By Tuesday morning, three long days since they’d taken Manning away, I could no longer handle doing nothing. This time next week, I’d be back in school, even more helpless than I already was.

I went through the bathroom, knocked on Tiffany’s door, and entered.

“Rude much?” she asked. Tiffany lay on her stomach, reading Cosmopolitan, blowing on her nails. A bottle of purple polish sat precariously on her white comforter. “I could’ve been naked.”

“I’ve seen you naked.”

“What do you want?”

Tiffany’s room was the personification of a rundown childhood. In elementary school, Mom had redecorated it with white wicker furniture, ruffled bedding, and pastel walls. She’d helped Tiffany and me paint tulips along the bottom. But as Tiffany had gotten older, she’d tacked concert posters around her bed. Paint chipped off the wicker desk where she’d thrown her phone at it. She’d glued pictures of celebrities to her vanity mirror. One tulip head had been covered with a glittery sticker that said “Goddess” and another with a cartoonish MTV logo. Her shoe collection had overflown from the closet, floral Doc Martens sprouting from her plush, white carpet.

I turned the stereo volume down. “Did you get ahold of Gary?”

“Hey. That was Alice in Chains.”

“Did you?”

She sighed. “He called last night. Manning robbed someone. That’s why he’s there.”

But that made no sense at all. “Are you sure?”

“Yup.”

There were so many ways to tell her Manning couldn’t have committed any crime that night, but how? I’d have to admit I was with him, and I’d promised I wouldn’t tell. “What . . . who do they think he stole from?”

She looked up at me. “Guess.”

“How would I know?” Her eyes stayed on me so long, it was as if she actually expected me to respond. “Another counselor?” I asked.

“No.” She returned to her magazine. “He didn’t take anything. Just broke into some house in the suburbs during an alcohol run. Nobody, not even Gary, knows what happened between when he left and morning. At least, nobody has come forward.”

My throat went dry. There was no robbery. There was no house. Just a truck, a lake, and infinite stars. Manning was innocent. “Does Gary think he did it?”

“No. Neither do I, obviously.”

I tried to feel relieved. Gary and Tiffany were adults—they knew better. They’d handle this. “What else did he say?”

“Manning meets with his lawyer this week, and they’ll go before a judge. I forget what it’s called, but Gary says that’s when he pleads ‘not guilty.’ We’ll know more after that.”

“But what happens until then? Is Manning coming back?” Either my chest was caving in or my heart had begun to swell. I couldn’t picture him held at the station for days, just waiting, thinking of all the things he would’ve done differently that night. Maybe, even, regretting our time together. “Or is he already back?”

Tiffany carefully flipped a page and checked her polish. “I don’t know. I guess he’s in jail.”

On her desk next to her phone sat a pink, lined notepad with hearts doodled in the margin—and notes in her handwriting. “Did Gary give you the name of the lawyer?”

Tiffany tilted her head at the magazine. She didn’t respond for so long, I assumed she’d forgotten I was here. Upside down, I read the title of the article she found so engrossing: “Best Autumn Makeup.”

I was fed up. Either it was her narcissism that got under my skin, or the fact that autumn was practically here, pressing down on us when summer could so clearly not end this way. “Tiffany, you have to take this seriously. If you don’t want him anymore, fine, but he’s still a friend of ours.”

“What makes you think I don’t want him?”

“You said that at camp.”

“And he’s my boyfriend, not your friend. Why do you want his lawyer’s name?”

“Because I have to talk to him. I think I—I might’ve seen something that night.”

Tiffany closed her magazine and sat up, catching the bottle of nail polish just as it started to tip over. “Okay, so tell me, and I’ll call him.”

We stared at each other. I felt as if I were taking a quiz without knowing the topic. Tiffany was being weird and cryptic and I had zero time for that. I went over to her desk and grabbed the notepad.

“Stop,” she said, swiping for it.

I jumped back and read her handwriting. “Tuesday arraignment. One o’clock.” I looked up at her. “That’s today.”

“So?”

Manning was going to court for something he hadn’t done, and I still hadn’t told anybody my side of the story. For all the times he’d protected me, I owed him the same. I didn’t know much about the law, but I’d heard of attorney-client privilege on TV. I was almost positive Manning’s lawyer would need to know the truth, whether or not it could hurt Manning.

I returned to my room and carried my phone to the bed.

Making calls in this house was a dangerous business. At any moment, someone could pick up the line. Sometimes, you wouldn’t even hear the click, you’d just go on talking about stuff parents and older sisters could later tease you about. Vickie had once raved over Luke Harold’s hair, the ways in which it was better than even Jonathan Taylor Thomas’s. My dad had heard ten seconds of it and still hadn’t let me live that down.

Tiffany was the only person home, but she of all people couldn’t hear this call. She’d have every right to demand answers if she found out I had sensitive information about the night her boyfriend was arrested.

