Also by Natalie D. Richards

  49 Miles Alone

  Four Found Dead

  Seven Dirty Secrets

  Five Total Strangers

  Six Months Later

  My Secret to Tell

  Gone Too Far

  What You Hide

  We All Fall Down

  One Was Lost

  Copyright © 2026 by Natalie D. Richards

  Cover and internal design © 2026 by Sourcebooks

  Cover design by Ray Shappell

  Cover images © Stanislas Desjeux/Arcangel, Tifonimages/Getty Images, Wangwukong/Getty Images

  Internal design by Diane Cunningham/Sourcebooks

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner for the purpose of training artificial intelligence technologies or systems.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Sourcebooks Fire, an imprint of Sourcebooks

  1935 Brookdale RD, Naperville, IL 60563-2773

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  Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file with the Library of Congress.

  For Ian, my partner in crime since the hassgropper days

  Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  One

  I’m breaking the rules for the nerdiest imaginable reason.

  My sixth-period Criminal Justice class is holding me hostage. Or at least it is for the next twenty-six minutes. I’m supposed to be reviewing the slide deck from Unit 6 and listening to Ms. Meek drone on, but instead I’m sneaking online for the nerdiest imaginable reason. To be fair, no one is listening. But most of my classmates are shopping for two-hundred-dollar leggings or checking one look-at-me social app or another. Whereas I’m stress sweating and obsessively refreshing my inbox waiting for a response—promised by 2:00 p.m. today in the application materials—from the John Carroll University Leadership in Chemistry summer program.

  I check the clock. 2:02 p.m. Maybe it’s a time zone thing?

  No. John Carroll is in Ohio, albeit three hours nearly due northeast of me.

  I refresh it again. And again. And again.

  Maybe I read the time wrong? I could have sworn they said finalists would get their interview invitations today at 2:00 p.m. Maybe—

  A new email pops to the top of my screen and I swear to God, my heart stops cold for a long second. My eyes lock on the sender. John Carroll University.

  And then the subject line. Interview Request.

  I jerk back from the screen in surprise. Then I open my texts before I even pull up the email, because if ever there was a best friend news emergency, this is it. Lily should actually be in this class, but she isn’t back from her school office aide gig. God, I hope she’s checking texts. She’s going to flip.

  “Let’s talk about the process of placing someone under arrest,” Ms. Meek says, in her trying-to-start-a-discussion voice. Of course I haven’t been paying attention to the slide deck, but I have plenty of reasons not to care for this topic.

  People around me begin to shift and twist in their seats. I look up and my summer program delight frosts over in an instant. Every pair of eyeballs in this classroom is directed at me and I’m pretty sure I know why.

  “What precipitates an officer making an arrest?” Ms. Meek asks more directly.

  A few hands shoot up around the room. Ms. Meek calls on Emma, but Jackson Collins takes the opportunity to lean closer to me, dropping his voice to a whisper.

  “Bet you know the answer, Clara.”

  My cheeks go hot in an instant, and I hate them for the betrayal almost as much as I hate the Jacksons—because of course dickbags would come in pairs—for snickering. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Henry Toussaint looking up. He is tall, dark, and so intimidatingly attractive, that even with my face on fire and my dignity sliding onto the floor I’m perfectly aware of his proximity.

  “…an outstanding warrant exists or the officer witnesses you committing a crime.”

  “Which was it for you?” Jackson goes on softly. Not so softly that people near us can’t hear, because now a few of our closest classmates are tittering.

  I don’t look directly at them, but I know it’s all the usual suspects. Ava, Sloane, the other Jackson—key players in and hopeful applicants to the social group I orbit. But I’m not like Mars or Earth—more like Neptune, always included, but far enough away that no one pays me much attention.

  “You’re forgetting one other circumstance,” Ms. Meek says. “Can anyone help?”

  “Can you help, Clara?” Jackson asks, just a smidge louder this time.

  Laughter erupts around me and two things happen concurrently.

  “Knock it off,” Henry says in a low voice.

  At the same instant, Ms. Meek says, “Cool it, Jackson.”

  It’s a half-hearted warning at best. We all know this fortysomething teacher with her dark roots and tired eyes doesn’t have the energy for enforcing anything.

  But Jackson does stay quiet. Of course, he continues to watch me, staring with this shitty little smirk while Henry mutters another low warning and everyone else stifles laughter. Ms. Meek ignores it all, continuing to explain that an officer can also place someone under arrest if they reasonably suspect a crime. Kiasha—wicked smart and possessing zero interest in the social cage fight playing out quietly in the back half of the room—gets into a discussion with Ms. Meek about how reasonable suspicion is determined, and doesn’t that feel too subjective to result in actual justice? All the while Jackson gapes at me, chin in hand, and I squirm furiously, hoping a fire drill will interrupt this nightmare.

  How many minutes are left in this class again?

  Twenty-one.

