My head is swimming.

I need to tell Jordan she was right about Emma running away! And I need to tell her the best part—I actually have a name.

Stefanie Colin.

Emma did meet her on the priZm app. In her last journal entry, it sounded like she was having second thoughts about taking off—yet she still went missing for six months. Which means Stefanie must have convinced her to stick with the plan.

This girl obviously has access to drugs; that's how Emma has them. And from what I read, she planted all sorts of bad ideas in Emma's head, doing her damndest to create a wedge between her and her family.

How could Emma have been stupid enough to fall for that? She left Menteuse to be with her, but it's obvious things didn't go as planned. If they had, she'd still be gone.

There is so much Emma's kept from me. Not only about Jordan and Stefanie, but other things, too.

Like how all this time she's hated soccer, but it was her parents that forced her to play. I never knew about her confusion regarding Smith, either. Or that she wanted to be a psychologist one day because she's seen how therapy can work. It doesn't take a genius to figure out she was talking about me.

But the worst part is, I didn't realize she felt so alone.

If only she'd confided in me, maybe none of this would have happened. Maybe Emma wouldn't have gotten wrapped up in that app and met the wrong person. Maybe she wouldn't have been weak enough to take drugs.

And maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't have turned against me—her very best friend.

That's what stings the most. I've run through everything that happened before she left, trying to recall what could have set her off. A reason she might be upset with me. But there's nothing. And after everything I just read, I still don't understand why.

At this point, it doesn't even matter. Too much has gone down for me to trust her again. Between the lies about her driver's license, the pills, and now her journal, it should be enough proof to take to the police. Then Emma can finally get the help she needs. I'm not sure if things will ever go back to how they were before, but at least I'll know I did what I could to set her on the right path. As her former best friend, I at least owe her that.

The only problem now is getting a hold of Jordan, but every time I try, it goes straight to voicemail.

"Is everything okay?" Mom's voice drags me back to the living room.

Our eyes connect over the rim of my phone. "Just trying to get in touch with a friend."

While I tuck my cell into my back pocket, Mom positions herself on the opposite end of the couch. "You barely touched your dinner."

"Sorry. Guess I'm not hungry."

There's something more she wants to say. I can tell by the way she massages the back of her neck, and glances away. "Your father's stopping by after work to check in on you."

My stomach takes a nosedive. If I'm stuck entertaining my parents all night, I'll never get to speak with Jordan. And right now, that's the only thing on my mind.

"He doesn't have to do that. He should go home and have dinner with Meredith and Rowan. When was the last time he was able to do that? Besides, I'll see him tomorrow. He's still going to the doctor's appointment with us, isn't he?'

"Of course he is. He's just worried about you—we both are." She tucks her hair behind her ears. "What happened this morning was a significant setback."

I close my eyes, try to push down the guilt. God how I want to tell her everything, but now is not the right time. I can't run the risk of worrying her even more. And there's too much written in that journal about Jordan that isn't my place to share.

When I open my eyes, my breath catches in my throat.

She's crying.

I crawl across the cushions and fold her into a hug. "I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

"I know you didn't." She pulls away and wipes her eyes. "You've just worked so hard, and I don't want anything to interfere with your goals for the future. You'll be in college next year. What if ..." She doesn't finish.

She doesn't need to. I take a breath and grasp her hands in mine. They're shaking. "Everything will work out. You'll see."

There's a knock at the front door. When it shifts open, Dad steps into the foyer, his blond hair more mussed than usual. His blue eyes exhausted. "There's my girl." He tries to smile, but the corners are too stubborn to comply.

I rise from the couch and meet him half-way, closing my arms around his waist. He holds me tight, like he doesn't want to let go. "I'm sorry I didn't answer when you called earlier," I say into his chest.

He somehow manages to bring me closer. "Don't apologize. You needed the rest." He pauses, and then murmurs, "How are you?"

All I can do is nod. I feel terrible. What I'm doing to my parents ... they don't deserve this. Not after everything I put them through before.

"I'm going to take a shower." Mom stands from the couch, wipes her eyes one more time. "It's going to be a long and hot one. So if you need me, you know where I'll be."

Mom and Dad exchange a look. It doesn't last long, but I still catch it. "Take your time, Jazz. We'll be fine down here."

After she disappears up the stairs, Dad motions for me to have a seat. I flop into the cushion and bring my knees to my chest. Pull my sweatshirt over them.

My phone is burning a hole in my back pocket. I haven't felt any vibrations, still I want to see if Jordan has returned my texts or calls. But I can't let Dad know I'm distracted.

"So, how are you really?'' he asks, sitting down beside me.

Our gazes meet briefly before I turn away. Dad's observation skills have always been on point. He once told me that physicians are like detectives, the way they follow clues and piece together evidence to determine a patient's diagnosis. And right now, I have to convince him I'm okay.

"Everything will be okay, Dad. I promise."

"That's not what I asked." When I look back, his eyebrows are arched.

