip Henley could call the cops on me, I turned around and ran.

"It's a miracle you didn't get caught," Ca.s.sie said. I'd cornered her, Bebe, and Laurel in the cafeteria the next morning.

"You are pretty lucky," Laurel said. "V's break-in still has everyone really nervous. I'm amazed you made it out. I'm amazed you came back."

"I know. Maybe I should've kept going. Then the whole thing wouldn't have been such a bust."

"Don't worry, Brit. I'm outa here in no time and I'll find someone who'll listen."

"Thanks, Ca.s.s. But all that evidence. Everything we risked our b.u.t.ts for. It's all gone."

"And you're sure he didn't bite?" Laurel asked.

"No way. You should've seen the way he looked at me. Like some dumb little girl. He thinks we're a bunch of spoiled brats, and what'd I do? I went and had a temper tantrum in front of him. Played right into that one. He thinks we're a joke."

"Don't beat yourself up," Ca.s.sie said. "You gave it your best shot."