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I can't stop doing the math in my head. It's eight-fifty a.m. on Tuesday, andtwenty-four hours ago Simon was going to homeroom for the last time. Sixhours and five minutes from then we were heading to detention. An hourlater, he died.

Seventeen years, gone just like that.

I slide down into my chair in the back corner of homeroom, feelingtwenty-five heads swivel my way as I sit. Even without About That toprovide an update, news of Simon's death was everywhere by dinnertimelast night. I got multiple texts from everyone I've ever given my phonenumber to.

"You all right?" My friend Yumiko reaches over and squeezes my hand. Inod, but the gesture makes the pounding in my head even worse. Turns outhalf a flask of bourbon on an empty stomach is a terrible idea. Luckily bothmy parents were still at work when Nate dropped me off, and my sister,Maeve, poured enough black coffee down my throat that I wassemicoherent by the time they got home. Any lingering effects they chalkedup to trauma.

The first bell rings, but the speaker crackle that usually signals morningannouncements never comes. Instead, our homeroom teacher, Mrs. Park,clears her throat and gets up from behind her desk. She's clutching a sheetof paper that trembles in her hand as she starts to read. "The following is anofficial announcement from Bayview High's administration. I'm so sorry tohave to share this terrible news. Yesterday afternoon one of yourclassmates, Simon Kelleher, suffered a massive allergic reaction. Medicalhelp was called immediately and arrived quickly, but unfortunately, it wastoo late to help Simon. He died at the hospital shortly after arrival."A low whispering buzz runs through the room as somebody chokes out asob. Half the class already has their phones out. Rules be damned today, Iguess. Before I can stop myself, I pull my phone from my backpack andswipe to About That. I half expect a notification for the juicy new updateSimon bragged about before detention yesterday, but of course there'snothing except last week's news.

Our favorite stoner drummer's trying his hand at film. RC's installed a camera in the lightfixture in his bedroom, and he's been holding premieres for all his friends. You've beenwarned, girls. (Too late for KL, though.)

Everyone's seen the flirting between manic pixie dream girl TC and new rich boy GR,but who knew it might be something more? Apparently not her boyfriend, who satoblivious in the bleachers at Saturday's game while T&G got hot and heavy rightunderneath him. Sorry, JD. Always the last to know.

The thing with About That was ... you could pretty much guaranteeevery word was true. Simon built it sophomore year, after he spent springbreak at some expensive coding camp in Silicon Valley, and nobody excepthim was allowed to post there. He had sources all over school, and he waschoosy and careful about what he reported. People usually denied it orignored it, but he was never wrong.

I'd never been featured; I'm too squeaky-clean for that. There's only onething Simon might have written about me, but it would have been almostimpossible for him to find out.

Now I guess he never will.

Mrs. Park is still talking. "There will be grief counseling provided in theauditorium all day. You may leave class any time you feel the need to speakwith someone about this tragedy. The school is planning a memorial servicefor Simon after Saturday's football game, and we'll provide those details assoon as they're available. We'll also be sure to keep you up to date on hisfamily's arrangements once we know them."

The bell rings and we all get up to leave, but Mrs. Park calls my namebefore I've even collected my backpack. "Bronwyn, can you hold back amoment?"

Yumiko shoots me a sympathetic look as she stands, tucking a strand ofher choppy black hair behind her ear. "Kate and I'll wait for you in thehallway, okay?"

I nod and grab my bag. Mrs. Park is still dangling the announcementfrom one hand as I approach her desk. "Bronwyn, Principal Gupta wants allof you who were in the room with Simon to receive one-on-one counselingtoday. She's asked me to let you know that you're scheduled for eleveno'clock in Mr. O'Farrell's office."

Mr. O'Farrell is my guidance counselor, and I'm very familiar with hisoffice. I've spent a lot of time there over the past six months, strategizingcollege admissions. "Is Mr. O'Farrell doing the counseling?" I ask. I guessthat wouldn't be so bad.

