The look on Cooper's face was priceless.

"Lighten up." They walked side-by-side down the hall, their shoulders brushing occasionally as they swerved to avoid confused freshmen darting from door to door. "This is good news."

"That we have P.E. together? How is that good news?"

"No, you moron." Calla flicked her ponytail over her shoulder impatiently. "I'm talking about Jessica. Mike. Blake. Clues."

"Oh. Right." Cooper walked by her in silence, biting the inside of his cheek. Lowering his voice, he asked, "But like...what clues are we talking about, exactly?"

"Do I have to walk you through everything?"

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair—once, twice, three times—and leaned over to hiss in her ear. "Sorry I'm not Sherlock Holmes! I don't go around solving murders in my spare time."

"Sherlock Holmes? Please." Calla rolled her eyes.

"Are you...?" Cooper grabbed the front of his button down, his face twisting in pain. "Are you implying I'm Watson?"

"I thought that was already obvious."

Calla amused herself by watching him fumble for an answer. He sucked in a deep breath, as if in preparation for some long-winded speech that she certainly didn't have time for.

Her amusement evaporated. "Are you done?"

He poked her shoulder. "This isn't over."

"Poke me again," she said sweetly, grabbing his arm and steering him to the left—away from the gym. "See what happens."

"Where are we going? Calla. The gym is that—"

"I know where the gym is," she muttered, nodding to a set of doors near the end of the hall. "We're making a pit stop."

Recognition lit his eyes. He shook her hand off. "The library."

Knowing they had little time before the next bell rang, they made a beeline for the front desk. The librarian greeted them with her usual pursed smile. Ms. Frey—unmarried and ageless; the woman had looked fifty-five for the last two decades, if the yearbooks were to be believed—leaned against the countertop, a pair of ruby red readers hanging from a strand of turquoise beads around her neck.

"Can I help you?" she asked, not unkindly.

Calla had always felt a certain kinship with the woman. And not because she suspected her of any foul play or insidious thoughts. She had a certain forthrightness that appealed to Calla's nature. She appreciated the librarian's no-nonsense approach.

"We're looking for a textbook," Calla explained, prepared to give more detail if necessary.

"Station three." Ms. Frey gestured toward the miniature computer lab against the far wall. A row of four ancient computers stood by, humming dully. "One's on the fritz. Two and four...well. How much time do you have?"

"Got it." Calla tapped the table in thanks before disappearing into the stacks, her sights set on the third station.

Someone had left a flurry of bright pink sticky notes along the desktop's frame, which Calla ripped off and discarded with ease. Cooper sighed somewhere over her shoulder, allowing her to take the reigns as she pulled up the library's directory and typed in two words.

Brother's Grimm

A loading screen popped up. Calla drummed her fingers against the table.

"We're going to be late," Cooper warned.

She turned and flashed him a warning look.

"Just saying." He crossed his arms and fell silent, a sour look on his face.

By the time she turned back to the screen, the results had popped up. Her heart gave a heavy thud.

"The library had a copy," she breathed. "It was checked out."

"Almost three months ago." Cooper leaned over her, brow furrowed. The screen flickered for a moment, causing them both to tense up. "Goddamn. That's right around the time Jacob was murdered. But who..."

Calla pointed at the screen. She glanced up just in time to see Cooper's eyes go wide.

"Tom Sahein?" He struggled to keep his voice low and composed. "But...he wasn't one of the six."

"Exactly." Calla pushed away from the prehistoric computer and stood, exiting out of the catalogue and erasing their search history.

Cooper let out a frustrated sigh as they hurried past the front desk, throwing the librarian a half-hearted wave as they did so. Her eyes followed them until they disappeared into the hallway, alone once more.

"So the killer didn't check out the book?" he whispered, invading her personal space. "Tom wasn't one of the six, Calla."

"You said that," she agreed. "But don't you see? This supports my theory."

They walked in silence past a group of rowdy seniors. Calla had to grab Cooper's arm to yank him out of their path and he stumbled after her, red-faced, while a couple of the boys snickered. One of them made a sound like a cracking whip and the rest of the group laughed.

Cooper muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like not my girlfriend.

Calla's eyes narrowed. "What did you just say?"

