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I'm starting to think I was the wrong person for all of this.

Maybe it was a mistake from the start.

When I respond to Mariana, it's with nothing but apology, taking full responsibility for what happened. The blog keeps getting tips—in between the death threats and pointed comments about its reputation being ruined now—but I don't have the stomach for another takedown.

But then. Monday rolls around. And as I'm heading to class, I hear something that makes the fire in me burn again, tingling down my arms and legs, roaring back to life.

Cole is coming back tomorrow.

He's returning to campus, like nothing ever happened.

* * *

"We should probably talk about our project. There's only a couple of weeks to put our final presentation together."

I blink up at Lukas, who I was sure might ignore me for the rest of our shared English class, all over a kiss—either the one we shared, or the one Blake and I shared, which for all I know, he found about. "I texted you like, three times about it."

"Oh, I changed my phone number." He pulls out his phone, which looks, impossibly enough, like the model released just a day ago. "Here, let me give you the new one. I don't have it memorized yet."

He reads off the numbers, and I edit his contact in my phone. "Why did you change your phone number all of a sudden?"

"I kept getting too many death threats," he says casually. "My dad's security team insisted I change the number and give them the old phone so they could monitor it. They're supposed to be sending my new number to any friends or family members who text the old one, but I guess your name wasn't on the list."

Of course it wasn't. I have other worries, though. "These death threats... they weren't because of the..."

"Blog that accused me of violent rape?" He says it so casually. I wince, staring down at my hands, unable to look up into his face and meet his blue eyes straight on. "Yeah, that was part of it. But some assholes on social media did a deep dive on all my information, and even though it should be on lockdown, they somehow got hold of my phone number. Now I'm getting all kinds of disturbing stuff."

Playing with the edge of my skirt, I murmur, "I'm sorry."

There's a long moment. I wait for him to say something like,"It's not your fault."Instead he just says, "So let's schedule that meeting now."

I glance up, frowning a little, because his voice sounds different. Off a little. Almost like he's upset about something. But there's no time to examine it further; I have a minute at most to get to lunch before all the good food is gone. So I schedule a meeting about our project, then grab my bag and rush off to the dining hall. Things may be awkward with Chrissy, while Sasha and Tricia are getting cozier, but now that Hector is back at school I at least have him to talk to.

There's a proposal I have for him, something I think only he may be able to help me with.

* * *

"This has to be the dumbest thing I've ever done," Hector hisses to me as he opens up the back door to Hadley Hall. "I swear to God, Brenna, if you get me suspended again, or worse, expelled, I'm sending you to the hospital to take care of my tía when she has a heart attack."

"You're not going to get suspended. Girls come to the boys' dorms all the time, and vice versa."

"Is that what this is?" He waggles his brows at me. "A late night rendezvous?"

I roll my eyes. "Don't tell me you're eager to turn our friend group into as many romantic pairings as possible."

Hector chuckles. "You should be happy for your friends."

"I will be when they stop calling each other honey," I mutter. "Given Sasha's proclivity for weapons, you'd think she'd be less...sugary."

"Love makes us mad."

I wouldn't know. Tiptoeing quietly, I follow Hector down the empty, darkened hallways. More than one dorm room has a light showing under the doorway. They could be studying; finals are coming up, along with final projects, but somehow I'm guessing somehow that most of them are up to other types of activities. Of all the rules, the mixing of boys and girls is the least enforced one; the last thing the administration wants to do is kick half their donors' children off campus because of teenagers being teenagers.

"Which room?" I ask Hector.

"It's right around the corner, but as far as getting in goes..."

"Let me worry about that. I'll get the door open."