I bit my lip. "Honestly? I'm not sure. Maybe."

  Raley sighed, flipping his notebook shut. "So you didn't really see anything?"

  "Sorry," I said, sincerely meaning it.

  "Okay," Raley said, resigned to my status as the worst witness ever. "Hop into the car. I'll have someone drive you home."

  Considering the blisters were growing to astronomical proportions, I did. (Besides, it wasn't like he gave me much choice.)

  The first uniformed officer drove me the mile and a half in silence, though the second he walked me to the front door, it was clear someone had called ahead to Mom.

  "Oh, Hartley!" She tackled me in the foyer, grabbing me in a hug so tight I felt it rearranging my internal organs.

  Though I didn't totally mind. After the night I'd had, I needed a spleen displacing hug. I wrapped my arms around her middle and hugged back. After a long, comforting moment, Mom pulled away to look at me.

  "Are you okay, honey?" she asked, her eyes searching my person for visible scars.

  I nodded, putting on my bravest face.

  "Oh, sweetie, don't cry," Mom said, hugging me again.

  Okay, so my bravest wasn't all that brave in the moment.

  I sniffled, getting myself under control as the uniformed officer gave Mom a quick rundown on what had happened. When he was done, Mom was frowning, shaking her head, and looking like her blood pressure was on the rise too.

  "Hartley, in the park after dark? What were you thinking?"

  I bit my lip. It's not like I knew I was going to witness an assault. But, instead of arguing, I opted for the answer that would get me upstairs, in bed and, most importantly, out of those heels, the fastest.

  "Sorry."

  "A deserted park?"

  "Sorry."

  "You could have been killed!"

  "Sorry."

  "Is that all you have to say for yourself?"

  I shrugged. "Super duper sorry?"

  Mom rolled her eyes. "It's late. Go upstairs. We'll talk about this tomorrow."

  I nodded, gladly making my escape.

  * * *

  The next morning, true to her word, Mom cornered me before school, giving me a lecture on leaving the house after dark as she virtually force-fed me a plate of vegan bacon and I-can't-believe-it's-not-eggs.

  And, as if the SMother wasn't enough, by the time the first period bell rang, I'd gotten two dozen texts asking if it was true that a) Nicky was attacked in front of me (yes!), b) I'd gotten Nicky attacked (no!), and c) there would be a Sydney tribute before the Homecoming Game (which I'm pretty sure was sent to me by mistake, since Ashley was on the Homecoming beat.)

  By lunch, everyone had heard the news about Nicky, but there was one person who I knew would have the real deets. The instant I reached the cafeteria, I zeroed in on Drea Barlow, taking her tray of Tuesday Tacos to a table near the back.

  "Drea," I called, hailing her as I approached.

  She looked up. Then shot me a death look. "You!" she yelled, pointing one finger my way.

  I stopped dead in my tracks.

  "Uh, me?"

  "Because of you and your nosiness, Nicky's in the hospital."

  To be perfectly honest, it was more because of Nicky's not-so-kosher side business, but I decided now was not the time to point that out.

  "Is he going to be okay?" I asked instead.

  She sat down and popped the top on her chocolate milk. "Maybe. He has a skull fracture. And a concussion."

  I cringed. "That sounds bad."

  She nodded, her eyes turning red with the effort not to cry and ruin her mascara. "It is. He was unconscious for a long time, and now they're keeping him in the hospital for observation. And I can't even see him," she said, a sob escaping.

  "I'm sorry," I said, putting a hand on her arm. "Listen, Nicky was at the park last night because he had something to tell me. About something he saw at Sydney's house before she died. Did he say anything to you about it?"

  Drea shrugged. "He said he was going to meet you, but he didn't say why."

  "He didn't talk about anything he'd seen that day? Mention anyone?"

  But Drea just shook her head. "I didn't even know he'd been there. I thought he was home with a cold all day."

  I tried another angle. "Drea, did he ever tell you where he was getting the test answers he was selling?"

  She shook her head. "No. He said he couldn't. He didn't want to get me in trouble in case he ever got caught. He was protecting me," she said, breaking down in a sob again.