I hold his gaze. "I'm fine. I know it may not seem that way, but it's true."

He readjusts so that he's facing me. "What's going on, kiddo? I know things have been tough since Emma disappeared, but I've been thinking about it all day and your behavior isn't adding up. You've made too much progress in therapy to relapse like this. Is there something more you haven't told us?"

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. How easy it would be to tell him everything, to lay it all on the line, but I'm too afraid to risk it. The last thing I want is to end up back in the hospital. And that's what I'm afraid will happen if I speak too soon.

My throat goes dry. "It's complicated. But yes, things have changed since Emma's been home. She's different—everything's different," I tell him, drawing out a long breath. "I don't want to get into it now, but I do think everything will be resolved soon."

Dad takes his time answering, as if he's weighing what I've said. "I hope you know you can confide in Dr. Wilder if you're not comfortable talking to me or Mom. He helped you before and he can help you again, no matter what's going on. And everything you discuss is completely confidential."

"I know." I rest my cheek against my knees and stare at him, wishing there was a way I could make him understand. "I just need you to trust me. Please?"

"I do trust you." Dad's arm wraps around my shoulders. I lean into him and close my eyes. Before the divorce, a conversation like this would have been all l needed to cure whatever was bothering me.

If only it were enough to fix things now.

It's been over two hours and still no word from Jordan. Dad's long gone and Mom resumes her nightly position on the couch with her book, Cooper stretched out alongside her.

Why isn't Jordan answering my calls or texts? I keep telling myself that she's still in the hospital and is receiving medication that could make her sleepy, but the more I try to convince myself, the harder it is to believe.

Jordan's been doing well. From what she's said, her pain medication is mostly given in the form of pills now, with stronger doses after physical therapy through a line that goes into her vein. Even if she was napping, wouldn't she be up by now? It's past dinnertime, and she said the doctors won't discharge her until they're sure she can tolerate her meals.

Jordan has never waited this long to get back to me. What if something's wrong?

But with Mom peeking at me from above her romance, I keep the worry from my face.

"I picked up your medications today," she says. "Why don't you take them and head up to bed early?"

A cold sweat creeps over me. There's no way Emma could have tampered with them, yet I can't push the notion from my brain. "Where did you get them from?"

She gives me a long look. "From the pharmacy, like I always do."

"They handed them to you personally?"

Her brows furrow. "Yes. Why?"

I shrug one shoulder, take a breath. Try to play it cool. "Just curious. Would you mind if I slept with you tonight? I'd feel better if I weren't alone."

Mom closes her book and sets it aside. "Of course. Do you want me to go upstairs with you now?" she asks, discreetly glancing at the clock. It's just after 8:30. She's never in bed at this hour.

"I'll be fine. You enjoy your book. I know how reading helps you relax." With the notebook clutched in my grasp, I lean over and give her a peck on the cheek. "Love you."

"I love you, too," she says. "So, what's in that notebook you've been staring at all night?"

"This?" Before I can stop myself, I clamp it to my chest. "Just some notes. I have a botany test next week."

Mom lets out a long breath. "I wish you wouldn't stress yourself out right now. You don't even know if you'll be taking the test next week."

My stomach drops out from underneath me. "Why wouldn't I?"

She doesn't answer.

The silence sends a chill up my back. "Mom—why wouldn't I be taking the test?"

A hard swallow moves the muscles in her neck. "I didn't say you wouldn't, I said you don't know. I just don't want you to get too far ahead of yourself. Not until we speak with Dr. Wilder."

I stare at her, dumbfounded. "You don't think he'll admit me again, do you?"

She takes another breath. "I have no idea what he's going to do, but we should prepare ourselves for the possibility."

Any fighting words I have dissolve on my tongue. I nod, stand from the couch. Stumble to the kitchen.

This can't be happening. I need to get a hold of Jordan and take what I know to the police before my appointment tomorrow. Because I can't go to the hospital again. I won't. Not that it was terrible the first time around, but I am not crazy. And I'm not going to let a bunch of doctors and nurses treat me like I am.

Emma's the crazy one. And time is running out.

I call Jordan again, but it goes straight to voicemail, so I send yet another text that says I need you to call me right away.

I hate to do this, but if I can't get in touch with her, I'm not going to wait around. I'll take pictures of the journal entries and send them to her instead. It's not ideal. This situation should be handled delicately, but I can't miss the opportunity to clear my name. I just hope she understands.

"They're still in my purse," Mom says from the threshold.

I blink and look up. She crosses the kitchen and pulls a paper bag from her Burberry. Inside are three bottles of pills. She drops a tablet from each into her palm and hands them over. "I'll get you a glass of water."

While she's at the sink I inspect the tablets, comparing their individual colors and shapes to the ones in my memory. They're the same as they've always been. Once I'm positive they're legit, I accept the glass in her hand.

"Have they passed your inspection?" she says with a nervous chuckle. I'm acting paranoid, that's what she thinks. The accusation is written all over her face.