Mrs. Park's forehead creases. "Oh, no. The school's bringing in aprofessional."

Great. I'd spent half the night trying to convince my parents I didn't needto see anybody. They'll be thrilled it was forced on me anyway. "Okay," Isay, and wait in case she has anything else to tell me, but she just pats myarm awkwardly.

As promised, Kate and Yumiko are hovering outside the door. They flankme as we walk to first-period calculus, like they're shielding me fromintrusive paparazzi. Yumiko steps aside, though, when she sees EvanNeiman waiting outside our classroom door.

"Bronwyn, hey." Evan's wearing one of his usual monogrammed poloshirts with ewn embroidered in script above his heart. I've alwayswondered what the W stands for. Walter? Wendell? William? I hope for hissake it's William. "Did you get my text last night?"I did. Need anything? Want some company? Since that's the only timeEvan Neiman has ever texted me, my cynical side decided he was anglingfor a front-row seat to the most shocking thing that's ever happened atBayview. "I did, thanks. I was really tired, though.""Well, if you ever feel like talking, let me know." Evan glances aroundthe emptying hallway. He's a stickler for punctuality. "We should probablyget inside, huh?"

Yumiko grins at me as we take our seats and whispers, "Evan kept askingwhere you were at Mathlete practice yesterday."I wish I could match her enthusiasm, but at some point between detentionand calculus I lost all interest in Evan Neiman. Maybe it's posttraumaticstress from the Simon situation, but right now I can't remember whatattracted me in the first place. Not that I was ever head over heels. Mostly Ithought Evan and I had potential to be a solid couple until graduation, atwhich point we'd break up amicably and head to our different colleges.Which I realize is pretty uninspiring, but so is high school dating. For me,anyway.

I sit through calculus, my mind far, far away from math, and thensuddenly it's over and I'm walking to AP English with Kate and Yumiko.My head's still so full of what happened yesterday that when we pass Natein the hallway it seems perfectly natural to call out, "Hi, Nate." I stop,surprising us both, and he does too.

"Hey," he replies. His dark hair is more disheveled than ever, and I'mpretty sure he's wearing the same T-shirt as yesterday. Somehow, though, itworks on him. A little too well. Everything from his tall, rangy build to hisangular cheekbones and wide-set, dark-fringed eyes is making me lose mytrain of thought.

Kate and Yumiko are staring at him too, but in a different way. More likehe's an unpredictable zoo animal in a flimsy cage. Hallway conversationswith Nate Macauley aren't exactly part of our routine. "Have you had yourcounseling session yet?" I ask.

His face is a total blank. "My what?"

"Grief counseling. Because of Simon. Didn't your homeroom teacher tellyou?"

"I just got here," he says, and my eyes widen. I never expected Nate towin any attendance awards, but it's almost ten o'clock.

"Oh. Well, all of us who were there are supposed to have one-on-onesessions. Mine's at eleven."

"Jesus Christ," Nate mutters, raking a hand through his hair.

The gesture pulls my eyes to his arm, where they remain until Kate clearsher throat. My face heats as I snap back to attention, too late to registerwhatever she said. "Anyway. See you around," I mumble.

Yumiko bends her head toward mine as soon as we're out of earshot. "Helooks like he just rolled out of bed," she whispers. "And not alone.""I hope you doused yourself in Lysol after getting off his motorcycle,"Kate adds. "He's a total man-whore."

I glare at her. "You realize it's sexist to say man-whore, right? If youhave to use the term you should at least be gender-neutral about it.""Whatever," Kate says dismissively. "Point is, he's a walking STD."I don't answer. That's Nate's reputation, sure, but we don't really knowanything about him. I almost tell her how carefully he drove me homeyesterday, except I'm not sure what point I'd be trying to make.

