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done to Margot washed over her anew. “Oh yeah?” she said, lashing out. “Well, how do we know you’re not Christopher Beeman?” She wasn’t entirely sure it made sense, but someone had to be Christopher, and they were running out of options.
    Instead of denying it, Ed the Head burst out laughing.
    “Why is that funny?” Kitty asked.
    “If I’m Christopher Beeman,” Ed gasped, “I’ve got bigger problems than a murder rap.”
    A creeping sensation spread down Olivia’s spine, as if she’d just backed into a spiderweb. Something about Ed’s tone put her on edge. “What do you mean?”
    “That’s what I discovered in Arizona,” he said. “Christopher Beeman is dead.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
    HarperCollins Publishers
    ..................................................................
THREE
    THE DAY ROOM AT THE SANTA CLARA COUNTY GIRLS ’ JUVENILE Detention Center was by far the most depressing place Bree had ever been.
    Intended as some kind of free space, the day room was a windowless, color-blocked cell furnished from a cut-rate office supply catalog where inmates were allowed to watch TV, play board games, read, or tackle homework as their privilege level allowed.
    The bland atmosphere mirrored the inmates’ moods. Everyone looked worn down and half-dead, like a room full of lobotomy patients. They slogged from table to door to bookcase, eyes aimlessly searching for something new and interesting to break the monotony, and as Bree stared at TV commercials during the overly chipper local morning news, she wondered how long it would be before she felt as beaten down as the rest of the girls in her housing pod.
    She could already feel the hopelessness seeping in. It had been a long three days since her arrest after claiming responsibility forthe DGM pranks, during which she’d endured seemingly endless police interrogations about the murders of Ronny DeStefano and Coach Creed. Bree had stonewalled mercilessly, taking great pleasure at Sergeant Callahan’s growing irritation as she refused to answer any of his questions. Then the daily therapy sessions with Dr. Walters, who seemed intent on connecting Bree’s “attention-seeking” behavior to her relationship with her parents. Again, she gave the doctor very little satisfaction. Even in jail, Bree couldn’t help rebelling against authority.
    Meanwhile, it had been radio silence from everyone she cared about. Bree had no idea what had happened to Margot, and no clue as to whether or not Christopher had stayed true to his word and left the rest of DGM alone after Bree turned herself in.
    Not that she’d expected to hear from Olivia or Kitty. They had work to do. If the killer had been true to his word, then he would have backed off once Bree confessed. She needed Olivia and Kitty to use this truce to find Christopher and get her the hell out of there. They were her only chance at freedom.
    Because, as Bree well knew, dear old dad wasn’t going to come to her rescue this time. He’d made that abundantly clear last week when he saved her from expulsion after she punched Rex Cavanaugh in the face. Next time, you’re on your own .
    And then there was her mom. Bree blinked and stared at the wall, slabs of concrete painted butter yellow and Pepto pink. Had anyone told her? Would she even care?
    Bree swallowed and fought back the emotion welling up inside. Despite her bravado, Bree was scared. She felt utterly alone, abandoned by her friends, her family, even John.
    I know you didn’t kill them.
    No, not John. He would never abandon her. Would he?
    Bree clenched her teeth so hard she felt the tendons pop around her jaw. She was a convict now, being held on suspicion of murder. Would he feel the same way about her? Would he forget about her if she spent the next twenty years behind bars? Was she destined to become as forgotten as the rest of these inmates?
    “Bree Deringer?”
    Bree jumped in her chair at the sound of her name. Dr. Walters