  "Have you talked to Nicky since the attack?"

  She nodded. "Once. But he's not supposed to be on the phone very long. He needs to rest."

  "What did he say? Who attacked him?"

  She shrugged. "He didn't tell me."

  "Did he tell the police?" I asked, hoping he'd at least been smart enough to do that.

  But Drea just shrugged. "I dunno."

  I pursed my lips together. "Look, Drea, this is a matter of life and death," I told her, not being entirely overdramatic. "Whoever hurt Nicky could try again."

  Her eyes teared up at that thought, and I almost felt bad for having voiced it.

  "Look, as long as Nicky is silent, he could be in danger," I reasoned. "He said he was willing to talk to me."

  Drea pulled out her phone and scrolled through menus. "They're only letting family in to see him, but I can give you the number I have to call his room."

  "Perfect." I grabbed my phone, typing in the number as Drea recited it.

  I thanked her and stepped outside before hitting Send.

  Four rings in, a woman answered.

  "Hello?"

  "Uh, hi. I wanted to speak to Nicky?"

  "May I ask who is calling?"

  "Hartley. We're friends from school," I said, stretching the truth just a little.

  "I see. Well, this is Nicky's mom, and I'm sorry, Hartley, but Nicky isn't taking any calls right now. He's been through quite an ordeal and needs his rest. I'll tell him you called and that you're thinking of him."

  "It's important!" I protested.

  "Thank you for calling," she said. Then hung up.

  But I wasn't giving up that easily.

  I slipped back into the cafeteria, scanning the rows of tables for Sam. I finally spotted her near the center of the room, seated next to Kyle. They were feeding each other bites of taco shell from Sam's plate. Which in itself was cute enough to be slightly nauseating, but they took it over the top with their outfits today. Sam was wearing a pink T-shirt that said I like Boys, and Kyle was wearing a baby blue one with the word Boy in the center.

  I tried to ignore the oozing cuteness and made a beeline toward their table, plopping down next to Sam.

  "Hey. I need your help," I said.

  "Dude!" Kyle said. "Everyone's been tweeting about Nicky. Sucks."

  I nodded. "Yeah, that's kinda what I need help with." I quickly filled Sam and Kyle in on what had happened the night before.

  "Someone clearly didn't want Nicky to talk to me," I finished.

  "Just like they didn't want Sydney to talk to you," Sam pointed out.

  "Whoa. Déjà vu, dude," Kyle said.

  "Which is why we need to get to Nicky and fast," I agreed. "If he really was hit by the person who killed Sydney, that guy—"

  "Or girl," Sam put in.

  "—or girl," I amended, "could come back to finish the job."

  "So, how are we going to do that?" Kyle asked. "Didn't you say his mom isn't letting him on the phone?"

  I nodded. "We need to talk to him in person."

  "How?" Sam asked.

  I pursed my lips together. "We go to the hospital."

  Sam shook her head. "But if his mom won't let Drea see Nicky, what makes you think she'll let us?"

  "She won't," I agreed. "Which is why we need to sneak in. And that's where you come in."

  * * *

  It took a series of texts to Sam that spanned 6th and 7th periods to convince her that sneaking into a hospital room was not an offense that would go onto her permanent record and ruin her chances at Stanford. By the time school got out, she was 90% on board with my plan, which was just enough to get her on the bus that ran down Los Gatos Blvd. to the hospital.

  Fifteen minutes later we were hiking our book bags onto our shoulders as we pushed into the lobby that smelled like industrial disinfectant, rubbing alcohol, and latex gloves. I swallowed down the unpleasant memories of booster shots and penicillin that the scents conjured up and made my way toward the room number Drea had supplied.

  After about a million wrong turns, we found it. It was upstairs in the pediatric wing, at the end of a long hallway. Right in front of the nurses' station.

  Sam and I casually walked past, peeking in the door. As I'd anticipated, standing vigil not only over the phone but over Nicky as well was a large woman with salt and pepper hair who I took to be Nicky's mom.

  "Okay, Sam, this is where you come in," I said. "I need a really good distraction."

