"Hey."

  "How come you're not inside?" he asked.

  I shrugged. "I was talking to Connor."

  "What did he say?" Chase crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against his car.

  I gave him the gist of the conversation and how Conner was convinced that Sydney killed herself over him.

  "Do you think she did?"

  "No!" I said on a laugh. "How conceited can a guy get?"

  Chase frowned. "Well, it's possible she was really hung up on him."

  "You think us girls could get that hung up on some stupid guy? That guys mean that much to us?"

  Chase cocked his head at me. "No. But maybe—"

  "I mean, we can get along without you guys, you know? The sun does not rise and set on having a boyfriend. Those of us without boyfriends can get along just fine."

  "Okay. It was just a thought," he said, taking a step back. "Geez, what's gotten into you?"

  "Nothing has gotten into me. I'm fine. Totally fine."

  "O-kay."

  "Where's your friend?" I asked, putting emphasis on the word.

  "Who?"

  "The girl I saw you with earlier."

  "Oh, Carly? She's inside. She left her jacket in the car."

  I looked down and saw a pink windbreaker in his hand. Fab.

  "Well, you don't want to keep her waiting," I said, turning around.

  "Hart, are you okay?"

  "Why wouldn't I be okay?" I shot back, a little louder than I'd meant.

  "Hart—"

  "I'm fine!" I shouted then turned to go.

  But I only took one step, my eyes inexplicably blinded by blurry unshed tears, when I felt Chase's body slam into mine from behind.

  "Uhn!"

  I fell to the ground, the full weight of Chase on top of me as the asphalt scraped my palms. My forehead connected with the ground, jarring my teeth together with a painful smack.

  I was about to ask what the heck he thought he was doing, when a pair of headlights whizzed past my head, tires coming within inches of my nose.

  Holy cow. That car had almost hit me!

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  "Did you see that car?" Chase gasped in my ear.

  I breathed deeply, blinking back shock along with a sudden headache. "He tried to hit me. He was going to run me over."

  "I didn't see the license plate, but I'm pretty sure it was a Toyota," Chase said, standing up and staring at the taillights as the car rounded the corner onto Main.

  I breathed deeply, watching the nondescript beige sedan disappear.

  "He was going to kill me." I turned to Chase. "He was trying to kill me."

  Chase reached down, grabbing my hand and pulling me up off the ground. "Did you see the driver?" he asked.

  I shook my head. I hadn't seen anything more than a pair of headlights.

  "You're bleeding."

  I looked down. He was right. My palms were scraped raw.

  "Get in. I'll drive you home," he said, gesturing to the Camaro.

  I paused. While one near death experience was enough for one night, walking several dark blocks home while a guy in a car who wanted me dead was out there joyriding didn't hold a whole lot of appeal. I did a mental eenie-meenie-minie-mo and finally got in.

  Chase made the five minute drive in two flat, pulling up to the curb outside my house and insisting on following me to the front door.

  It was unlocked, and I pushed inside, finding Mom on the sofa in the living room, sitting next to the only thing that could possibly make my evening worse.

  Raley.

  A second date already? They both had a glass of wine in hand, and Mom's cheeks were flushed pink, as it if wasn't her first. Raley looked completely different than I'd ever seen him. Gone was the uptight cop, and in its place a relaxed pose, eyes crinkling, lips tilted upward in a lazy smile. His entire being was different.

  Or maybe that was just my bump on the head talking.

  "Hartley?" Mom asked, confusion lacing her voice. "I thought you were staying at Sam's."

  "I fell," I said feebly.

  "Someone almost ran her over," Chase corrected, coming in behind me.

  And just like that Mom went into SMother mode and Raley went into Cop Mode, and I was surrounded by overprotective adults playing twenty questions.

  "Where did this happen?"

  "Are you okay?"

  "Did you see the car?"

  "Do you want some vegan rice cream?"

  They all blurred together through my headache haze. Thankfully, Chase took over, telling them all about the car in the parking lot and how we'd had to dive for the pavement to avoid it. By the time he was finished, Mom was hugging me tighter than a boa constrictor and Raley's eyebrows were hunched together in a deep frown.

