Possess

it.”
    “Oh, really?” Her mom barely stepped aside so Bridget could squeeze past. “And why was that? Because you were at the library ?”
    Bridget didn’t like the inflection on the word “library.” She hung her jacket on the coat rack and stole a glance at her mom. Lips pursed, eyebrows raised in expectation. Her frizzy red hair looked frizzier and redder than usual, and her blue eyes, so like Bridget’s own, were combative. Bridget knew this look. This was her mom’s patented “I’m about to trap you in a lie” face.
    “What did you do, spy on me?”
    “It’s called being a mother. And for your information, I did not spy on you. Matthew Quinn dropped Sammy off and—”
    “What?”
    “Yes, and he said he stopped by the library to offer you a ride home, but you weren’t there.”
    Bridget pressed her lips together. Matt Quinn. “Oh, so you had him spy on me, huh? Perfect.”
    “I did nothing of the sort. He simply said you weren’t at the library and weren’t answering your phone. He was worried.”
    Worried. Matt was always worried about her. It was equal parts sweet and annoying as hell. “You know, it’s bad enough his dad’s patrol car shows up here every other day to ‘check in’ on us, now you’ve got Matt following me around after school? I’m surprised you didn’t call his daddy and have half the SFPD searching the neighborhood.”
    “Bridget and Matt, sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”
    Bridget’s eight-year-old brother, Sammy, stood in the kitchen, kicking the door rhythmically with his foot.
    “Thanks, Sammy,” Bridget said with a limp smile. “That’s helpful.”
    “Sam,” her mom said, steering her youngest child back into the kitchen by his shoulders, “finish your chicken.”
    “Annie?” a male voice called from the kitchen. “Is everything all right?”
    Her mom flushed scarlet. “Fine, Hugh. It’s just Bridget.”
    Bridget’s stomach clenched. Hugh Darlington? Again? This was the second time in a week. There was no way her mom could pretend he was still “just a friend” checking up on them. Her mom was dating less than a year after her husband’s death. It was seriously messed up.
    “What’s he doing here?” Bridget whispered.
    Her mom dropped her voice. “Hugh wanted to borrow one of your father’s books, so I invited him for dinner.”
    “One of Dad’s books? Really?” Was her mom that stupid? “You really bought that line?”
    “Watch your tone, young lady.”
    “Hi, Bridget. It’s good to see you again.” Hugh Darlington’s tall, slender frame loomed behind her mom. From the perfectly coiffed blond hair that looked like he had a hairdresser on staff for daily blowouts, to the meticulous manscaping of eyebrows, Hugh Darlington always looked like he just walked off the set of a makeover show.
    Bridget wrinkled her nose. She’d known him almost her whole life: Along with Sergeant Quinn, Hugh Darlington had been one of her dad’s best and oldest friends. But somehow Bridget had never warmed up to Mr. Darlington, even after her dad went to work for him—something she’d always felt vaguely guilty about.
    Especially after her dad’s murder. Mr. Darlington had gone out of his way to make sure the Lius were well looked after. But as the weeks and months passed, and Mr. Darlington started to spend more and more time with her mom, Bridget couldn’t shake her resentment.
    And then there was his daughter, Alexa. Alexa had been in Bridget’s class since kindergarten and had spent most of that time making Bridget’s life a living hell. It had taken a few years for Bridget to catch on. Outwardly, Alexa was all smiles and laughs, but then the rumors started to spread. At first they were stupid: Bridget Liu eats her boogers. Bridget Liu doesn’t wash her hands. They got nastier as Bridget got older. She’s too Chinese. She’s not Chinese enough. Her dad’s not her real dad. Her mom’s a slut.
    Then one day Bridget lost it and punched Alexa in her perfect little face on the playground. Alexa had screamed bloody murder and carried on like Bridget had lit her face on fire. As if. But from then on, Bridget was labeled a “troublemaker” and had “anger management issues.”
And almost no friends.
    Her dad’s murder may have made Bridget the center of gossip at St. Michael’s Prep for the past year, but thanks to Alexa Darlington, Bridget had been a social pariah for a long, long time.
    Maybe Bridget hadn’t given Mr. Darlington a