  She bit her lip. "Fine. But you so owe me one after this."

  I nodded. "Tell you what, I'll forgive you for dressing me in those hecka-blisters heels."

  She contemplated this for a moment. "Just be quick. I don't know how long I can keep Mom away."

  With that, Sam turned away and strode purposefully toward the nurses' station. I watched her take a deep breath…then let it out on a sigh as she collapsed onto the floor.

  Immediately the nurse behind the desk dove toward her, calling out to another nurse, the two of them quickly surrounding her.

  As I'd hoped, Nicky's mom came out of the room to see what the commotion was.

  It was now or never.

  I quickly slipped down the hallway and into Nicky's room as his mom leaned down to help the nurses revive Sam.

  Nicky was propped up in bed, a tray of Jell-O in front of him and a TV in the corner playing a SpongeBob episode. There was a bandage wrapped around his head, and I could see that his long hair had been shaved off on one side.

  He looked up as I entered, blinking at me, confusion clear on his face as his concussed brain tried to figure out what I was doing there.

  "Hartley?" he asked.

  "Hey," I said, quickly going to his side, one eye on the door where I expected his mom to bust back in at any second. "We need to talk, and I don't have much time."

  "How did you get in here?" he asked, looking past me.

  I shook my head. "Not important. What is important is that you tell me what you were going to tell me at the park."

  Nicky bit the inside of his cheek. He looked down at his hands. "I don't remember."

  He was the worst liar ever.

  "What do you mean, you don't remember?" I asked, desperation kicking in.

  He looked up at me again. "I got hit on the head. I don't remember."

  "You're lying."

  "Prove it," he said, jutting his chin forward.

  Since I couldn't, I changed tactics. "Who attacked you?"

  He shrugged. "I got hit from behind. I didn't see anyone."

  "But I saw you arguing with the person first! You must have seen their face then?"

  He paused, something flitting across his eyes. If had to guess, I'd say it was fear. "Sorry," he said. "I don't remember that."

  "Look, if you're scared of this person, the police can protect you. Just tell me what you know. Once it's out in the open, you'll be safe."

  "Right," he snorted. "Last time I decided to tell you something, I got my head bashed in and ended up here," he said, gesturing to the hospital room around him. "The only way I'm going to be safe is by keeping my big mouth shut."

  "Nicky, please," I pleaded. Sam could only play sick for so long. Any second now his mom would be back.

  "I've said all I have to say." He clamped his mouth shut for emphasis.

  "Nicky—"

  But that's as far as I got, as Mom pushed through the doorway. She narrowed her eyes, clearly surprised to see me.

  "Who are you?" she asked, her voice holding a sharp edge that said a call to security was about half a second away.

  "Uh…I'm…" I quickly grabbed a pillow from behind Nicky and fluffed it. "I'm a candy striper. Yeah, I volunteer here at the hospital. Just came in to make sure our patient is comfortable." I gave Mom a big toothy smile as I replaced Nicky's fluffed pillow.

  Nicky opened his mouth to speak, but I shot him a death look.

  He clamped it shut again.

  "Oh," Mom said, her posture relaxing. "In that case, do you have any magazines? I'd really love something to read in here."

  "Absolutely," I lied. "No prob. One magazine coming up!" I ducked my head down to avoid Mom reading the lie plainly written on my face.

  Which was my fatal mistake.

  I would have totally gotten away without anyone being the wiser if I'd just watched where I was going instead of plowing headfirst into someone else.

  "Ohmigosh, I'm so sorry," I said, whipping my eyes up.

  To meet Detective Raley's.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  "Hartley," Raley said.

  I cleared my throat. "Uh, hi. We meet again, huh?" I said, making a poor attempt at humor.

  Which, by the scowl on his face, was clearly lost on him. He made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a snort and answered with a, "What are you doing here?"

  "I'm…uh…" I quickly looked around the nurses' station for any sign of Sam, but thankfully, my accomplice was long gone. "I'm…volunteering," I said, going with the same story I'd told Nicky's mom. It was almost the truth. I mean, I had volunteered to get Nicky's mom a magazine, right?

