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Someone was messing with me. But why? Why would anyone want to keep reminding me of Cheyenne? Did someone know about her
final e-mail? Did someone blame me for Cheyenne's death, like Cheyenne had? Ivy. She had been skulking around Billings yesterday
evening. She had claimed we had done something to her. Did she think I had driven Cheyenne to suicide? But if she was doing this to
get back at me, how was she getting into Billings? The bathroom door opened, startling me out of my skin. Sabine drew a hair pick
through her long hair as she approached in her skimpy white waffle-weave robe, checking out the sweater that was clutched in my
hands.
"I thought you didn't take any of Cheyenne's things after the funeral," she said, raising her eyebrows. "So this is Cheyenne's," I
said, my temples throbbing. "Yes." She looked at me, confused. And why not? Shouldn't I know if I had appropriated the sweater of
our dead housemate? One would think. "Remember? She spilled coffee on the cuff the morning of initiation and went into that tem-
per." Sabine reached for the sleeve and turned it over, revealing the small, dark stain. "Why would you take a stained sweater of all
things?" "I don't... I didn't...." Sabine's brow creased as I fought for an answer to what was, to her, a simple question. "I didn't realize it
was stained." I shoved the sweater back into the closet and slammed the door closed before Sabine could spot the rest of the pink
clothing. "Too bad." Sabine turned around and continued combing through her hair. "It was a nice sweater."
'Yeah. Nice." I turned away from the closet. I'd wear something from my dresser instead. My fingers slipped from the knobs of the
drawer as I tugged on it, slick with nervous sweat. I paused for a moment and forced myself to breathe. Sabine, meanwhile, hummed
to herself as she got dressed in the far corner, oblivious to my panic. I hadn't taken those clothes, had I? Maybe I... maybe I had taken
them and just didn't remember. Those few days were still a blur. Everything that had gone on... the freaky e-mail, the funeral, the stuff
with Josh... Maybe I had gone in there and taken some of her clothes from her room and had just blocked it out.
But this new theory did nothing to comfort me. Because if I was blocking things out, that wasn't normal. It wasn't good. If I had
blocked out something that simple, what else was I not remembering? What else might I have done? No. No. People didn't just block
stuff out for no reason. They didn't just lose time unless they were on something--pills or way too much alcohol. It wasn't me. It
couldn't have been me. Which left one other explanation. Someone was screwing with me. And as I yanked open my dresser drawer I
resolved to figure out who it was. I was president of this house. No one messed with the president of Billings. No one messed with
Reed Brennan.Not anymore.
SUSPICIOUS BEHAVIOR
One question kept repeating itself in my mind all day. If Ivy was responsible, how was she getting into Billings? The thought of Ki-
ki's lost key crossed my mind. Maybe Ivy had found it. Or even stolen it. If that was the case, could I get the administration to change
the locks? But then I would have to tell them why. Would have to admit to potentially being stalked. And that would open up a whole
can of worms I wasn't ready to deal with. Like heightened security around Billings. Like people watching me as if I was a freak. Like,
possibly, explaining about Cheyenne's e-mail--explaining why Ivy or someone else might want to stalk me. No, thank you. I would