"What? Nothing." He ran his hand through his hair in the typical one-two-three pattern that she'd noticed back in the seventh grade. The side of his mouth twitched. "Anyway. What's this theory of yours?"

Cooper shoved his hands in his pockets, staring down at the tile as they made their way past the front office. Through the blinds Calla could see Mrs. Grendel sitting behind the front desk, her gnarled fingers twisted around a stack of folders, a half dozen gaudy rings flashing in the sterile light.

Neither one of them spoke until they turned the next corner and were out of sight.

"You think he's involved, don't you? That Sahein kid," Cooper said quietly, glancing around to make sure they were relatively alone. They were. The gym was on the opposite side of the school from Mr. Prichard's room, as well as most of the other classrooms, for that matter. The further they went the quieter the halls grew, until only a handful of other kids milled about, absorbed in their own conversations.

Calla shrugged as they rounded another corner. The gym was at the end of the hall. "I think it's possible that he's involved."

"Of course it's possible." Cooper grabbed her arm and, after checking to make sure they were alone, he pulled her to a stop. "I'm asking you what you think."

Calla let him stop her. She sighed, turning so that she could lean against the nearest wall, which happened to be a mural of their mascot—a snarling Grizzly bear, its teeth bared just inches from her head. The cold from the wall seeped through her hoodie and into her back, taking the edge off of the fire growing steadily in the pit of her stomach.

Somewhere inside her, the beast stirred.

"You want to know what I think?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

Cooper crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow right back at her.

Calla looked back the way they'd come, her eyes roving over the deserted hall. Alone. They were definitely alone.

But these days, that didn't mean much. You never knew who could be lurking around the next corner. Camera in hand.

She took care to keep her voice low when she said, "I think it's pretty likely this isn't a one-man show."

Cooper said nothing. He just stared at her expectantly, waiting for more.

So Calla gave it to him.

She held out her index finger, counting clues on her hand like she was reciting an old family recipe. "We know that six students left their prints behind on a murder weapon. Six. We also know that Tom Sahein is not one of those six. What he is, is a notorious busy-body who probably has an alibi for the murders in the form of a time-stamped photo. He was at the Halloween party. The rivalry game. The winter gala. And what do you think he was doing?"

Cooper frowned. "Snooping. Taking pictures. Damn." He groaned. "You're right. There's probably some picture in the yearbook lab's drive proving he wasn't anywhere near the crime scene."

"Which we can prove. Once you get off your ass and go investigate those photographs," she added, an edge to her voice.

"Okay. I get it." He threw up his hands. "But none of this explains—"

"I'm not finished," she interrupted, ignoring his glare. "What else do we know? Well, we know that Rachel and Jess got into a fight a couple of days before her death. And we also know that Jess and Mike broke up at the dance. Not to be overlooked—their prints are all over that bottle used to cut Rachel's throat."

Cooper crossed his arms. "I'm following."

"We also know," she continued quietly, lowering her voice so that Cooper had to step forward to catch her words, close enough that she could make out the pattern of his breathing, "that you're a target. Who has the motive to kill you? To kill Rachel? Jacob?"

His face spasmed at the last name. She kicked her heel back against the wall. "What?"

The laugh that came out didn't match the uncomfortable look in his eyes. Not at all. "I just never thought I'd feel sorry for the guy. Y'know?"

Calla resisted the urge to grab him by the throat. "What are you going on about?"

"Later," he said quickly. Her eyes narrowed. He kept speaking, hoping to distract her. Or at least, that's how it seemed. "So far, your theory isn't making any sense, by the way."

Calla had no idea what he'd been on about—he'd mentioned something about the memorial this morning, had insisted that he needed to speak to her—but now he didn't seem quite so eager to share what he knew.

It can't be important, she thought. He wouldn't keep something of that magnitude from me. Not now.

Would he?

"That's what I'm trying to say," she started slowly, regathering her thoughts. "None of the evidence makes sense if you're following just one thread. Sure, Jess had it out for Rachel. You could call that a crime of passion. But you're gonna tell me she killed Jacob Stein? Not a shot in hell she could have pulled that off."

"You think she had help," he surmised quietly.

"What if we've been looking at it wrong?" Calla urged, more confident now. "We've been chasing a killer. Singular. Not plural."

Cooper gave her a skeptical look. "A two-man job would explain why no one person checks every box..."

