27

Charlie and I stared in disbelief from where we were parked on the street.

“How do Jordan and Kendall know each other?” Charlie asked.

“Maybe they don’t. Maybe he’s using her driveway to turn around.”

Nope. Jordan’s headlights cut off and his car door opened. I must’ve been on autopilot, because I grabbed the yearbook camera from my back seat and snapped a picture. Charlie looked as confused as I felt.

“Does Kendall know you dated Jordan?”

“I don’t think so. I’ve never had a reason to bring him up.”

“So this isn’t some sort of revenge booty call she orchestrated to get back at you?”

That sounded right up Kendall’s alley, with the exception that she knew nothing of my history with Jordan. Yet Kendall herself opened the door for him. We were too far and it was too dark to see her face when she found Jordan on her front step, but she didn’t hesitate to let him in. I snapped another picture before the door closed.

“Was that for you or for Sara?” Charlie asked. “Or TJ?”

I pulled up the grainy image on my screen and zoomed in on Kendall. It was dark and blurry, but there was no mistaking the smile on her face. I frowned at Charlie. “Whichever one of us needs it most.”

A few seconds later, a light came on in one of the turreted windows on the upper level. A window with frilly, pink-and-green curtains.

“I think they’re in her bedroom,” Charlie said, reading my mind. No sooner had she finished her sentence than the light went out. “No way. Do you think they’re doing it?”

The sour taste of betrayal lingered in my mouth. If Kendall and Jordan were hooking up, why had she been so focused on TJ’s extracurricular activities? And how dare she accuse me of stealing something she’d already thrown away? Maybe I was jumping to conclusions, but something was very wrong here and I had to figure out what.

I held up my phone and waited, watching for the light to go back on. When it didn’t, I hit TJ’s number and sent him a text.

Any reason why Jordan Pace would be at Kendall’s house right now?

A long, loaded pause followed before my phone buzzed with his response:

I might have an idea.

• • •

I lay in bed that night with my mind reeling. I’d been humiliated by my ex–best friend, comforted and almost kissed by my ex-boyfriend, and then discovered the two of them were possibly hooking up behind everyone’s backs. It had been a hell of a twenty-four hours.

On top of it, I’d gone into the Busted email account to find it littered with hate mail. Complete strangers had gone out of their way to tell me how horrible I was, and one of them even used the word unprofessional.

Unprofessional. Like this private eye crap was real.

The email I didn’t receive bothered me most though. For all the overly brave anonymous venom, the one eff-you I expected never materialized: Sara’s. When I finally drifted off for a few minutes, I dreamed that she and her friends snuck up behind me at my locker with baseball bats, pounding away until my limbs snapped like tree branches and fell onto the linoleum in sharp right angles.

I woke with a start and launched myself at my computer, taking half of my bedding with me. I didn’t need another person plotting revenge against me. I opened an email and addressed it to SaraCat42.

Hi, Sara,

You probably know who Reverse Cupid is already, but in case you haven’t heard, it’s me, Marisa Palmera. I know you think there’s something going on between Jordan and me, but I can assure you there’s not. I went to the Templeton game last night like you asked me to, and I saw him there. He didn’t have a girl with him, but did he tell you where he went afterward?

Marisa

I left it at that. Mentioning the video seemed like a stupid move. If she’d seen it, she’d draw her own conclusions, and if she hadn’t, there was no sense in pointing a giant flashing sign at it.

I looked at the clock—4:00 a.m. All I could do was wait for the ax to fall. And figure out what to say to TJ when I saw him. I’d responded to his I might have an idea text message with Care to elaborate? But he hadn’t answered.

While I was on a roll, I unplugged my phone from its charger and clicked on Kendall’s name. I started to type and deleted my message three times. Finally, I wrote I think we both have some explaining to do and hit send. At that point, I couldn’t see the harm in adding one more knot to my intestines.

An eternity of silence passed while I alternately checked my phone and email. Nothing appeared in either one.

I looked at the clock again—4:15. This was going to be a long night.

I pulled out the chair at my craft table, knowing I’d never get back to sleep. I needed a way to occupy my mind, to remember that I was good at something. My fingers wandered over to the box at the far edge of the table, one that I hadn’t opened in quite a while, and an idea started to form. I set to work. Gradually, some of the tension faded from my shoulders. My plan might not get me anywhere, but for once, I felt like I was doing something right.