I read over her notes again—Arainment Tuesday. 1pm. Dexter Grimes public defender (lawyer).

Once Tiffany had turned her music back up, I dialed four-one-one, got Dexter’s office number, and made the call. As I waited for him to pick up, I glanced around my room. It needed a makeover. My CD collection was a quarter the size of Tiffany’s. Like her, I also collected stickers, but they were confined to my school binders and a bookshelf crammed with paperbacks. Sweet Valley High and Goosebumps had to go. I hadn’t even picked one of those up since sixth grade.

Were they the last books I’d read for fun?

The line clicked over to voicemail. “You’ve reached Dexter Grimes of the public defender’s office—”

Shit, shit, shit. This wasn’t good. The arraignment was in less than three hours. The recording beeped, and I realized I had no idea what I wanted to say. “Hello, Mr. Grimes,” I started.

Tiffany pounded on my door, and I jumped a mile high. “What are you doing?” she asked.

I put my hand over the receiver. “Go away.” I lowered my voice. “Sorry, Mr. Grimes. I’m calling about a client of yours, M—Mr. Manning Sutter. I have information about the night he got in trouble.” I paused. How much should I tell him? I needed to see what he already knew, figure out if I could trust him. “I can’t say it in a message, but it might help him. Please, please call me back when you get this.” I hung up and immediately realized I hadn’t left a number. Or a name. My hand sweat around the receiver. I wasn’t thinking straight, and I needed to. For Manning. I hit redial, stood, and paced the room, back and forth, as far as the cord would allow. “Hi, Mr. Grimes. I just left a message but I forgot to give you my information. I’m Lake. Like the body of water.” I cringed. I hadn’t introduced myself that way since I was a kid. “Lake Kaplan. When you call back, if I don’t answer, please don’t mention what this is about. I live with my family, and they can’t know I’m calling. But it’s really important what I have to tell you.” I relayed my phone number twice and my name again.

I dropped the receiver into its cradle, flopped onto my bed, and looked up at the ceiling. I practiced breathing with my diaphragm as if I were back on the lawn at USC. I tried forcing myself to appreciate what I had around me like Gary had taught us to do. But Manning only grew bigger in my mind.

I had no idea about arraignments. My dad would, but I couldn’t ask him. It’d only been three days. Maybe that was good—I wanted Manning out of there—but it almost seemed too soon. Was an arraignment the same as a trial, like the ones I’d seen on TV shows? In class, we’d watched To Kill a Mockingbird last year. Some of my classmates had fallen asleep, the movie black-and-white, slow-moving, but if the trial scene had been happening in front of my eyes, it would’ve felt fast, with words meant to confuse. Overwhelming. My heart began to race just thinking of Manning in there all alone. Did he even know what to do in an arraignment? How could he, in only three days? If I had information that could help, shouldn’t I be there just in case he needed me?

I sat up quickly, went downstairs, and found Tiffany in the kitchen. “We have to go to Big Bear,” I said.

She pulled her head out of the refrigerator. “What?”

“We need to drive there for the arraignment. Now.”

She took out a carton of orange juice. “Are you kidding? Dad would kill us.”

“Then we won’t tell him.”

She raised a manicured eyebrow as she put the OJ on the counter. “Wow. Since when do you lie to dad?” she asked, unscrewing the cap. “Must really be important to you.”

“You said it yourself—Manning’s all alone. He has no family. You told me,” I swallowed, “you said his sister died. So who’s there with him?”

She took a glass from the cupboard, set it on the counter, and looked back at me. “Nobody, I guess. But he . . .”

“What?” I asked. “Why are you acting so flippant about this? What has he ever done to you besides be nice? You said he was a gentleman.”

“He was.”

“So? That’s not good enough for you?”

“He’s innocent,” she said, staring at the empty glass. “Why does it matter if we go? They’re just going to release him.”

I didn’t have time for this. I had to make a choice. Nothing would happen to Manning; he hadn’t done anything. I had to believe that. But if there was even the slightest chance he might turn and look for me . . . if he needed me to speak up, and I wasn’t there . . .

“Fine.” I turned to leave the kitchen. “But I’m taking your car.”

“What?” She followed me upstairs. “You don’t even know how to drive.”

“I know enough,” I said on my way into my room.

“You’re such a brat,” she said through the door.

I ignored her and changed into the nicest sweater and slacks I owned. I found a pair of pumps in my mom’s closet. They were a size too big, but I put them in my purse. By the time I’d brushed out my hair and attempted a little makeup, Tiffany was downstairs waiting by the front door.

“You’ll come?” I asked.

“He’s going to need a ride back anyway. Like I’d ever let you drive my car,” she said, opening the front door.

She acted annoyed, but I knew my sister well enough to recognize the look in her eyes. She was just as nervous as I was.