  Fantastic. Might as well be twenty-one years with the way I’m feeling.

  “Let’s switch things up a little, class,” Ms. Meek says. “I need three volunteers to join me up here.”

  My hand shoots up before I can stop myself. I don’t know what’s motivating me more—the need to get the hell away from Jackson and all this giggling or the need to prove to them that I am not afraid of this conversation, despite the thing everyone in here is thinking about. Despite the fact that everyone in this room (minus Jonah, new to Tuskegee High this year) knows exactly what I did two years ago.

  “Ava,” Ms. Meek says and then, with the briefest shadow passing over her features, she nods at me. “Clara. And Jonah. Come on up.”

  My heart is pounding in my ears as I stand up. Walking to the front of a classroom always feels like being under a microscope, but it still beats out sitting there while Jackson stares holes into the side of my head.

  At the front, our teacher holds out a crumpled grocery sack, lifting it high enough that Ava can’t see what’s inside. She gropes around in the bag, pulling out a gavel. Ms. Meek moves the bag to me and I reach inside. Something rattles at the bottom, but my fingers graze rough cloth. I pull out a brown burlap bag, turning it over in my hands. It’s a round sack, tied at the top and sporting a big black dollar sign written on one side in permanent marker. The kind of loot a burglar might carry off in an old-timey movie. A few laughs sound out behind me. Fine. Whatever. I’m a bank robber. Ha ha, it’s so very funny, isn’t it?

  And then the bag moves on, and Jonah takes the final item—the jangling thing. He pulls out something silver and metallic. He instantly turns pink from the tips of his ears down to the collar of his ratty flannel shirt. The class erupts, laughing and pointing at the pair of handcuffs he’s awkwardly holding. There are waggling brows and leering too, because in high school, even in a criminal justice class, handcuffs are immediately the start of a dirty joke.

  Ms. Meek claps her hands, and the room settles. “Okay, class, here’s the scenario. A teller at Toontown Bank has called the police reporting the robbery of a single bag of Funny Money. Officer Jonah arrived and witnessed Clara exiting the bank with this bag, so he has reasonable suspicion…”

  Whatever Ms
. Meek continues to say is now lost on me. I can’t hear anything other than a high-pitched whine in my ears layered over the soft laughter now rolling through the class. Some of that laughter is good-natured. Some isn’t. Some of us aren’t laughing at all. Me, for one. Jonah also looks miserable, and given the sex-joke fixation of the some of the people in the room, he probably knows he might as well be holding a dildo. Henry isn’t amused either. He watches me with an unreadable expression.

  I force myself to take a long deep breath as Ms. Meek gives Officer Jonah his instructions. I don’t actually hear what she says or see Jonah move toward me. But I don’t need to pay any attention to know what’s going to happen next. I’m about to be arrested for a crime.

  It won’t be the first time it’s happened. And that first time wasn’t pretend.

  Two

  Handcuffs are heavier than they look. They’re cold too, though the last time I was placed in a pair of them, I was outside, so everything was cold. But this time is different than before. I’m inside a classroom that smells like pencil shavings and old carpet. Also, I’m not guilty of anything beyond a poor choice to volunteer.

  Jonah has placed the cuffs on me so loosely that I could probably pull my wrists free, but I don’t want to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing me react. He delivers some approximation of a police officer’s arrest language, then stares at his feet, and now Ms. Meek is talking, and God, this is like one of those awful nightmares where everything is super slow motion.

  “Clara?”

  I jerk toward the sound of my teacher’s voice. “Sorry.”

  “Can you tell me what’s missing in the Miranda rights that Officer Jonah read?”

  I look at my teacher. And then across the classroom where Lily’s desk is still empty. What the hell, Lily? Get your ass in here and save me already. My gaze falls on Henry in the back, and we lock eyes for a fraction of a second. I don’t want to get caught staring at him, especially while being humiliated in front of everyone, so I look at Ava instead.

  She’s a friend, if I get loose with the definition of the word, but she doesn’t look inclined to help. Which is too bad, because she’s probably one of the few people in this room who was following the Unit 6 slide deck. I was busy considering my exciting future as a promising chemistry major, not my past escapades as a small-time criminal.

  Ms. Meek steps close to me. “Are you sure you don’t remember?”

  There is something behind her smile that isn’t very nice. Something that tells me she isn’t asking if I remember the lesson slides.

  I smile back. There’s something underneath my smile too, and it’s a little like a middle finger. “I’m sure.”

  More laughter from the crowd. This time someone fake-coughs the word convict into the noise. Ms. Meek doesn’t even pretend to give a crap about the jokes. She just keeps staring at me with that I-remember-what-you-did look all over her face.

  “Well, since Clara doesn’t seem to remember, how about the rest of you?”

  “Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?”

  The voice rings through the classroom as sunny and sweet as the person standing in the now open doorway. I practically drop to the floor in relief. Lily Dalton. My best friend.

