THREE MONTHS LATER

The school guidance counselor's office was decorated to seem inviting. Pretty flowers to look at, warm family photos. A nice neutral shade of brown on the walls. But to Britney it all seemed fake. Fake orchids on the desk, fake smiles on the photos on the wall, fake wooden shelves. Fake, fake, fake. Like the guidance counselor, Ms. Gibson, with her fake nails and fake blonde hair color.

As fake as Britney with her lies.

And all of the others. Everyone, just faking their way through the school year, which had become the year that Rosewood Valley's sweetheart had vanished and everyone covered it up. I hadn't seen her since school the previous day, they all lied.

Even Britney.

She sat in Ms. Gibson's cold, artificial office, annoyed. Hating Ms. Gibson because she'd been spared the truth.

"Your grades have been dropping significantly," Ms. Gibson noted, staring at her flat computer screen.

Britney could see that Ms. Gibson was expecting a reply, but she really had none. She couldn't explain that it was impossible for her to concentrate on the words in her schoolbooks. Everything she did, everywhere she went, she saw Hayden's face. The faces were on posters in every inch of the school. Posted in the library. On the streets. In the supermarket windows. Missing. It was fake. Hayden wasn't just missing; she was dead. She would never come smiling down the school hallways again. She would never cheer at another football game or do homework ever again. She was just gone and Britney knew it.

"You might think I'm prying...but I've noticed when this started, Britney. Would you like to talk about that?"

She couldn't talk about it. Not now, not ever. If she told what she knew, it would be her against everyone. Kelly was queen, and Britney was beneath her. They could even make her look like the guilty one if they wanted to. She had seen movies like that. And Even worse, Jada would spill her secret.

"No," she said stubbornly. "Can I go now?"

Britney gave Ms. Gibson the final look that meant she would get nothing else. No heart to heart chat. No tears. Britney was completely shutting her out. She glanced at the clock on the wall and noticed it was almost time for the bell to ring for the last class of the day.

"Okay," Ms. Gibson said in a friendly way, not letting Britney's indifferent attitude faze her. "If you ever want to talk, I'm here. I'll listen."

She stood up and walked to the door. After a silent moment, Britney followed. When the door opened, the bell rang. The hallway was filling up quickly. Britney slipped into the routine that she'd made do with for the past few months. Her goal was to be present, but not relevant. She sidestepped a hugging couple, dodged some boys that were wrestling around, and finally got to her locker. She started her combination, ignoring the sound of someone talking shrilly into their phone, but as she turned toward the second number of her combination, more voices started to rise. Someone burst out in sobs. Britney abandoned her locker to wonder what was going on. A person screamed, someone else was brought to tears, people whispered, sadness and fear and shock grew all around her. It was clear that some sort of news was spreading along the halls, and it was like a virus, infecting everyone.

She saw Ashley from geometry class, chewing her bottom lip, eyes leaking. Britney reached out a hand to catch her shoulder. "Hey, what's going on?" she asked.

"They-They found a body," she said. "At fiddler's Woods. It was pulled from the lake. It could be-"

Britney had already turned away. She was leaving. She knew who it was and she couldn't watch all of this. All these people displaying their pain, the same pain she felt inside for the last three months.

The loud speaker clicked and the principal's voice said, "All students report to the gymnasium, please."

Britney did not go to the gymnasium. She went out the door. She didn't see Hayden, didn't even know she walked right by her in the hallway. Nobody saw Hayden, and that's how she wanted it for now. As Britney passed her, Hayden reached out a charred finger. A fire-orange number sixteen appeared on Britney's cheek, briefly burning like hot ashes, stinging for no more than a second. She swatted at her cheek as if she'd simply crossed paths with a bee. The number didn't leave, but she couldn't feel it anymore. Around the halls, more numbers were stinging the cheeks of the guilty. They would all have to answer for their sin when their number came.