From the safety of my living room couch, I stare at the white notebook in my lap, and an uneasy feeling settles over me.

This is it; the moment I've been waiting for.

Finally, I may have some real answers as to what Emma's been up to. A quick flip through the pages when I was in her bedroom wasn't enough to answer any questions. I'll have to read the entire thing. Before I left, I tucked the notebook in the waistband of my jeans so Mr. Navarro wouldn't know I took it.

I'm just hoping he keeps his mouth shut and doesn't tell Emma I was there. I told him that framing the photo was a secret and he said he wouldn't tell. But still. What if it slips out? Or what if he doesn't care about surprises and this blows up in my face?

Either way, there's no chance I'm sleeping in my room now that I know what Emma is capable of. If she finds out I went snooping through her belongings, she's liable to come over here and strangle me in my sleep. And since I can't lock my bedroom window, I settle on the next best thing: locking my bedroom door. I don't have a key, but I'll worry about that later.

In the meantime, I grab everything I might need to get me through the night. Pajamas. Phone charger. Wireless earbuds. And when Mom gets home from work, I'll see if I can bunk with her. She wouldn't dream of saying no after what happened this morning.

The only thing left to do, besides dive into Emma's most private and personal thoughts, is to tell Jordan what I found. Lucky for me, she answers on the first ring.

"You'll never guess what I did," I blurt into the phone.

She doesn't even hesitate. "Discovered what came first—the chicken or the egg?"

I can't wipe the grin from my face. "Even better," I say, feeling more than a little proud of myself. "I went through Emma's room."

"You're kidding! Already?"

I sink back into the couch cushion and cross my legs, the notebook balanced on my lap. "The opportunity presented itself unexpectedly."

There's a smile in her voice. "Well aren't you a natural born Nancy Drew?"

"Wait. I thought we were playing Veronica Mars?"

"You can call yourself Scooby Doo for all I care, just as long as you found something useful."

"I have her journal." A stunned silence fills the distance between us. "Are you still there?" I finally ask, tapping the screen with my finger.

"I'm here." It's nearly a whisper. "What does it say?"

An uneasiness lurks in her question. I blank for a moment before a chilling realization hits me. I thought Jordan would be thrilled with the potential information I uncovered, but I never stopped to think about how else she might feel.

For all we know, Emma could have written about her and Jordan's relationship, and here I am, holding what could be the most intimate details of Jordan's life.

I clear my throat as embarrassment prickles across my skin. "I haven't read it yet. Would you like to go through it first? That way if there's anything about you, it can remain between you and Emma."

My offer is met with silence. And then, "It's okay. I trust you."

"You do?" I can't hide my surprise. Before we discovered we're on the same side, I hadn't given her many reasons to trust me. Like the time I snuck into her hospital room with little regard for her wellbeing. Or when I accused her of being involved in Emma's disappearance. Okay, so maybe I didn't voice that opinion out loud, but I still thought it. If I were Jordan, I'm not sure I would have forgiven me so easily. "Why?" I can't stop myself from asking.

"Because you didn't judge me when I told you the truth."

For a moment, I don't know what to say. It blows my mind that it was even a concern for her, being afraid to admit who she really is. How can anyone pick apart someone else's preferences and believe they're in the right? It's no one's business. And everyone, no matter who they love, deserves respect.

A massive lump forms in my throat. "I'm sorry. As hard as this is on me, I know it's hard for you, too. Especially since you were in ..." I'm about to say were in love, but I suspect she still is. And the idea breaks my heart. "I'm just sorry, is all."

Jordan sniffles. "Thanks."

I suck in a breath, Jordan's willingness to trust me creating an overwhelming sensation in my chest. I'm not sure anyone has ever put this much faith in me before. If anything, it's been the opposite. "If I find anything interesting, I'll let you know right away."

"Sounds good. And Arbor?" She hesitates. "Would you mind if I read it after you're done? Not that I care what she may or may not have said about me, I just—"

I don't let her finish. Don't want her to make up some stupid lie to cover how she feels. "It shouldn't take me long to read. I'll drop it off in the morning. Does that work?"

She lets out a grateful sigh. "Yes, thank you."

From the corner of my eye, something outside catches my attention. I set the notebook aside and make my way to the front window just as Mom's car zips into the driveway. A quick peek at my phone tells me it's after 3:30. Shit. "My mom's home and I told her I'd make dinner. I have to go."

After we say goodbye, I find a text from Mom saying she'll be a little late, as well as a missed call from Dad and Mey. Mey will have to wait, but I'm shocked Dad didn't send out the National Guard when I didn't answer. But then, he's probably been in contact with my mother.

I race into the kitchen and fling open the pantry door, my eyes scanning the packed shelves for potential dinner options. Everything is organized according to the alphabet, boxes first and then cans, but all I see that's simple to make is the Spaghetti-O's and Meatballs we bought for when Rowan comes over.

It's not gourmet, but it'll have to do. Mom's going to have a mini stroke. Just as the front door swings open, I pull back the tab on the lid and dump the contents into a pot, the smell of metal and artificial tomato sauce flaring my nostrils.

"How are you feeling?" Mom says as soon as she steps into the kitchen. Her heels click against the ceramic tiles as she sets her purse and briefcase on the center island.

I flash her a sideways smile. "Good, thanks. I took a nice long nap."

"That's what I figured. Your father said he couldn't get a hold of you earlier and I told him you were most likely asleep." She peeks over my shoulder. "What are you making?"

My teeth tug at my bottom lip. "Spaghetti-O's and Meatballs. I thought it'd go good with grilled cheese sandwiches. What do you think?"

Mom's crimson lips form a perfect O, her horror at my culinary choices blatantly obvious. "Honey, you shouldn't have."

I feign disappointment. "You don't like it, do you?"

"Oh, no. Nothing like that. You should just be resting, is all. Here, let me finish this for you," she says, shooing me away from the stove. "Why don't you lie on the couch while I take care of it?"

"If you're sure." I blink at her.

"Absolutely. I'll call you just as soon as it's ready."

Before I make it into the front room, there's a sound like the garbage lid creaking open and a pile of mush plopping inside. If we were in the middle of any other situation, this would probably be funny. Now, I just hope it buys me more time.

I grab the notebook and lean back into the cushions, flipping through the pages until I come to the first journal entry.

A sudden irritation bristles across my scalp.

This is Emma's journal. It holds her inner-most thoughts and feelings. Reading it is, without a doubt, the most invasive thing I've ever done. But how else am I supposed to figure out what's going on with her? As long as it's for a greater good, then it's acceptable. Right?

"Oh, darn!" Mom shouts from the kitchen. She hurries into the front room, her purse over her shoulder. "I tried to dress up the spaghetti and added way too much salt. How about I grab some take-out instead? Any suggestions?"

Her lie barely fazes me and I don't even bother to glance up from the notebook, my eyes unwilling to leave Emma's words for fear they'll disappear. "How about Porkie Pies?"

"Perfect, they're quick. I'll call in an order for hamburgers and a salad. Sound good?"

I nod, but she's already half-way out the door.

My stomach tilts sideways.

Here we are ... just me and Emma's secrets. I exhale, readjust the notebook in my lap. And begin.