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Message from Remy Cameron

Is that me?

Sent Oct 29 10:10 a.m.

Message from Free Williams

Yes. And your mother. Do you remember her?

Sent Oct 29 10:41 a.m.

Message from Remy Cameron

She looks like you. That means you’re…

Sent Oct 29 10:44 a.m.

* * *

Rio’s bedroom is filled withthe sounds of noisy indie rock. But I don’t hate it. I also don’t know what that says about me nowadays.

“Who is this again?”

“Why? Do you like them?” replies Rio without looking at me.

“Maybe.”

“Shocking, considering your music taste is the equivalent of Clover’s daily dump.”

I smirk. “Why am I your best friend again?”

“Because the Witness Protection Program couldn’t afford to hire you a better one,” she says without missing a beat. “Also, your life would be pathetic without me.”

“Don’t you mean my life wouldsuckwithout you?”

“Don’t go quoting Kelly Clarkson in this sacred space, Romeo,” Rio says sternly, but with this subtle fondness. “I’m not above tossing your scrawny ass out my bedroom window.”

“Promises, promises.”

Rio doesn’t respond. She’s studying the wall closest to the window while I begin examining the ceiling of K-pop horror above me. Pre-teen Rio was so much fluffier than this current Mad Tagger-obsessed incarnation.

“Any new clues?” I ask.

Again, Rio’s silent. I expect that much. She’s in front of her SUSPECT WALL—capitalized, because Rio’s dramatic like that. Most of the wall is covered by a giant map of Maplewood. Red X’s signify where the Mad Tagger has left their calling card. Polaroid photos of all their art are pinned to the map. Cutout yearbook snaps showcasing all the prime suspects and lists of evidence dangle from red pushpins.

Ford Turner. Lexi Goodwin. Malcolm Stone. Hiro Ito. Andrew Cowen.

Wait…

“Is thatIan?” My voice is strangled.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” She keeps her back to me. “He’s an art geek. He has a car, access to the school after hours via his dad. None of us hang out with him outside of lunch. We don’t know much about him—”

“He’s Brook’s best friend,” I counter.