  She’s waiting with a sheepish grin and a hall pass. Neither are necessary because everyone knows Lily works in the office and everyone also knows she is the golden child of the school, that rare triple-crown student with the right grades, right attitude, and right social group. And she owns that social group. If I am Neptune to the popular crowd, then Lily is the sun.

  “That’s right,” Ms. Meek softens as Lily walks to the front of the class to hand over her pass. The truth is, Lily wouldn’t have to be right. People always believe her. Not just some people either. Everybody does. I used to hate her for it. She was a little rich girl, an only child like me, but the princess version with two adoring parents and an effortless warmth that people can’t help but to love.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Lily says. The barest shade of pink colors her cheeks, though I know she’s not embarrassed. Being Lily’s best friend has taught me lots of things no one else knows, like the fact that she can muster a blush when she needs to, a skill which endears her to practically every school staff member. When Lily squeezes my shoulder in passing, Ms. Meek’s obvious distaste for me thaws. It’s like a Midas touch.

  If Lily shows interest in or affection for anyone or anything, that person or thing is suddenly more appealing to all. Like the oatmeal cookies in the cafeteria that were almost discontinued, until Lily started claiming them as her favorite. Or like Ms. Bentley, a spindly, awkward science teacher universally loathed until Lily started the STEM Sisters club with her in junior high. Or like me. I was escorted out of the school in handcuffs in April of my freshman year, and my social universe imploded in an instant. But six months later, Lily was at my side, pushing all the doors back open for me.

  “I’m certainly glad someone paid attention,” Ms. Meek says.

  Lily shakes her sleek, blond hair. “Actually I forgot to look this unit over. Thankfully Clara drilled me on the notes yesterday, so I can’t really take the credit.”

  “Well, Clara is an expert in all things criminal.” And Jackson Collins reenters the chat. I glance at him directly, now safer with Lily here. He’s decent looking in a sharp-featured sort of way, with green eyes and tousled hair that is always styled to defy gravity.

  Lily turns to him with a soft laugh. “You can’t resist being small, can you?”

  It’s a barbed reply given Jackson’s constant preoccupation with his slightly-less-than-average height. But even as someone else hisses at the burn, Lily offers Jackson a wink like she only means it in good fun. She doesn’t. That’s another Lily secret. Her best trick of all is the way she makes a person feel special, even if she thinks that person is a tool.

  “I’m just pointing out the obvious,” Jackson says, but he’s looking scolded now.

  Ms. Meek quietly unlocks my wrists, and Lily takes her seat. Our teacher walks us through the next part of the process, sharing that after an arrest, a prosecutor would decide whether or not to press charges, charges that will be heard by Judge Ava in Toontown Court.

  Now that time is back to moving at a reasonable speed, it isn’t long before the bell rings. The entire class surges into the hallway like a single organism, backpacks and hoodies jostling through the doorway. Lily brings me my bag and we walk together.

  “Thanks for saving me,” I say.

  She doesn’t look at me but laces her arm through mine, giving me a brief squeeze before releasing me. “That woman needs to unclench. Maybe I should give her a zap.”

  I laugh. Lily is currently obsessed with a stun gun she recently acquired. “Maybe that’s why they don’t allow stun guns at school.”

  She mock gasps. “It’s not a gun! It’s a personal protection device for my future college self, and it wouldn’t really hurt her.”

  “Meek probably just needs to get laid.” It’s Jackson Towns (the taller Jackson with broader shoulders and a pretty-but-forgettable face). He nods to Lily and me in greeting as if he wasn’t one of the instigators. “Ladies.”

  Henry Toussaint walks past quickly but, to my surprise, seems to change his mind, turning back. He is all cheekbones and smooth brown skin, and unlike Jackson, his face is seared into my memory like a tattoo. Being near him still makes me fluttery. God, do freshman crushes ever die?

  “Okay there, Clara?”

  He has the softest lilt to his voice, remnants of his Haitian accent coming through on the there. He moved to Ohio with his parents when he was eight, so it’s almost imperceptible now. Almost.

  I’m about to respond when Ava shoves in close to Lily, her hot pink backpack flung over one shoulder. She nods at Henry. “You better scurry unless you want an awkward convo with your ex.”

  We all glance up to see Mariana, small and striking with her cascading dark hair and petite features. Unlike the awkward Ava predicts, she and Henry share a decidedly undramatic wave before Henry moves on. Unsurprising since the breakup was nearly a year ago and ancient news at this point.

  Mariana comes closer. Ava lives to publicly assert her friendship with Lily, but Mariana seems to be vying for a secret connection. She’s forever pulling Lily aside or whispering about one thing or another. Lily routinely emerges from these liaisons rolling her eyes at me, but even if she’s annoyed, she wouldn’t show it to Mariana. Ava is insufferable, but Mariana is genuinely nice. Nervous but kind. She reaches for Lily’s arm. “Hey, do you have a minute?”