  "You need to be more careful," he said.

  "I think this was more than just an accident," Chase said. "I think someone tried to hit her."

  "Why do you think that?" Raley asked him.

  "For one? They didn't even try to brake. They just sailed past. For another, look at the sweater she's wearing. It's practically Day-Glo."

  I crossed my arms over my chest and felt myself blush. Hey, not all of us can look so chic in plain gray like Miss Perfect.

  "No way that guy didn't see her," Chase finished.

  "I knew I should never have let you go out alone," Mom said, crushing me to her.

  "Mom. Air."

  She let up a little, but shallow breaths were still all I could manage.

  Raley gave me a long stare. I put on my most innocent face, just a shade shy of actually whistling and staring at the ceiling.

  Luckily, he let it go.

  "Look, I, uh, I have to get back to the school," Chase said.

  Right. To his date.

  "You gonna be okay?" he asked.

  For some reason the thought of Miss Perfect waiting for him back at the stadium coupled with the concern in his voice sent that headache brewing at my temple into overdrive. I crossed my arms over my chest.

  "I'm fine," I said, hearing an edge I hadn't meant to share creep into my voice.

  Chase paused, looked from Mom to Raley then back to me. He must have decided that I was in good hands, as he nodded. "Right. I'll call you tomorrow, 'k?"

  But he didn't give me a chance to answer as he turned and walked out the door.

  After Chase went back to his date at the game, Mom and Raley went back to their date on our sofa (I could never sit there again), and I went to my room. Alone.

  I flopped down on my bed and contemplated the ceiling, thoughts swirling in my aching head. This case was spiraling out of control faster than I could rein it in. And the ironic part was someone out there thought I knew a heck of a lot more than I did. Really? We had a lot of theories but no actual proof of anything.

  Which meant, I realized as I finally drifted off to sleep, there was only one thing to do.

  * * *

  "I've decided to bluff."

  Sam and Kyle turned to me as one over their Jamba juice. Singular. With two straws. The cute was oozing from their pores.

  "Bluff what?" Chase asked, sipping loudly from his own cup.

  He had, as promised, called me first thing that morning. Only, I'd been too afraid of that edge creeping back into my voice to answer. I'd let him leave a message, and instead of calling him back, I'd texted Sam to tell her about my near fatal run-in with the Toyota. She had insisted on meeting me for a breakfast smoothie. And lately, wherever Sam went, Kyle went. And because apparently Chase had texted Kyle to text Sam to find out why I wasn't answering my phone, Kyle had told Chase we were all meeting at Jamba Juice.

  And, as if the awkwardness crackling in the air every time I looked Chase's way (not that he noticed, which just made me feel even more awkward) wasn't enough, guess who else had tagged along? Mom had insisted on driving me and was sitting at a table across the patio, sipping on a pre-workout wheat grass shot while talking to my dad on the phone and sending worried looks my way every five seconds.

  Which was why I had decided to do something drastic.

  "I'm bluffing a story for the paper," I told the three of them.

  Chase opened his mouth to protest, but I ran right over him.

  "I'm going to say I'm printing a story exposing the identity of Sydney's killer."

  Chase shut his mouth with a click.

  "Whoa. You know who the killer is?" Kyle asked.

  Sam elbowed him. "No, babe. That's the bluff part."

  "Why would you do that?" Chase asked, his eyes intent on me.

  I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the look. "In order to get the killer to come after me again."

  Chase gave me a hard look. "Are you insane? Why do you want to do that?"

  "How else am I going to flush this guy out?" I paused. "Or girl."

  Chase didn't answer. He just stared at me, his jaw tense, his eyes an unreadable black.

  "Look," I explained, "we've been going around in circles for days. It could be Quinn, it could be Connor, it could be Jenni… Heck, it could be anyone on campus! Maybe it was even Nicky and he paid someone to hit him over the head to divert attention."

  "A concussion is a heck of a diversion," Kyle pointed out.

