She'd been unfair to Zach. She realized that now. She'd used him. Expected him to help her when she hadn't even explained why she needed help. Maybe her pride had kept her from admitting that everything was going wrong. Or denial. She'd been in denial. And Zach was the only one who really realized she was lying to herself, but when he'd tried telling her everything—been entirely, completely, brutally honest with her—she'd refused to listen. It had been a total wake-up call to her, but he'd been the one that suffered from her problems. Wherever he was, he had wanted to help her, and she'd ignored and forgotten him.

Like that night in early October when she'd used him to make Nate angry. Why had she done that? She wished she could believe that she'd done it subconsciously. But she hadn't, and she knew she hadn't. She hated girls—girls like herself—who were scheming and plotting, who knew how to use other people to get what they wanted without really believing they were in the wrong.

Zach had been the real person who cared about her, and she'd shoved him behind Nate, who wasn't worth half what he was. She hated herself.

Nate. He'd texted her nine times after sending his initial message last night; Ada hadn't responded to any of them—eventually just turned off her phone. She'd never realized how possessive he could be. When they'd been going out, she'd liked him too much to admit how messed up he really was. He'd pulled her into his screwy world, and she'd let him. Now, she was trying to get out of it, but it was hard. Nate didn't want to let her go. Not that he was in love with her or anything—it was more like he wanted to control things, wanted to be in charge, so when Ada had broken it off instead of him, he'd gotten angry. It had been right after Zach disappeared that she'd done it, and Nate's going all psycho because of their break-up hadn't helped in getting over everything that had happened.

She was sitting on the floor, by her bed, just thinking. It was late, late Friday night. She used to go out on Fridays, but now she stayed home, alone, thinking. Usually ended up falling asleep all uncomfortable and cold on the floor. Her room wasn't carpeted, and the wood always got cold at night. She was a deep sleeper, now, though, unlike she'd used to be. Now, when she slept, it was like she'd been hit with a sledge hammer and knocked unconscious. Before she'd started taking Dr. Alder's depression medicine, she'd slept a lot lighter. So now she never woke up in the middle of the night to realize she was on the floor and climb into bed. The pills she took made her sleep good; that was one nice thing about them.

Her mind suddenly switching tracks, Ada found herself wondering if Evan was on meds. He'd been as messed up as she had been after everything had happened. And the people at school were really cruel to him. They'd been mean to her, too, but they were worse to him. No wonder he'd decided to go homeschool. She didn't blame him at all.

How was Evan? She hadn't talked to him or seen him since before the winter break. It was February, now. Mid-February. Zach had been missing for three and a half months. Pretty much everyone assumed he was dead, that they'd find the body come spring when the creeks in the woods thawed and the snow up in the hills melted. There wasn't any snow around the houses. They were kind of situated in a valley, at the bottom of it, so it was warmer down toward the ground than it was on the hills and in the woods lining them. It wasn't like they lived out in the middle of nature, though. It was mostly suburbs, the city down in the middle, and lots of roads. The Bi-State led right through the center, close to Ada's neighborhood. That was why it had always been so easy to head over to Nate's district; it was a short drive.

Her phone rang. Ada jumped. She'd been so lost in her thoughts she'd forgotten there was a world beyond her warped mind. Picking up the thing, she checked to make sure it wasn't Nate. Then, she flipped it open and answered.

"Hey, Jess. What is it?"

A smoker's voice answered on the other end, "Hi. Don't act like you don't know why I'm calling."

Ada frowned. Wanted to hang up but decided not to. "I haven't talked to you in a long time."

"Yeah, I know. Doesn't bother me if it doesn't bother you. But I'm around him all the time, you know, and I'm real tired of having to hear about you."

She was unsure what to say. The last thing she wanted to talk about was Nate. Wishing now that she hadn't answered the call, she at length replied, "There's nothing I can do about it. I'm sorry if I hurt him," (she cringed as she said that, knowing full well that first, she wasn't sorry at all, and second, she hadn't hurt him—she'd damaged his pride), "but I'm not talking to him, and I don't want to see him. It's totally over. If you're tired of listening to him complain, then just don't hang out with him anymore."

"It's not that easy, you know that. You know what he's like. And besides, he's my friend." Jess sighed loudly. "Look, Ada, you've just taken everything the wrong way. I've known Nate forever, and he's not half as bad as you're making him out to be."

You're right, she thought. He's worse. I've been too nice to him.

"He loves you, you know that, right? All he does is mope around like his damn dog died or something. He's stopped the drugs. He has. He's told me so himself."

Yeah, sure. He told me that a million times, too.

"He's like a freaking zombie without you. I never saw someone so depressed as him. You've got to at least come talk to him, sort things out. Give him another chance."

"No," said Ada abruptly, surprised at the force in her voice. "No more chances. I'm done."

Jess's tone immediately turned from being the pleading, abused person to being angry. "You know, you really piss me off, Ada," she snapped. "You're the most selfish person I know. Nate's over here practically dying—would do anything to have you back—and all you can think about is yourself and that ignorant friend of yours that offed himself. I see what this really is. It's you feeling sorry and guilty. Well, you know what, you've got to get over that and just wake up. You hurt that friend of yours and now you're hurting the only person who actually loves you. You're such a bitch."

In a bit of a trance, staring at the wall, Ada, slowly lowered the cell from her ear and ended the call. Jess's loud voice was cut off mid-rant. She wasn't going to listen to anyone try to tell her that Nate was trying to be more perfect, that he was changing or had changed or loved her. He didn't love her. He didn't really even care about her. He was just mad.

Her eyes blurred the longer she stared. Was Evan having as many problems breaking away from the past? Was he losing as much hope as she was?

Slowly, Ada turned toward her window. Something felt wrong, there. Something felt strange. Her gaze took in the rectangle of light that looked out on the world, saw through its glass the sunset-colored sky and silhouetted trees against it. Saw, too, the crimson that appeared to be creeping from the rims of the thinly-stretched clouds. Running, down, like the deepest colors of the setting sun were leaking paint—dripping toward the ground—almost as if . . . as if the sky was bleeding . . .

She blinked her eyes. Hard. Squeezed them together. Rubbed her fists into her eye sockets. Then she opened them again.

The scene outside her window was entirely normal. Sunset behind typical gray clouds, outlines of trees, the forms of other houses looking somewhat ominous in the day's dying light. Nothing that resembled blood or running paint or anything like that.

She really must be seeing things. Where was her medicine? It wasn't quite time for bed, but she wanted the pills now. She needed them to relax her. After Jess's call . . . after what she'd just thought she'd seen . . . yes, Ada bet Dr. Alder wouldn't mind her taking the meds a little early. Not if she knew how much she needed them at the moment. Why was everything still determined to fall apart, as much as she kept trying to put it back together?