"That drawing you stole is important. You have no idea what you're getting into. You ruined everything. Things with me and Grace were supposed to be different." Cameron was gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were almost as white as mine clutching the sides of the seat.

His words cut through me. I was the one who ruined everything between him and Grace? If he wasn't such a psycho, we wouldn't even be having this conversation. My fear was replaced with anger...well, most of it.

"I know you were there that night," I whispered. My entire body began to shake when I heard the words escape my mouth. "It wasn't just some random accident, was it?"

For a second, I wondered if he hadn't heard me. And then Cameron swerved the car onto the shoulder and came to a screeching halt.

For what felt like hours, neither of us said a word. The exhausted motor hummed in the background, and Cameron held his face in his hands.

A few minutes later, he lifted his head, reached over, and grabbed me roughly by the shoulders. If this were a movie, all fifteen years of my life would have flashed right before my eyes.

"You have no idea who you're dealing with, Kate." His voice was slow, controlled. "You snooped around, found some stuff you don't understand, and now you think you've got it all figured out." He slammed his fist down on the dashboard so hard that the entire car quivered beneath me.

"News flash, Kate!" A vein on his forehead pulsed in sync with my pounding heart. He reached over and gripped my upper arm. "You don't know anything!"

Wrong. I did know one thing: I needed to get the h.e.l.l out of that car.

I clawed at his arm with my nonexistent nails, and he released his grip as though he'd woken up and didn't know where he was.

"Kate, wait..."

I fumbled around for the door lock, grabbed at the car handle, and practically fell out of the car and onto someone's front lawn. The second my feet hit the ground I took off down the sidewalk.

I heard Cameron open his door, but I'd already put a respectable distance between the two of us.

"Wait! You don't understand. Let me explain." He let out a howl filled with rage, pain, and grief. The noise was almost inhuman.

I had to get away from him.

I must have looked ridiculous sprinting down the street, because I earned myself quite a few honks and more than one "Yeah, baby!"

Just as I was congratulating myself on my impressive endurance, one of the straps of my flip-flops broke and left me limping down the sidewalk. A halo of tangled fuchsia hair framed my face, I could feel the makeup melting off my eyes, and I was carrying one of my shoes.

But at that moment, I wasn't really thinking about how I looked. Instead I obsessively looked over my shoulder for Cameron and his Range Rover. The memory of his fingers wrapped around my arm forced me to pick up my pace despite my broken shoe.

And then, like a mirage, it appeared before me. The caffeine-fueled haven where nothing bad could ever happen. The white letters on the green sign spelled out "Starbucks," but it should have said, "Safety."

I hobbled inside, thankful that I'd stuffed the twenty dollars my parents had left for takeout into my pocket before I left the house. Maybe if I had a venti Frap and calmed down a little, I could call someone for a ride home.

Of course, nothing ever goes the way you plan it. It's like Newton's Law or something. Or wait-maybe it's Isaac's Law? Whatever. It's that law where some guy basically says that the worst-case scenario almost always happens. And that night when I stumbled into Starbucks, I was like a walking hypothesis doomed to prove his theory absolutely, unequivocally right.

Chapter 11.

It occurred to me as I walked into Starbucks with one bare foot that I might not qualify for coffee, given their "No shirt, no shoes, no service" clause. Fortunately the barista ignored my broken sandal and took my order for a full-fat, full-sugar, venti Mocha Frappuccino with extra whipped cream.

As soon as she announced that my drink was ready and handed me the cup, I took one long sip of the cold, sugary concoction and felt my muscles begin to relax. I turned around and plopped myself into a comfy overstuffed chair in the corner.

"Ahem." The sound came from the couch behind me. I turned around to see Liam Gilmour lounging on the couch like he lived there; tall coffee in his hand, s.h.i.t-eating grin on his face.

In that moment I almost wished I was back in the car with Cameron. It would have been less humiliating. Well, less humiliating and potentially fatal, but at that moment Cameron seemed like the lesser of the two evils.

"Uh...hi," I managed to stutter while running my fingers through the rat's nest situated on top of my head. My hair was a lost cause. Pink + frizz = disaster, so I casually wiped the mascara from beneath my eyes.

"Rough night?"

"Yeah, you could say that." I gave up trying to pull myself together and took a long sip of my drink. As I peeked over the rim of my cup, I realized that Liam was even cuter than I'd remembered. I recalled my promise earlier not to care, not to get involved, but I couldn't help it. I noticed. His retro T-shirt clung to his arms and waist, promoting some band I'd never heard of, and his jeans were perfectly broken in. But the most surprising thing about Liam had to be that he really looked at me.

I wasn't used to that.

One of the unexpected side effects of your best friend dying and your other best friend publicly disowning you was that people stopped looking directly at you. They stared at my hair or feet or sometimes (and you know who you are) even my chest, but no one ever looked me in the eye. It was like the grief in my eyes burned with such intensity that no one could look directly into them.