After English I head for Mr. O'Farrell's office, and he waves me insidewhen I knock on his open door. "Have a seat, Bronwyn. Dr. Resnick isrunning a little late, but she'll be here shortly." I sit down across from himand spy my name scrawled across the manila folder placed neatly in themiddle of his desk. I move to pick it up, then hesitate, not sure if it'sconfidential, but he pushes it toward me. "Your recommendation from theModel UN organizer. In plenty of time for Yale's early-action deadline."I exhale, letting out a small sigh of relief. "Oh, thanks!" I say, and pickup the folder. It's the last one I've been waiting for. Yale's a family tradition--my grandfather was a visiting scholar there and moved his whole familyfrom Colombia to New Haven when he got tenure. All his kids, includingmy dad, went to undergrad there, and it's where my parents met. Theyalways say our family wouldn't exist if it weren't for Yale.

"You're very welcome." Mr. O'Farrell leans back and adjusts his glasses."Were your ears burning earlier? Mr. Camino stopped by to ask if you'd beinterested in tutoring for chemistry this semester. A bunch of bright juniorsare struggling the way you did last year. They'd love to learn strategiesfrom someone who ended up acing the course."

I have to swallow a couple of times before I can answer. "I would," I say,as brightly as I can manage, "but I might be overcommitted already." Mysmile stretches too tightly over my teeth.

"No worries. You have a lot on your plate."

Chemistry was the only class I'd ever struggled with, so much so that Ihad a D average at midterm. With every quiz I bombed, I could feel the IvyLeague slipping out of reach. Even Mr. O'Farrell started gently suggestingthat any top-tier school would do.

So I brought my grades up, and got an A by the end of the year. But I'mpretty sure nobody wants me sharing my strategies with the other students.Cooper

Thursday, September 27, 12:45 p.m.

"Will I see you tonight?"

Keely takes my hand as we walk to our lockers after lunch, looking up atme with huge dark eyes. Her mom is Swedish and her dad's Filipino, andthe combination makes Keely the most beautiful girl in school by a lot. Ihaven't seen her much this week between baseball and family stuff, and Ican tell she's getting antsy. Keely's not a clinger, exactly, but she needsregular couple time.

"Not sure," I say. "I'm pretty behind on homework."Her perfect lips curve down and I can tell she's about to protest when avoice floats over the loudspeaker. "Attention, please. Would Cooper Clay,Nate Macauley, Adelaide Prentiss, and Bronwyn Rojas please report to themain office. Cooper Clay, Nate Macauley, Adelaide Prentiss, and BronwynRojas to the main office."

Keely looks around like she's expecting an explanation. "What's thatabout? Something to do with Simon?"

"I guess." I shrug. I already answered questions from Principal Gupta acouple of days ago about what happened during detention, but maybe she'sgearing up for another round. My father says Simon's parents are prettyconnected around town, and the school should be worried about a lawsuit ifit turns out they were negligent in any way. "Better go. I'll talk to you later,okay?" I give Keely a quick kiss on the cheek, shoulder my backpack, andhead down the hall.

When I get to the principal's office, the receptionist points me toward asmall conference room that's already crowded with people: Principal Gupta,Addy, Bronwyn, Nate, and a police officer. My throat gets a little dry as Itake the last empty chair.

"Cooper, good. Now we can get started." Principal Gupta folds her handsin front of her and looks around the table. "I'd like to introduce OfficerHank Budapest with the Bayview Police Department. He has somequestions about what you witnessed on Monday."Officer Budapest shakes each of our hands in turn. He's young butalready balding, with sandy hair and freckles. Not very intimidating,authority-wise. "Nice to meet you all. This shouldn't take long, but afterspeaking with the Kelleher family we want to take a closer look at Simon'sdeath. Autopsy results came back this morning, and--""Already?" Bronwyn interrupts, earning a look from Principal Gupta thatshe doesn't notice. "Don't those usually take longer?""Preliminary results can be available within a couple days," OfficerBudapest says. "These were fairly conclusive, showing that Simon diedfrom a large dose of peanut oil ingested shortly before death. Which hisparents found strange, considering how careful he always was with his foodand drink. All of you told Principal Gupta that Simon drank a cup of waterjust before he collapsed, is that right?"

