Blood on My Hands

it?”
    “Yes. But what was that thing about Katherine being adopted?”
    Mia stared down at a sink. “It was really a low blow. But I just couldn’t come up with anything else that I knew would hurt.”
    “It’s true?”
    She nodded. “She told me once. I mean, a thousand years ago when we were, like, in third grade. Before she became Katherine the Terrible.”
    “But there are lots of adopted kids. Why would it hurt her?”
    “I don’t know,” Mia said with a shrug. “That’s just the way she is. Whatever problem she has with it is in her head. Not anyone else’s.”
    The bell rang; it was time to go to class. “Well, I just want you to know you put on a world-class performance today,” I said, and gave her a hug before heading for the door.
    “Would you do something with me?” Mia suddenly asked. I stopped and looked at her.
    “I want to write something for the school paper,” she said. “Would you write it with me?”
    “What’s it about?” I asked.
    “I’ll call you tonight.”

Chapter 36
    Wednesday 7:23 A.M.
    IN THE DARK lounge, I rest on one of the plastic-covered couches, knowing I won’t be able to fall asleep again. My thoughts are scattered. Will I ever get to sleep in my own bed again? What chance do I really have of convincing Congresswoman Jenkins that her own daughter killed Katherine? If Dakota did it, why did she pick me to blame? Was it just random? Was I simply the first one she came across at the kegger after she killed Katherine? Or was it planned? She had to know about the peer mediation. Did she think she had to act before Katherine and I had a chance to resolve our issues?
    But what if I’m totally wrong and she had nothing to do with it? What if it was Mia and Griffen? Or someone else entirely? Slade said they’d even treated him like a possible suspect.
    What if they really have no idea?
    What if they just hope I’m the one?
    Outside, the sky is brightening. I hear car doors banging and voices. The workers are here early to set up for the celebration. I slide off the couch, scamper to the cabinet under the sink, and crawl inside.
    Lying in the dark, with the cabinet door closed and the scents of new wood and plastic plumbing in my nose, I now have to wait. Hours pass. Finally, somewhere in the room, a door squeaks open and closes quietly. I remain still under the sink, feeling an almost feverish anxiety. Is it Slade? Or someone else? The cabinet door opens. Slade is squatting there, light flooding in around him. I squint. He’s clean-shaven and wearing a navy blue crewneck. Only his bloodshot eyes give away his lack of sleep. His expression is grim. I wish he would look happy to see me.
    “You okay?” he asks.
    “Yes. You?”
    “Tired.” He glances around inside the cabinet. “You know this is never going to work, right?”
    “Got a better idea?” I ask.
    He shrugs. “Time to get ready. They’re coming.”
    The cabinet door closes and I’m back in the dark. But now, I see the flaws in my plan that I couldn’t see last night. The urge to crawl out and run surges through me. But it’s too late. The building is filling with workers. If I try to sneak out now, I’m bound to be seen.
    Seconds pass. Now instead of feeling eager to continue, I’m dreading it. I’m trapped at ground zero, right above the police department. What was I thinking by coming here?
    A door opens. I hear people enter the lounge.
    A man’s voice: “As you can see, this will be the new lounge. By having the emergency services and fire department share one space, we’ll realize a pretty significant energy savings.”
    A woman’s voice: “Good idea.”
    The man’s voice: “Well, that’s about it for the tour.”
    The woman: “Thank you. It’s been wonderful. You’ve done a very good job.”
    A door opens and closes.
    The woman: “How much time?”
    A different man’s voice: “About five minutes. Looks like there’s about a hundred people out there.”
    “Channel Twelve?” the woman asks.
    “No, but Simmons from the Journal with a photographer. And that new girl from the Shoreline Express.”
    The woman replies, “All right, I’m just going to freshen up and review some notes. I’ll be right down.”
    A door opens and closes. The lounge becomes quiet. Is it possible that Congresswoman Jenkins is here alone? That this little part of my plan has actually worked? My heart is thudding, and despite the coolness around me, my skin feels warm and moist. I’m scared