White Rabbit(96)

And then, into my hand Isabel pressed a blank envelope containing four thousand dollars—cash—before walking back out the door without another word.

When I presented my accumulated six grand to my mom a few days later, she was nearly speechless. I told her not to ask where it came from, and she didn’t. Probably, she assumed I’d stolen it from Fox or Arlo, or maybe off Peyton’s dead body—or possibly that it was hush money from the Atwoods, Whitneys, or Forsyths. All I knew was that if she learned most of it came from Isabel, she’d never have touched it; so I kept that detail to myself, Mom paid off the bank, and the wolves were gone from our door.

As for Peter, the man has spent the past few weeks working overtime to un-sully the Covington name and distance it from the scandalous events of the Fourth of July. He’s made sizeable donations to several notable charities; he managed to get himself quoted in no fewer than three different newspaper articles about the dangers of teenage drug abuse; and he wisely refused to take on a wrongful death suit against the Forsyths organized by Fox’s parents. More importantly, he never filed that restraining order against me and seems to have grudgingly accepted that I was in no way involved in Fox’s death.

“Hey, um … so I kind of gave Jake Fuller your phone number?” Sebastian says to Lucy, peering up at her on the couch. “I believe I’m supposed to tell you that he thinks you’re cute. He hasn’t called you yet or anything, has he?”

“As a matter of fact, I did get a text from him the other day,” Lucy remarks. “It says…” She draws up the messages on her phone and reads aloud from the screen. “Sup?”

“Jake’s … not very smooth with the ladies.”

“No, I dare say he’s not.”

“Any chance you want to come to his birthday party tonight?” Sebastian wrinkles his nose. “I’m supposed to make it sound like I thought of it myself, like you can come or not come and it’s no big deal, but I think he really wants you to come.”

“That depends.” Lucy swings up into a sitting position and eyes my boyfriend smartly. “I don’t suppose Mr. Fuller has ever mentioned feeling like an ass for calling me a ‘fag hag’ in the eighth grade and then laughing like it was a hilarious insult?”

“Uh … no.”

“And I don’t suppose he’s ever apologized for implicitly calling Rufus a fag, implicitly reducing me to Rufus’s sidekick, or implying that there is somehow something wrong or shameful about enjoying the company of The Gays?”

“Uh…” Sebastian starts to panic in the face of Grammatically Accurate Lucy, which shows that he’s definitely developing an accurate sense of her danger zones.

“Well, you may tell Jake Fuller that if and when he is ready to apologize and have an adult discussion about these issues, I am willing to listen.”

Sebastian makes a strange face. “I don’t think you realize just how clueless Jake is. If I tell him all that, the only thing he’s going to hear is that he maybe has a shot.”

“Arrrgh, boys.” Lucy flops back on the couch, disgusted. “You’re all so stupid and dumb. Life would be so much easier if you weren’t so freaking hot.”

“Tell me about it,” Sebastian says, ruffling my hair.

I punch him in the arm.





ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book started as just an image in my mind—of a boy finding his sister at a murder scene in a lonely lake house—and I’ve got a lot of people to thank for what it took to bring Rufus, Sebastian, April, and their friends (and enemies!) out of my head and onto the pages you’re holding.

To my exceptional editor, Liz Szabla: thank you for loving this story as much as I do, for knowing when the characters needed an extra push or two, and for always making my work stronger. I’m already looking forward to our next endeavor together! And to my amazing publisher, Jean Feiwel: thank you, once again, for letting my dreams come true by turning this story into an actual book.

To Molly Ellis, my lifesaver, combat trainer, and publicist: thank you for being The Actual Best literally all of the time. I could not have made it this far without you! To Caitlin Sweeney, marketing magician: you were one of my earliest champions, and I’ll never forget it. Thank you for everything.

To be frank, my extended Feiwel and Friends/Macmillan family is peerless. My deepest gratitude to Rich Deas, Mandy Veloso, Kim Waymer, Allison Verost, and Jon Yaged for all that you’ve done to see that my Pinocchio became a real boy; and many thanks also to Brittany Pearlman, Ashley Woodfolk, Heather Job, and Kelsey Marrujo (and Emma Mills, Marissa Meyer, Anna Banks, Kami Garcia, and Leigh Bardugo!) for making my Fierce Reads experience an absolute pleasure.

My marvelous agent, Rosemary Stimola, has been the Gandalf to my Frodo: giving me her counsel, wisdom, and trust, and always, always helping me find my way. Thank you, again, from the bottom of my heart for all you’ve done—and for answering all my emails, no matter how frantic or bizarre they get!

So much gratitude, also, to my debut crew, the Sweet Sixteens—you guys gave me a YA family and taught me so much. A million thanks to Kristin Cast for her support and generosity (and for sharing my love of Drag Race!) And all my love and respect to the bloggers and booksellers—in particular Stacey Canova, Jennifer Gaska, Angie Mann, Susan Rowland, Vee Signorelli, Eric Smith, Nena Boling-Smith, Rachel Strolle, Katie Stutz, and Heidi Zweifel, all of whom I owe a special debt—who have befriended me, talked up my work, and/or saved my butt at BEA (you know who you are). This industry is lucky to have people like you.