She nodded. "It could go further than that. This could be a three-man job."

"A threesome, you mean?"

"Your mind never ceases to amaze me," she deadpanned. "But, sure. Let's go with that. A threesome is killing Greenwitch High students."

"Now that's a headline. Hook, line and sinker, baby."

Calla mimicked his pose and crossed her arms. "Do you handle everything with a witty remark? Or is this just your grieving process?"

"Touché."

God watch over and protect this boy before I take his life myself.

"Sorry. Had to get it out of my system." He gave her a bashful shrug. "So...let me surmise. You think Jess and Mike are working together on this. Blake could be involved. Maybe. Big maybe. And Sahein is...what? Their outside man? The keeper of the Chamber of Secrets?"

"I think it's more than that," she said, ignoring his tangent into nerdom. She kicked off from the wall. "Sahein sees a hell of a lot more than he should. The trio could be using him for intel. Feeding him gossip in exchange for favors."

"Favors." Cooper paused. She could practically see the gears turning in his head. "Like checking a book out of the library to get his hands on a juicy story?"

She shrugged. "He's probably done worse to find out a dirty little secret or two. I doubt the trio would have told him what the book was for."

"I think he knows now," Cooper muttered, grim.

She cocked her head to the side, a flutter of impatience threatening to send her into a furious tirade. Cooper must have picked up on her mood—he seemed to be getting better at that, a fact that deeply disturbed her—because he quickly explained his reasoning. Using as much detail as possible, he described Tom's tense, unusual behavior in class earlier today.

"He also left the party in a big rush. Did you notice?"

"The memorial," she corrected again, almost absently. "And yes, I did."

"I wasn't sure." Cooper rubbed his temples. "He was talking to Steph, and it looked—"

"Steph?" Calla's interest skyrocketed. "She came outside to find me."

Cooper raised an eyebrow. "I guess she found you after her little telling-off. Tom looked pissed about something she said. That's when he left." He paused again, this one longer than the last. "We're painting Tom in an awfully nice light. You really think he's just some pawn in all of this?"

No, she wanted to say. But she didn't trust herself to do so. Not when she was in this mood—a mood to watch heads roll, regardless of guilt or blame.

Cooper didn't wait for an answer. He turned and paced from one side of the wall to the other. "The guy has dirt on just about everyone. What if he's not the pawn? What if he has some hidden agenda? Maybe he's taken a few pictures the trio didn't like." He used her earlier terminology, the word trio like a curse on his tongue. "What if he's been the one pulling the strings?"

"A blackmail scheme," she agreed quietly. "Tom keeps his hands clean. Literally. And the others..."

Cooper finished her thought. "The others put their neck on the line to protect whatever secrets he has on them."

They both grew quiet as a group of sophomores—a different crowd than the one Calla ran with, but familiar faces all the same—wandered past, disappearing through the gym doors. Knowing they didn't have long before the bell rang, Calla followed their lead, slowly walking down the hall, trailing her fingertips along its cool surface.

But why take all the risk? she wondered, keeping her thoughts to herself. Why check out the book? If he has dirt on the trio, he would use it as leverage. He wouldn't have cast suspicion on his name. Let someone else take the fall.

"Timeout." Cooper made a halting motion with his hands. "If this is a group effort...who the hell are we going after? Jess and Mike? The twins? Tom?"

"All of them." Calla kept her expression neutral despite the storm of fury boiling inside her.

On the other side of the hall, Cooper fisted his hands in his hair and swore. "I hate this. I feel like we know way too much and not nearly enough at the same time. Do you ever feel like that?"

"All the time," she agreed wryly, surprised that he felt the same. How much more could they possibly have in common? A scary thought.

She continued down the hall, a frown beginning to turn down the corners of her mouth as his words sank in.

We know way too much and not nearly enough.

Just a couple of kids playing at detective. And failing.

"Y'know, Calla," Cooper started, startling her. She glanced back at where he trailed behind, his eyes located on some point in the distance over her shoulder. "I've been thinking. About a different theory. About Tracy. And you, uh, killing...or not killing her."

"Oh." She turned around, continuing her slow stroll to their final class of the day. This again. "Yeah. And?"

"I mean...what if you didn't kill her?"