  Raley narrowed his eyes. "Really?"

  "Really."

  "Since when do you volunteer at the hospital?"

  "Since today," I squeaked out.

  "Interesting timing."

  I bit my lip, but since he hadn't phrased it in the form of a question, I didn't feel compelled to answer.

  Raley looked from me to the doorway to Nicky's room. "You just came from that room?"

  I nodded. Slowly.

  "Nicky Williams' room?"

  "Is it?" I asked, all mock innocence.

  Raley's eyes narrowed into fine slits. "Listen, Hartley, Nicky has a severe concussion. He was attacked by someone who meant to put him out of commission."

  I swallowed hard. "I know. I saw."

  "Then you know this is not some game. Until we find out what happened to Nicky, I don't want to see you anywhere near him."

  "But I'm this close to finding out who killed Sydney," I said, stretching the truth just a little.

  Raley cocked his head to one side. He took a step forward. Then in his most fatherly voice said, "Hartley, I'm sorry, kid, but Sydney killed herself."

  I shook my head, feeling my hair whip my cheeks. "You're wrong. It was Twittercide."

  His eyebrows headed north. "It was what?"

  "Death while tweet—never mind. Look, she was killed. I'm sure of it. Nicky being hit practically proves it!"

  "Nicky being hit means he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. You kids shouldn't be in the park after dark."

  "You can't seriously be calling this a coincidence?"

  Raley crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, as far as I can tell, the only thing Nicky and Sydney have in common is you." He shot me a pointed look.

  "Me?" I squeaked out. "You can't possibly think I had anything to do with this?"

  "What I think is that you have a terrible knack for being in the middle of trouble." And with that, he grabbed my upper arm and steered me toward the elevator.

  "Where are we going?"

  "Home."

  "But—" I started.

  But Raley shut me up with one look, his narrowed eyes staring down at me.

  I clamped my lips together. Fine. The joke was on him. I needed a ride home anyway.

  I sat in silence in the front seat of Raley's beige sedan, trying hard not to inhale the stale scent of a hundred stake-outs lingering in the cheap fabric seats. It was somewhere between the locker room at the gym and the cafeteria when they forgot to take the garbage cans out after Meat(ish)loaf Monday. Luckily, it was a short drive, and I breathed shallowly until Raley parked at my curb and opened the passenger side door, propelling me up the walk to my front door.

  Mom had it open before I even got to it, a sure sign she'd seen us pull up.

  "Oh, Hartley, what have you done this time?" she asked, coming in for a hug.

  "Geez, Mom, you make it sound like the police are always bringing me home." Which was hardly fair considering it had been at least a good 15 hours since it had last happened.

  "She's fine," Raley assured her. "But I'd suggest keeping a close eye on her over the next few days. At least until we find out who attacked that boy in the park last night."

  Oh, that was a low blow. Calling in the SMother? As if I needed more parental supervision.

  "Oh, don't worry, I will!" Mom said. With just a little too much gusto, if you asked me. I had a bad feeling Quinn's grounding was going to look like a picnic next to my life.

  "And thank you for bringing her home," Mom continued.

  "No problem." Raley shot me a look. "I'm confident it will be the last time."

  I was glad someone was.

  "Can I thank you with a plate of cookies?" Mom asked. "They just came out of the oven."

  I was about to warn Raley that if they were Mom's cookies, they were likely gluten-free, fat-free, dairy-free, and loaded with flax seed, but considering the way he'd just sealed my fate with Warden Mom, I decided to let him fend for himself.

  "Thanks, actually a cookie sounds great," he said, following Mom into the kitchen.

  On the downside, Raley was in my house. On the upside, it was the first time in days I'd seen Mom away from her computer.

  * * *

  Not surprisingly, Mom put me on lockdown until the "park attacker" was caught. Which sucked because with Raley barking up the wrong tree, I was pretty much the only one looking for the real attacker.

  With hover mode firmly in place, Mom insisted on not only driving me to school but actually walking me to my first class. I kept my head down and prayed no one would notice.