Uncomfortable, I glanced down and pretended to examine my fingernails.

"Do you need a ride home or something?" he asked eyeing my grubby foot.

"No!" After the word left my lips, I realized it might have sounded a little abrupt. "I mean, no thanks. I'm fine. Really."

He looked me up and down. "You don't look fine."

I bristled. Yeah, I was a complete freaking train wreck, but the last thing I needed was some random hipster-gangster hybrid reminding me of that fact.

"I'm fine," I repeated tonelessly.

"Listen, I'm not leaving you here with one shoe on. I'll take you home. It's no big deal."

I looked down at my dirty foot. Who was I kidding?

"Fine. Can I just finish this first?"

I needed some time to pull myself together before going home. My parents were going to have lots of questions when I walked into the house looking like a mess, and I needed some time to mentally prepare.

"See, that wasn't so hard now, was it?" The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly in victory. b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

The door swung open, and I turned to see who had arrived, thrilled to have a minute to think about how to fill the impending awkward silence. I should have been ready for what happened next. After all, I was walking, talking proof that the theorem of worst-case scenario was a law as concrete as gravity. Unfortunately when Maddie, Taylor, and Beefany breezed through that door, I almost fell off my chair.

There was no hiding the horrified expression on my face, just like there was no hiding my hideous hair, my broken shoe, my dirty foot, and my three-thousand-calorie drink.

I won't lie. I have indulged in occasional (okay, fine-frequent) revenge fantasies involving me looking gorgeous, flirting with the hottest boys, and pretty much kicking a.s.s in general, while Maddie, Taylor, and Beefany are relegated to the sidelines because they're dressed all wrong and feel awkward and out of place.

But the reality was that I was here in Starbucks trying to pull myself together after I had literally run for my life. And there they were, looking like they'd just spent the afternoon at a spa and were in the mood for a quick, calorie-free drink before they headed to some fabulous party that I, of course, knew nothing about.

When I looked back at Liam, I saw that his face had darkened. He was staring directly at Beefany, of all people. Creepy. At least I could kind of understand why guys obsessed over Taylor. I mean, she was gorgeous. Blond, flawless, poised. But Beefany? Yeah, she was pretty, but she probably had five inches and twenty pounds on him. The look on his face made all the rumors about Liam's shady family and rocky past a little more believable.

Taylor and her posse must have felt our eyes on them, because Taylor whispered an order to Maddie, sending her rushing over to the barista. After a few more hushed words to Beefany, they glided over to our little corner. Beefany did all the talking while Taylor just stood there reeking of perfection.

"Hey, guys, it's so nice to see some fellow PBers out and about," Beefany said, her voice rasping like she'd just come off a weeklong chain-smoking binge.

"Uh, hi. I was actually just getting up. Kate, I'll be right back." Liam looked at me and nodded to the bathroom.

Way to throw me under the bus, Liam. But Beefany swooped in before he could escape.

"Don't you go running off." She placed a meaty hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. "What would your date think?" She looked directly at me and raised one perfectly manicured black eyebrow.

I stared into her eyes for a second but was drawn to her strong fingers as she ma.s.saged Liam's shoulder. He shot me an apologetic look, but he didn't push her away. I threw up a little bit in my mouth.

"So I hate to do this when you're on a date, but I really need to talk to you, Liam. In private." Beefany turned, her long black hair swinging over one shoulder, and began walking toward the corner of the coffee shop without even bothering to wait for a response. To my complete and utter shock, Liam promptly followed.

The only upside to my bucket-sized Frap was that I had something to keep me busy while I tried to pretend that our school's reigning queen bee and my exabest friend weren't standing a few feet away whispering about me.

Instead I focused on observing Liam and Beefany. I'd had no idea they were even friends, but they were deep in conversation. Liam's back was to me, but Beefany was laughing and touching his arm, stealing glances in my direction every so often. Liam was tall, but Beefany was taller. When she whispered in his ear, her cheek grazing his, my skin crawled. I glanced up at Taylor, who watched with a small smile playing on her lips.

Finally the happy couple headed back in my direction. Liam's face was completely blank as he sank back into the couch. Taylor whispered something in Beefany's ear, and I had no doubt that she was pulling the strings on this entire awkward encounter. Apparently, Beefany saved Queen Taylor from getting her hands dirty.

"Well...I'll let you two get back to your little date. Hope you feel better, Cat. You look like you've had a rough one. Ciao!" Beefany said with a final flip of her hair.

"It's...Kate. My name is Kate," I said. But the two of them were already laughing among themselves on their way out the door. I wondered if Taylor had told Beefany to get my name wrong, the icing on my cupcake of humiliation.