What if. What if. What if.

Calla hated a what if.

"Do I get a prize?" she asked sarcastically, throwing him a look over her shoulder.

"I'm serious, Calla," he complained, hurrying over. He stepped in front of her, blocking her path. "It changes things."

"It changes nothing." Her voice was short. Clipped. She stared at her fingers hovering on the wall, at the tiny blue veins that ran just beneath the skin of her wrist.

I saw Tracy go upstairs. Someone followed her up there. It was a girl. I know it was a girl.

Were Calla anyone else, she might have clung to the hope of innocence. She might have pointed the finger at Jessica. She could have cited a dozen incidents over the years that would have fueled Jessica's fire, that would have inspired a frame job of such a magnitude. Perhaps Calla had been drugged—she wouldn't have turned away a drink from a friend. And perhaps that drunk had given Jessica the window she needed to plant the blood on her hands and the mud on her boots, planting the idea in her head that she, Calla Parker, had committed murder.

But Calla did not feel that hope. Not so much as a whisper of it.

"It changes everything," Cooper insisted, his voice turning empathetic. He leaned forward, trying to get her attention, trying to get her to look at him. "You could be innocent. Do you really want to throw all that away to get reven—"

Oh, she should have had more control. She knew she should have.

But she didn't. Not with Cooper. And not when it came to Rachel.

She moved before he could react, reaching out to grab his shoulder and slam him against the wall. She kicked his ankle, knocking him off balance. He wobbled and she threw her weight into him, sending him to his knees.

He fell with a curse. She planted a hand on the back of his head, forcing him to the ground. Her fingers tightened in his hair and he gasped.

She hovered above him. "Don't get in my way, Daniels. Not when it comes to Rachel."

You deserve to be happy...

"Okay, okay!" Cooper shouted frantically, panting. "I got it!"

Calla released her grip and turned to resume her slow walk along the wall. She heard Cooper scramble to his feet behind her, groaning and cursing under his breath.

"Good," Calla said. "Glad that's settled."

"Psychopath," he snapped behind her.

She snickered as she entered the gym, the tardy bell ringing to signal her arrival. Cooper walked a step behind her. She could feel him seething, but she didn't care.

They'd made a deal. And he was damn well going to honor that.

"Coop!"

They both looked up at the voice. Vincent sat on the opposite side of the gym, perched in the bleachers with the rest of the class. The majority of the faces were familiar ones. Calla recognized several kids she had in other classes. And there, sitting a couple of rows below Vincent, were Stephanie and Gareth.

Calla was mildly pleased to see Stephanie, who greeted her with an enthusiastic wave. Gareth looked less excited, sitting slightly apart from the others, his jaw tight.

Someone had certainly pissed in his Cheerios that morning.

Out of the six suspects she and Cooper were balancing, Gareth crossed her mind the least. Maybe it was the vacant light in his eyes. Maybe it was the way he laughed whenever someone drew a dick in the window of a grimy car.

Or maybe it was the fact that Calla would rather die than live in a world where Gareth Walker could outsmart her at...well. Anything.

She sincerely hoped he was the placid, ignorant fool she thought he was. Otherwise she was going to look awfully stupid. Which would really piss her off.

In the spirit of covering all their bases, Calla was about to point him out to Cooper—perhaps murdering their classmates had put Gareth in a foul mood?—when someone else caught her eye, distracting her from Gareth completely. He sat in the bleachers with the others, looking effortless in blue jeans and a crisp white t-shirt, his blonde hair tousled to messy perfection.

He waved and gestured for her to sit beside him. One of the freshmen at the bottom of the bleachers, who'd been watching him with hopeful eyes, sighed wistfully. Her friend gave Calla a jealous once-over.

Of course Cory Michaels was in her P.E. class. God did, after all, have a sense of humor.

"Your boyfriend is here," Cooper stage-whispered in her ear, his voice tinged with delight. He was no doubt enjoying every moment of her discomfort—especially after the stunt she'd pulled in the hall.

"I'm going to make your life hell," she whispered back, giving Cory a shy smile. At least she hoped it was a shy smile and not a pained grimace.

"It's too late for that," Cooper grumbled. "You've been ruining my life for years now."

"Please," she quipped, climbing the bleachers before he could respond. "I'm just getting started."