We all nod, and Officer Budapest continues, "The cup contained traces ofpeanut oil, so it seems clear Simon died from that drink. What we're tryingto figure out now is how peanut oil could have gotten into his cup."Nobody speaks. Addy meets my eyes and then cuts hers away, a smallfrown creasing her forehead. "Does anyone remember where Simon got thecup from?" Officer Budapest prompts, poising his pen over a blanknotebook in front of him.

"I wasn't paying attention," Bronwyn says. "I was writing myassignment."

"Me too," Addy says, although I could've sworn she hadn't even started.Nate stretches and stares at the ceiling.

"I remember," I volunteer. "He got the cup from a stack next to the sink.""Was the stack upside down, or right-side up?""Upside down," I say. "Simon pulled the top one off.""Did you notice any liquid leave the cup when he did that? Did he shakeit?"

I think back. "No. He just filled it with water.""And then he drank it?"

"Yeah," I say, but Bronwyn corrects me.

"No," she says. "Not right away. He talked for a while. Remember?" Sheturns to Nate. "He asked you if you put the cell phones in our backpacks.The ones that got us in trouble with Mr. Avery.""The cell phones. Right." Officer Budapest scratches something down inhis notebook. He doesn't say it like a question, but Bronwyn explainsanyway.

"Somebody played a prank on us," she says. "It's why we were indetention. Mr. Avery found phones in our backpacks that didn't belong tous." She turns to Principal Gupta with an injured expression. "It reallywasn't fair. I've been meaning to ask, is that something that goes on yourpermanent record?"

Nate rolls his eyes. "It wasn't me. Someone stuck a phone in mybackpack too."

Principal Gupta furrows her brow. "This is the first I'm hearing aboutthis."

I shrug when she meets my eyes. Those phones were the last thing on mymind these past few days.

Officer Budapest doesn't look surprised. "Mr. Avery mentioned thatwhen I met with him earlier. He said none of the kids ever claimed thephones, so he thought it must've been a prank after all." He slides his penbetween his index and middle finger and taps it rhythmically against thetable. "Is that the sort of joke Simon might have played on you all?""I don't see why," Addy says. "There was a phone in his backpack too.Besides, I barely knew him."

"You were on junior prom court with him," Bronwyn points out. Addyblinks, like she's only just remembering that's true.

"Any of you kids ever have trouble with Simon?" Officer Budapest asks."I've heard about the app he made--About That, right?" He's looking atme, so I nod. "You guys ever been on it?"

Everyone shakes their head except Nate. "Lots of times," he says."What for?" Officer Budapest asks.

Nate smirks. "Stupid shit--" he starts, but Principal Gupta cuts him off."Language, Mr. Macauley."

"Stupid stuff," Nate amends. "Hooking up, mostly.""Did that bother you? Being gossiped about?"

"Not really." He looks like he means it. I guess being on a gossip appisn't a big deal compared to getting arrested. If that's true. Simon neverposted it, so nobody seems to know exactly what Nate's deal is.

Kinda pathetic, how Simon was our most trusted news source.

Officer Budapest looks at the rest of us. "But not you three?" We allshake our heads again. "Did you ever worry about ending up on Simon'sapp? Feel like you had something hanging over your heads, or anything likethat?"

"Not me," I say, but my voice isn't as confident as I would have liked. Iglance away from Officer Budapest and catch Addy and Bronwyn lookinglike polar opposites: Addy's gone pale as a ghost, and Bronwyn's flushedbrick red. Nate watches them for a few seconds, tilts his chair back, andlooks at Officer Budapest.

"Everybody's got secrets," he says. "Right?"