  "The point is, we have no idea who killed Sydney, and we're no closer to knowing than we were a week ago. So we need to do something drastic to make the killer tip their hand."

  Sam nodded. "Makes sense."

  "Sure it does. The killer is already scared," Kyle said. "They killed Sydney and probably whacked Nicky over the head to keep him quiet, too."

  "Don't forget he tried to run over Hartley," Chase said, still sending me the evil eye.

  I swallowed. "Right. So, if I spread the rumor that I know who the killer is, and I'm going to print it in Monday's paper, it should get the killer to…"

  "Come after you," Chase finished for me. He leaned forward, putting both elbows on the metal wire table. "Which is a really bad idea, Hartley."

  "Not if I'm ready for them."

  "How exactly do you propose to be ready?"

  "Well…" I hadn't really thought that part through yet.

  "We'll protect you," Kyle said, puffing out his chest.

  "The Homecoming Dance is tonight," Sam piped up. "All of our suspects will be there. If we spread the rumor now, whoever is guilty will totally be on edge tonight."

  "And we'll be sure to be around you 24/7. We won't take our eyes off you," Kyle repeated.

  "So when the killer strikes, we'll catch them," I finished.

  Sam and Kyle nodded. I nodded back. We all looked at Chase.

  "Oh, now you want my opinion?" he asked, still scowling.

  Not really. But I nodded anyway.

  "This is the stupidest idea I've ever heard!" he said, throwing his hands into the air. "Being bait? Are you kidding me?"

  "You have a better idea?" I countered.

  "That's beside the point."

  "Look, it will work. Trust me," I said.

  Chase narrowed his eyes. He clenched his jaw. Finally he shook his head. "Dang it, Hartley," he said. "Now I have to get a tux."

  I blinked at him. "Tux?"

  He stared right at me. "Because if you're really going to go through with this, I'm not letting you do it alone. I'm now officially your Homecoming date."

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I left it to Kyle to get the rumor mill churning, watching as he sent out texts to members of the soccer team, the water polo team, and, of course, all of our prime suspects, saying: hart knows who killed sydney! printing it in mon's homepage!

  It didn't take long before the message came back around to us, Ashley Stannic frantically asking Chase about it and Jessica Hansen messaging Sam as if it were news. All a sure sign that word had circulated as far and wide as our net would go. The trap was set.

  All we had to do now was wait for our killer to strike.

  At me.

  * * *

  At Herbert Hoover High, Homecoming was one of those things usually reserved for a certain type of girl…a girl with a date. Since I hadn't been one of those girls until this morning, there was one gaping hole in my plan to smoke out the killer there.

  "I don't have anything to wear," I moaned to Sam as soon as Kyle and Chase left to go get their rented tuxes.

  "Don't worry. I'm sure I have something."

  "That's even more worrisome."

  She punched me in the arm. "I have excellent taste."

  She was right. She did. She also had a track record of overdressing me. But, considering this was Homecoming, I guess that wouldn't really be an issue, right?

  Famous last words.

  That afternoon while fielding a tidal wave of incoming tweets and texts—including ones from Quinn, Connor, Drea, and Jenni—all asking if it was really true that I knew who killed Sydney, I let Sam put my Homecoming outfit together. She'd grabbed the dress that she'd worn to the Valentine's formal last year from her closet, a full-length red satin with one shoulder strap and a slit up the side that reminded me of Jessica Rabbit. Since we were approximately the same size, it almost fit, just clinging a little tighter on me than it had her. But still, it worked.

  Then I added silver heels, a pair of faux-crystal drop earrings, and a simple silver necklace with little crystal beads in the center. While I'd insisted that Sam go light on the eye makeup, she had won the battle of the lipstick, painting my lips in the same shade of va-va-voom red as the dress. At first I'd felt like a clown, but the more I looked in the mirror to take in the final effect, it was actually kind of nice. A little over-the-top maybe, but if you couldn't go over-the-top for Homecoming, when could you?

