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He leaves me at the doors of the auditorium. I stand just inside, watching as students find seats. I have yet to spot anyone I know—not Lennon or Thane, Shy, Natalie or....Jacobi.
Right. Jacobi won’t be here. He’s still in the infirmary. I’m anxious for an update—had Shy heard anything else last night after he dropped me off? I would text him, but I don’t have a phone.
Someone crashes into my shoulder and I stumble, catching myself on the arm of a chair. Two girls pass and turn to glare at me. What’s your problem? I want to ask, but someone’s calling my name.
“Anora!”
I turn my head to find Thane standing, waving me to him.
A
s I approach, he says, “Jesus Christ you’re out of it today. I’ve been calling your name—” he pauses and looks at me—really looks at me. “You look awful.”
“Thanks,” I say mildly, taking a seat beside him. I don’t look my best: my eyes are sunk in a pool of purple-black. I rub them with the palms of my hands and am surprised when Thane pulls my hand away from my eyes.
“Don’t do that.”
“I didn’t sleep much.”
I explain what happened, including my trip to the Compound, the claw, my trial before the Order, and my new training instructor. I leave out that Roth has taken my poppa’s coin. It doesn’t seem relevant.
Thane frowns and doesn’t say anything, so, I do.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were one of the last people to see Lily alive?”
“It wasn’t necessary,” he says and then looks at me. “I didn’t kill her.”
Mr. Rivera takes the stage, microphone screeching as he adjusts his hold, quieting the auditorium.
“As I am sure you all know, we lost one of our own earlier this week,” he clears his throat into the microphone. “Lily Martin is no longer with us. Over the next few weeks, you will see an increase in security on campus. Any who wish may have access to crisis counseling. We will take this time to go over safety procedures, rules, and regulations regarding various locations around school…”
As Mr. Rivera drones on, I notice phones illuminating like lighters across the entire auditorium. Students turn their heads to whisper to one another and twist to search the crowd. Something’s just been posted to Roundtable. Call me paranoid, but I can’t help thinking it has to do with me.
When one person finds me, others do, too, and it isn’t long before everyone’s attention is fixated on me.
What is on that stupid app?
If I had my phone, I would download it just to check. I lean toward Thane.
“Do you have access—?”
Even as I ask, he’s opening Roundtable on his phone.
The first headline is: Anora Silby moved to Oklahoma because she killed someone.
A horrible high-pitched sound fills my ears and my stomach feels sick. Who posted this? There are four people who know my identity. One is sitting beside me, one is in the infirmary, and the other two are Natalie and Shy.
I take slow even breaths. Thane keeps scrolling.
Her real name is Lyra. There’s a link to a news article about Chase’s death that uses my name liberally, even has a picture.
Then:
Anora Silby was the last person to see Lily Martin and Jake Harjo alive. It isn’t a coincidence. She’s a murderer. She is a fake.
The app closes without warning. For a moment, I think someone’s managed to take it down, but Thane says, “There are too many people on it right now.”
Great.