My workout routine goes long that night, but my dad makes everyone waittill I'm done so we can eat dinner together. My brother, Lucas, clutches hisstomach and staggers to the table with a long-suffering look when wefinally sit down at seven.

The topic of conversation's the same as it's been all week: Simon. "Youhad to figure the police'd get involved at some point," Pop says, spooning asmall mountain of mashed potatoes onto his plate. "Something's not rightabout how that boy died." He snorts. "Peanut oil in the water system,maybe? Lawyers are gonna have a field day with that.""Were his eyes bugging out of his head like this?" asks Lucas, making aface. He's twelve, and Simon's death is nothing but video-game gore tohim.

My grandmother reaches over and swats Lucas on the back of his hand.Nonny's barely five feet tall with a head full of tight white curls, but shemeans business. "Hush your mouth unless you can speak of that poor youngman with respect."

Nonny's lived with us since we moved here from Mississippi five yearsago. It surprised me then that she came along; our grandfather had beendead for years, but she had plenty of friends and clubs that kept her busy.Now that we've lived here for a while, I get it. Our basic colonial coststhree times what our house in Mississippi did, and there's no way we couldafford it without Nonny's money. But you can play baseball year-round inBayview, and it's got one of the best high school programs in the country.At some point, Pop expects I'll make this gigantic mortgage and the job hehates worthwhile.

I might. After my fastball improved by five miles an hour over thesummer, I ended up fourth on ESPN's predictions for the June MLB draftnext year. I'm getting scouted by a lot of colleges too, and wouldn't mindheading there first. But baseball's not the same as football or basketball. If aguy can head for the minors right out of high school, he usually does.Pop points at me with his knife. "You got a showcase game Saturday.Don't forget."

As if I could. The schedule's posted around the whole house.

"Kevin, maybe one weekend off?" my mother murmurs, but her heart'snot in it. She knows it's a losing battle.

"Best thing Cooperstown can do is business as usual," Pop says.

"Slacking off won't bring that boy back. God rest his soul."Nonny's small, bright eyes settle on me. "I hope you realize none of youkids could've done anything for Simon, Cooper. The police have to dottheir i's and cross their t's, that's all."

I don't know about that. Officer Budapest kept asking me about themissing EpiPens and how long I was by myself in the nurse's office. Almostlike he thought I might've done something with them before Ms. Graysongot there. But he didn't come out and say it. If he thinks someone messedwith Simon, I'm not sure why he isn't looking at Nate. If anybody asked me--which they didn't--I'd wonder how a guy like Nate even knew aboutEpiPens in the first place.

We've just finished clearing the table when the doorbell rings, and Lucassprints for the door, hollering, "I'll get it!" A few seconds later he yellsagain. "It's Keely!"

Nonny rises to her feet with difficulty, using the skull-topped cane Lucaspicked out last year when she faced up to the fact that she couldn't walk onher own anymore. "Thought you said you two didn't have plans tonight,Cooper."

"We didn't," I mutter as Keely enters the kitchen with a smile, wrappingher arms around my neck in a tight hug.

"How are you?" she murmurs in my ear, her soft lips brushing my cheek."I've been thinking about you all day."

"Okay," I say. She pulls back and reaches into her pocket, briefly flashinga cellophane packet and a smile. Red Vines, which are definitely not part ofmy nutritional regimen, but my favorite candy in the world. The girl getsme. And my parents, who require a few minutes of polite conversationbefore they head out for their bowling league.

My phone chimes, and I pull it out of my pocket. Hey, handsome.

I duck my head to hide the grin that's suddenly tugging at my mouth, andtext back: Hey.

Can I see you tonight?

Bad time. Call you later?

OK miss you.

Keely's talking to my mother, her eyes bright with interest. She's notfaking it. Keely isn't only beautiful; she's what Nonny calls "sugar all theway through." A genuinely sweet girl. Every guy at Bayview wishes hewere me.

Miss you too.