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“I don’t have any history with you whatsoever, so I don’t see it as relevant.”

I nod slowly. “That’s very generous of you, considering.”

She shrugs. “There’s a lot of people on this campus who my family says I should hate. Not just you.”

I wince. “You’re lumping me in with the Sinners?”

“Diablo’s Disciples,” she corrects.

“What’s the difference?”

“The Disciples are a gang,” she says matter-of-factly. “The Sinceros are just one family within that gang. Though, granted, an important one.”

“Like the Norths are to the Skull and Crossbones,” I say with a shiver.

“Something like that,” she says, picking up a pair of chopsticks and peeling off the paper. “My turn. Did you write the messages on your door?”

“Of course not,” I say. “You think I’m making it up?”

“Do you worship the devil?”

“What?” I exclaim. “No!”

“Do you hate me?”

“Why would I hate you?”

“See? Pretty silly, isn’t it?”

We stare at each other a few seconds, and then Manson hands me a packet of chopsticks and a box of takeout. “Hope you like tofu.”

“Thanks,” I say. “I’m sorry if I offended y’all.”

There’s a knock, and Manson goes to retrieve a tray of takeout coffee cups with a normal coffee and one that looks like it’s filled mostly with whipped cream and caramel and toffee bits.

“We’re at a Catholic school,” Annabel Lee says to me. “Trust, you’re not the first person to ask, and you won’t be the last.”

“So, let’s talk about who wrote that on your door,” Manson says, settling back in and handing his friend the giant cup of caramel. “You got enemies?”

I glance at Annabel Lee. Her eyes are closed in bliss as she sucks the sugary concoction in big gulps through a wide straw.

I guess she still hasn’t told him.

“A few,” I mutter to Manson.

“And it’s happened before,” he says. “When did it start? Is it the same every time?”

“More or less,” I say. “Though once there was a picture, and once someone left… A tongue.”

“A tongue?” Manson asks, gaping. “What kind of tongue?”

“Human,” I say, breaking apart the chopsticks. “I think.”

“Someone left you a human tongue?” he asks, glancing at Annabel Lee.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Explains the silence,” he says.