I force a smile back. "They say you should always double check your meds."

"That's a very smart habit." After I swallow them down, she gives me another hug. "I won't be long, okay?"

I climb the stairs, my heart battering my rib cage the entire way, and clutch the notebook to my chest as if it's some kind of shield meant to keep me safe.

If only it were. There's not much separating me from Emma's bedroom. Is she lurking behind her window, waiting for me to turn on my light? Or has she already snuck inside, counting down the minutes until I go to bed?

Not knowing is the worst.

I close my eyes and stand in front of my bedroom door, press my ear to the white-washed wood. Wait for movement on the other side, but all is quiet. For good measure, I test the handle to make sure it's still locked.

It is.

A shaky breath leaks from between my lips. I tiptoe back to Mom's room and change into the pajamas I left on her dresser. When I'm finished, I hug my arms around myself to ward off the chill creeping over my flesh.

It's crazy, but I can't shake the feeling of being watched. If Emma were to break in, I don't think she'd do anything with my mother around, but I have no intention of falling asleep until Mom's lying next to me. And even that may not be enough.

I slide under the covers and curl the down comforter around me, tucking the notebook beneath my pillow. From now until I take it to the police station, it's going to be as close to me as possible.

When I unlock my phone, the screen is still blank.

Unbelievable. Why isn't Jordan calling me back?

Something sinks in my chest.

What if she can't call me back because something happened to her? If Emma tried to kill her before, what's stopping her from trying again?

A wave of panic crashes over me as I bolt up in bed. I press Jordan's number and am greeted, once again, by her voicemail.

"You're scaring the shit out of me," I say as soon as I'm able to leave a message. My voice is low and guttural, like a growl. "Please call me as soon as you get this. I need to know you're okay."

I'll give her ten minutes. If I don't hear from her by then, I'm calling the hospital myself. Better yet, I'll tell Mom to take her time and I'll sneak out and go there. But the moment my feet hit the floor, she walks through the door.

"What are you up to?" Mom asks, freezing in place. When she flips on the light, her expression is on high alert.

My fingernails dig into my palms. "I was just going to the bathroom. Is that alright?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't it be?"

"I don't know. You're looking at me funny."

Mom gives me a tight smile. "Nonsense. I'm just tired." She waltzes past me toward the opposite side of the bed. "Will you turn off the light when you're done?"

"I'll turn it off now. I can make my way in the dark."

"No!" she says too sharply. "I mean, I don't want you tripping over anything. Just shut it off when you come back, okay?"

My gaze scans across her floor. It's spotless; not a single tripping hazard in sight. When I raise my eyes, she's still staring.

She doesn't trust me. She's going to have me turn the light off as a way to ensure I'll be back.

I swallow, try not to show my irritation. Nod. "I'll just be a minute."

I hightail it out of her room and lock myself inside the bathroom, flipping on the light and overhead fan. There's no way I'll be able to leave the house now, not with Mom acting like some overzealous vigilante. I might as well forget about hearing from Jordan, too.

There's only one thing I can do.

I crawl into the bathtub and push myself into the farthest corner. Look up the number to the hospital. With shaking fingers, I hold my breath as it rings.

"Thank you for calling Menteuse Hospital," the operator on the opposite end says. "How may I direct your call?"

"Pediatrics," I answer in a stage whisper. The lady puts me on hold and a few minutes pass before someone else picks up. I'm not sure how to start, what to say, so I stutter out an awkward hello. "I'm, um, trying to reach my friend but she's not answering her cell phone. Can you please connect me to Jordan Pacey's room?"

"I'm sorry, miss, but I'm not able to confirm whether that person is a patient here or not."

A cold sweat prickles the back of my neck. "I understand, but this is really important. Could you make an exception—just this once?"

"I'm sorry, but I'm not allowed to do that. It's against the law."

"Please," I plead into the phone. "I promise I'll never tell a living soul!"

There's a tense pause, and then, "Who is this?" the voice demands, irritation coloring her tone.

I end the call and let out a ragged breath. Press my fingers to my lips.

This isn't good. How the hell am I supposed to make it until morning, not knowing if Jordan is okay?

I'm shaking and lightheaded when I slither out of the bathtub, and I have to force myself back to Mom's room. The overhead light washes over her as she lies in bed. "All set?" There's a look of relief on her face.

"Yes." I turn off the light and set my phone on the nightstand before climbing in next to her. "Good night."

"Good night, honey. Sleep well."

I twist to the side and tuck myself into a ball, will myself to fall asleep. But the thought of missing Jordan's call is too strong to ignore. The moment I open my eyes, Mom's are fixed on my face, the whites somehow glowing in the dark. Even when I roll to the other side, I can feel them penetrating my back.

I'm out of moves. All that's left for me to do is pray there's a message from Jordan when I wake up in the morning, telling me I am acting paranoid. 

Because the only thing I'm certain of now is that I'm in for the longest night of my life.