  Sam, on the other hand, had gone a little shorter, wearing a dress with a tight-fitting purple bodice that ended in a flared tulle skirt that came to just above her knee. It was cute and flirty and went perfectly with the purple shoes she'd dyed to match. And, while I'd gone with simple, understated jewelry, she'd gone big, chunky, and blingified. Fake diamonds hung in a teardrop shape from her ears, and an ornate necklace that looked like a latticework of silver and cubic zirconia decorated her neck. Her hair was swept into an updo that was studded with a dozen tiny clip-on faux diamonds, making her sparkle from every angle.

  "Now, close your eyes," she told me, reaching into the ginormous duffel bag she'd brought over with her to dress at my house.

  "Do I have to?" I protested. "I don't really like wardrobe surprises."

  She put a hand on her hip. "Play along, okay? Just shut 'em."

  "Fine." I felt Sam putting something on my head with little plastic teeth that dug into my scalp.

  "Ow!"

  "Oh, don't be such a baby," she said, arranging my hair loosely around my shoulders. "Okay, now…open!"

  I did. And blinked at my reflection. Or, more accurately, the reflection of the mass of sparkles on my head.

  "Is that a tiara?"

  Sam nodded. "Uh-huh."

  "It's kinda…sparkly, don't you think?"

  She beamed, a grin taking up her whole face. "I know, right?"

  "I didn't mean that in a good way."

  "It's perfect."

  "Sam, I'm not a Disney princess—"

  But I didn't get to finish as Mom called up from the bottom of the stairs.

  "Hartley? Your date's here!"

  I cringed at the term, quickly shouting back, "He's just a friend!"

  Mom had done a squeal frighteningly like Sam's when I'd told her that I had changed my mind and decided to go to the Homecoming Dance after all. In high school, Mom had been the social butterfly, involved in everything under the sun, or so she told it, including being crowned Princess of the Winter Ball one year. Secretly, I had a feeling she was a little disappointed that I hadn't followed in her footsteps, though she never said so. But judging from the way her face lit up, her voice went high and giggly, and she lifted the lockdown despite my nearly becoming roadkill last night, I knew it was true. I had spent the following twenty minutes after that trying to tell her that: No, I did not need her to run to the florist for an emergency boutonnière (which she ignored and did anyway). No, we did not need to go get nails done and eyebrows waxed (ouch!). And no, we did not need a limo to pick us up (though this last one was tempting…).

  But the thing I had tried to make the most clear was that, no, Chase was not my date. Just a friend who happened to be going, too. With me. At the same time. Totally different than going together.

  "Kyle's here too, Sam!" Mom called up. "Hurry up, Hart. You don't want to keep your date waiting!"

  "Friend!" I yelled again.

  But I was pretty sure she didn't hear me.

  Sam and I grabbed our purses—hers a rhinestone-studded clutch and mine a silver, satin one—and slowly (so we didn't trip in our ridiculously high heels) made our way down the stairs.

  The first thing I saw when I rounded the corner was Chase.

  And then I almost did trip.

  I wasn't sure what I had expected from him for Homecoming, but I'd guessed his outfit would probably involve leather, denim, or black. I was only right on one count—the black. Amazingly, Chase was dressed in a traditional tux, black on white, with a simple black tie. The effect was…nice. Surprising. But nice. Bordering on a hot sort of nice, even. What do you know? He cleaned up pretty good.

  "Dude," Kyle said, getting an eyeful of Sam. "You look hot!"

  She did a little twirl for him. "Thanks. So do you."

  Sam had, as I might have guessed, coordinated matching Homecoming outfits for both her and Kyle. Kyle's shirt was the exact shade of purple as Sam's dress.

  "Hey," Chase said when he saw me. "You look…nice," he said, echoing my thoughts about him.

  I cleared my throat, the compliment coming from Chase that was not laced in sarcasm throwing me. "Thanks." I paused. "You too."

  He gave me a slow up and down, landing on the mass of sparkles on my head. He grinned.

  "One crack about the tiara, and you're a dead man," I warned him.

  He put up his hands in a surrender motion. "I wouldn't dream of it, princess."