“I took Sera home an hour ago. Chillax.”

“Chillax? Please, nobody actually says chillax, loser.” But even her insults had taken on a teasing tone in the last couple days.

Seeing that the coast was clear, she walked the rest of the way in and sank down on one of the beanbags. Her spot, she’d dubbed it.

“Were they right?” I asked. “About Hennigan’s house?”

“Yes!” Kimberlee said, eyes sparkling. “I have no idea how I didn’t know this while I was alive, but his house is just barely out of sight of the parking lot. It’s perfect.”

“Awesome,” I said, and reached into my pocket for my phone to jet a text off to Khail. I hesitated before I hit send, remembering Sera going through Khail’s phone, but this number was unlisted anyway; that was the whole point. I was probably just being paranoid.

“So,” Kimberlee said hesitantly as I put my phone away, “speaking of Hennigan, did you ask Sera what happened today?”

“No,” I said, not looking up from my history homework.

“Why not?”

“It’s her business, not mine. If she wants to tell me, she can.”

“Real proactive.”

“What do you mean?”

But Kimberlee just shrugged. “The timing just seems like a little too convenient, if you ask me.”

“Which I didn’t,” I said.

“Whatever. I just thought it sent up some warning signs.”

“Because it’s actually weird, or because it’s Sera?”

“Because it’s weird,” Kimberlee said. “I’m serious, Jeff, if you were dating anyone else, I would be just as worried. Think about it; your girlfriend—who also happens to be the sister of the guy you’re working with—gets called into the psycho principal’s office on the day after a big return and then starts acting all weird. If you took the names out and forgot our history, wouldn’t it totally make you suspicious?”

“No. I think you’re reading way too much into it,” I said. “Besides, we’re doing the last drop on Monday and then it will be over.”

“I don’t understand you, Jeff.”

“I’m speaking English, Kimberlee.”

She gave me one of her melodramatic sighs. “I understand the words you are saying; I don’t understand you. You think everyone’s good and noble and whatever. You’re sure Sera is innocent and you totally believe that Khail has no motivation except being a swell older brother.” When she said swell, she pumped one fist like the protagonist of a 1950s sitcom.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“You’re living in a fantasy world. And the longer you pretend, the harder it’s gonna be when you find out we’re all miserable screwups. Especially her.”

I looked up from my homework. “And you vilify people. Is that any more realistic?”

“I don’t vilify people,” Kimberlee argued. “I see them as they are.”

“Sure you do.”

“I do!”

“So Langdon’s a nice guy and Sera’s a bitch? I don’t think that has any ground in reality whatsoever.”

“He was nice to me,” she muttered.

“What about Khail?”

“What about him?” Kimberlee asked, looking suddenly quite interested in the TV Guide I had left open on the floor.

“He didn’t do anything to you.”

“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” Kimberlee said, waving me off.

“I don’t believe that,” I replied flatly. “You can’t tell me that getting rejected made you so mad you took it out on Khail’s little sister. That doesn’t even make sense.”

“When does love ever make sense?” Kimberlee grumbled.

“Why does he hate you?”

She hesitated. “I can’t tell you.”

I should have known better than to try to have a serious discussion with Kimberlee. “Okay, well, I have a buttload of homework tonight—what channel do you want?” I asked, picking up the remote.

“I’m not lying!”

“You’re always lying,” I said, as I channel surfed.

“Not this time.”

“Yeah, okay,” I muttered, tossing down the remote and turning back to my calc book.

Kimberlee watched about two minutes of a tooth-whitener infomercial before breaking the silence. “Khail’s . . . significant other got sent to brat camp. He thinks I was responsible.”

“Brat camp?” I’d heard of parents who sent their “problem children” to special wilderness “retreats” for superharsh discipline, but I’d also heard that most of them got shut down—too many abuse scandals and a couple of deaths or something. I’d certainly never known anyone who’d gone. “Why would Khail think you had anything to do with his girlfriend being sent to brat camp?”

Kimberlee had a strange look on her face, like she was trying to both breathe and hold her breath at the same time. “It wasn’t a girlfriend,” she finally said before burying her face in the beanbag.

“What do you mean it wasn’t a—oh. Oh!” Comprehension dawned on me. “Khail? Are you shitting me?”

Her head remained buried in the beanbag, her words muffled and barely comprehensible. “Preston’s parents are superfanatic something-or-others. . . . Somehow they found out what was going on and totally went off the deep end about it. Khail thinks that somehow was me.”