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brownish-blond hair that looked like it had been colored by the sun. When he smiled, the entire room brightened and Bex felt her temperature rise at least ten degrees. She was sure she was blushing; probably so much that her eyeballs were red. She took a fumbling step back. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
    “No, that’s okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. You must be new, or I must really have been sleeping through this class. I’m Trevor.”
    “I’m new.” Another ten degrees. “Not new. I mean, I’m new here but my name is Bex.” She paused and bit her lower lip. “That was really smooth, wasn’t it?”
    “Nah, you did great. The name question is a hard one for a lot of people.” He gestured toward two empty desks. “Here.”
    “Thanks.” Bex sat next to Trevor, her eyes going over his head to where the student and the teacher were still engaged in heated debate. She jutted her chin in the student’s direction. “So what’s that all about?”
    Trevor glanced, then shook his head with a low groan. “That’s Zach. He thinks he’s some big feature filmmaker because he’s the camera guy for the school news channel. He’s really just a huge pain in the ass. Argues about everything.” Trevor held up his hands. “Wait, sorry. Not argue, debate. He likes to debate everything. Probably hoping for an all-out brawl so he can whip out his GoPro and win a Pulitzer or something.”
    “That’s journalism.”
    “What?”
    Bex’s eyes were still on Zach, watching the passionate way he argued, his body poised as though he would hop over the desk to prove his point. “The Pulitzer is for journalism. Not filmmaking. Does he do this all the time?”
    Trevor leaned back and kicked his legs forward, resting his feet on the desk in front of him.
    “Yeah,” he said with a yawn. “Better get comfortable.”
    When the bell finally rang and ethics was over, Zach followed Bex out of the class. She could feel his eyes on the back of her head, studying her, boring into her. She swallowed, wondering if he could read her mind and why, whenever she considered the idea of mind reading, she went directly to her most horrid memory—that night on the driveway when she learned what her father had done.
    Zach followed her all the way to her locker.
    Bex paused, turning. “Is there something I can help you with?” she asked. She was surprised at the composure in her voice since every inch of her body seemed to be quaking, ready to crumble, certain that Zach was going to pinpoint who she was and then turn around and tell the entire school, heck, the entire town—even Denise and Michael—that her bloodline included a man who the newspapers called “one of the most heinous and depraved serial killers ever.”
    Zach blinked at her. “I don’t know. Do you know the combination to my locker?”
    Bex stepped back. “What?”
    “My locker.” He brushed a hand past her shoulder. “It’s right here.”
    “Oh,” Bex said, her mouth suddenly dry. She forced out a small laugh while her bones turned to hot jelly. “I’m sorry. I thought that—”
    Zach pulled open his locker, shoved in a book, then turned to her. “You thought that I was the geeky comic relief? The big nerd who falls for the cool girl?”
    “Cool girl? What are you talking about?”
    He reached into his locker and pulled out a small, fancy camera and held it up to his face. A red light flicked on. “Okay, new girl. Tell the world about yourself. What’s your greatest dream, your deepest, darkest secret?”
    Bex’s eyes went wide. “What? What are you—”
    “Everyone’s going to find out sooner or later, Beth.”
    Beth?

Five
    Bex’s heart slammed against her rib cage. The red recording light on Zach’s camera flooded her vision until everything she saw was coated in a haze of glowing red, bright as fresh blood. Her stomach turned and heat prickled her scalp.
    “Wouldn’t you rather share the whole dirty story here, in your own words, instead