Maddie obediently waited near the exit, holding three iced black coffees with her spindly arms. She must have expanded her diet to include ice and coffee. Impressive. Taylor walked right past her, and Beefany followed. Neither of them bothered to help Maddie with the drinks. Typical.

I turned back to Liam, who was staring into s.p.a.ce, lost in thought, with the same dark expression on his face. He finally snapped out of his daydream and looked back at me. He wrinkled his forehead a little before his mouth twisted into a smile.

"Did she just call you 'Cat'?"

I tried to look annoyed, but I started laughing right along with him.

"Yeah, she hasn't once gotten my name right. We practically grew up together, and last week she called me Christy and now...Cat. Must be a royal decree from Queen Taylor that no one should get my name right."

"Yeah, well, we're not all loyal to the queen," he said, his face darkening. "Ready?" He took the last sip of his coffee.

"Yep. Let's get out of here. You're sure you don't mind?"

"Don't mind a bit, Cat."

"Very funny," I said, rolling my eyes. I waited for him to walk toward the door, but he just stood staring at me for a second. My cheeks flushed, and I examined my feet.

"I should probably get your number, though, you know, in case you ever want to refuse a ride from me again."

My mind flashed back to the darkness in his eyes when he'd stared at Beefany and then the cozy little conversation that followed, but I listed the numbers anyway. For the first time in the after-Grace, I felt a shivery wave of desire. As usual, my timing totally sucked.

A piece of hair hung in his eyes as he typed, a slight smile playing on his lips. He was hot, but he was also a distraction. And I didn't need any of those right now.

Of course, if I was the kind of girl who doodled potential married names in my notebooks, you can bet your a.s.s my margins would have been covered with "Kate Gilmour" when I did my homework that night.

But I wasn't that kind of girl. At. All.

"Got it," he said, sliding his phone back in his pocket and pushing through the door.

My phone vibrated on my way out. I had one new text from an unfamiliar number.

bc youll prob need a ride again sometime I smiled. Turns out there was a lot to like about Liam Gilmour.

My phone buzzed again and I glanced back down, expecting another text from Liam. Even though he was only a few feet away from me, I liked this game.

Seeing Cameron's name made my stomach sink.

we need 2 talk Game over. I deleted the text. I wasn't sure what I needed from Cameron, but I knew I wasn't ready to talk to him. At least not yet.

Chapter 12.

My cell phone buzzed on and off throughout most of the night. Every time I checked, it was Cameron. There was something scary and kind of obsessive about his persistence. Truthfully, I was terrified to talk to him. I just wasn't sure I was ready to hear whatever he might confess.

I promised myself that I'd deal with him tomorrow, when the long shadows in my room weren't making me so jumpy and the branches that sc.r.a.ped against my window didn't sound so much like fingernails. The morning seemed like a much safer time to hear the truth about Grace.

As usual, things seemed more manageable in the light of day. Yeah, I'd gotten approximately thirteen texts and missed ten calls from my dead best friend's stalker boyfriend, but I was sure I could handle the situation. I'd wait until my parents were both home and call him back. You know what they say, safety first.

In the meantime, I decided to proceed as normal, and a normal Sat.u.r.day for me always included a trip to the mailbox. One of my sole responsibilities as the only child of Greg and Beth Lowry was to get the mail every day. Apparently, Mom and Dad had a thing for their responsible daughter retrieving the mail and leaving it in a tidy pile on top of our granite countertops.

Getting the mail was one of the only artifacts of the "old Kate" that remained in place. I think it gave my parents some kind of false hope that their perfect daughter was buried somewhere underneath the sullen teenager who'd replaced her over the past year. The reality was that I didn't complain about the ch.o.r.e because it came in handy when demerits were mailed home.

a.n.a.lyze that, Dr. P.

As I stood at the mailbox, I learned that my search for Cameron had landed me a demerit for cutting English Lit. I guess Seth never came through with that excused absence. I'd have to open that bad boy and forge my dad's illegible initials.

But the small package at the bottom of the heap was what made my stomach flip-flop.

It was a manila envelope lined in bubble wrap, addressed to me. Besides the fact that I pretty much never received mail (unless you counted those freaking demerits), there was no postage, no return address. But I didn't need either of those to know who had left the package in my mailbox. The handwriting was the same blocky script used to scrawl Grace's name next to the mysterious crest.

I looked left and then right, half expecting to hear Grace yell, "Gotcha!" in between fits of giggles. But the only person around was Seth, making his way down the driveway to his own mailbox.

"You okay, Kate?" he yelled over. He was chowing down on what looked like a s'more, and I had a vision of his family gathered around a campfire in their backyard roasting marshmallows and singing songs. Who made s'mores at 11:00 a.m. on a Sat.u.r.day? He bypa.s.sed his mailbox and headed straight for me like some kind of Kate-guided missile.

"Hey, did you get some bad news or something?"