“Well,” Gavin says, turning his head to look at me quizzically, “you know. I mean, on account of how you’re still in love with him—”

My heart seems to explode inside my chest. “In love with WHO?”

“Well, Jordan Cartwright, of course.” Gavin looks taken aback. “Oh, shit,” he adds, when he sees my expression. “I forgot. Cooper said not to tell you what he said—you won’t tell him I told, will you? That guy kinda scares me… .”

Gavin’s voice trails off as he stares at me in alarm. I can’t imagine why. Maybe it’s because of the way I’m hanging over my desk with my mouth wide open and my eyes spinning around in their sockets.

“Well, I mean, isn’t that why you don’t want to go to Jordan’s wedding tomorrow?” Gavin is starting to babble. “Because you’re still so in love with him, you can’t stand to see him marry someone else? Because that’s what your friend Cooper thinks, anyway. He thinks that’s why you haven’t been able to move on to someone else, because you’re still mourning Jordan’s loss, and that it will be a while before you get over it—”

The scream starts at the bottom of my feet and rises steadily, like steam from a kettle. I’m about to tilt my head back to let it out when Tom comes staggering into the office, his face white as the snow outside. He’s not carrying a tray with breakfast on it.

“They just found the rest of her,” he says, right before he collapses onto the couch beside Gavin.

The scream disappears.

“The rest of who?” Gavin wants to know.

“Lindsay,” Tom says.

Magda is at her cash register, weeping.

“Magda,” I say, for what has to be the fifth time, “just tell me. Tell me what happened.”

Magda shakes her head. Against all laws of physics and hairspray, her hair has collapsed. It droops sadly to one side of her face.

“Magda. Tell me what they found. Tom won’t talk about it. Gerald won’t let anybody into the kitchen. The cops are on their way. Just tell me.”

Magda can’t speak. She is constricted with grief. Pete doesn’t have to argue with any of the residents he is busy herding from the cafeteria—they’re leaving of their own volition, with many nervous glances in Magda’s direction.

Considering the fact that she’s practically keening, I don’t blame them.

“Magda,” I say. “You’re hysterical. You’ve got to calm down.”

But Magda can’t. Which is why, after heaving a sigh, I haul off and slap her.

And why she, in turn, slaps me back.

“Ow!” I cry, outraged and clutching my cheek. “What did you do that for?”

“You hit me first!” Magda declares angrily, clutching her own cheek.

“Yeah, but you were hysterical!” Magda has some arm on her. I’m seeing stars. “I was just trying to get you to snap out of it. You didn’t have to hit me back.”

“You aren’t supposed to slap hysterical people,” Magda snaps back. “Didn’t they teach you anything in all those fancy first-aid courses they made you take?”

“Magda.” My eyes finally stop swimming in tears. “Tell me what they found.”

“I’ll show you,” Magda says, and holds out the hand she hadn’t used to smack me in the face. There, in her palm, is nestled a strange-looking object. Made of gold, it resembles an earring, only much larger, and curved. There’s a diamond on one end of it. The gold is pretty banged up, like it’s been chewed on.

“What is that?” I ask, gazing down at it.

“WHERE DID YOU GET THAT?”

Both Magda and I are startled by the reaction of Cheryl Haebig as she and her boyfriend Jeff pass us on the way out of the cafeteria. Cheryl’s eyes are wide, her gaze glued to the object in Magda’s hand. Pete, who is trying to herd everyone out of the place, looks frustrated.

“Cher,” Jeff says, tugging on his girlfriend’s arm, “come on. They want us to leave.”

“No,” Cheryl says, shaking her head, her gaze still fixed on what Magda is holding. “Where you did get that? Tell me.”

“Do you recognize it, Cheryl?” I ask her—though it’s obvious from her reaction that she does. Also that I probably don’t want to know why. “What is it?”

“It’s Lindsay’s navel ring,” Cheryl says. Her face has gone as white as the blouse she’s wearing. “Oh, God. Where’d you get it?”

Magda presses her lips together. And closes her fingers. “Oh, no,” she says, in the singsong voice she only uses when students are around. “Never mind. You go to class now, or you’ll be late—”

But Cheryl takes a step forward and says, her eyes going hard as the marble floor beneath us,“Tell me.”

Magda swallows, glances at me, then says, in her normal voice, “It was stuck at the bottom of the garbage disposal. The one that hasn’t been working right all week. The building engineer finally got around to taking a look at it. And he found this.”

She flips it over. On the other side of the gold, the word LINDSAY is engraved—hard to make out, after all the mashing. But still there.

Cheryl gasps, then seems to find it difficult to stand. Pete and Jeff help her to a nearby chair.

“Tell her to put her head between her knees,” I tell Jeff. He nods, looking panicky, and makes his girlfriend lean forward until her long, honey-colored hair is sweeping the floor.

I turn back to Magda and stare down at the ring. “They put the rest of her down the disposal?” I whisper.

Magda shakes her head. “They tried. But bones won’t grind up.”

“Wait, so… they’re still down there?”

Magda nods. We’re whispering so Cheryl won’t overhear. “The sink was stopped up. No one thought to wonder why—it’s always stopped up. We just used the other one.”

“And the police didn’t look in there, either?”

Magda wrinkles her nose. “No. The water was all… well, you know how it can get back there. Plus they served chili Monday night… .”

I feel a little bit of vomit rise into my throat.

“Oh, my God,” I say.

“I know.” Magda looks down at the belly button ring. “Who could do such a thing to such a nice, pretty girl? Who, Heather? Who?”

“I’m going to find out,” I say, turning away from her and striding blindly—because my eyes are filled with tears—toward Cheryl, still sitting with her head between her knees. I squat down beside her so that I can ask her, “Cheryl. Were Lindsay and Coach Andrews sleeping together?”

“WHAT?” It’s Jeff who looks astonished. “Coach A and Lind—NO WAY.”

Cheryl raises her head. It’s very red from all the blood that’s rushed into it while she was hanging upside down. There are tear tracks down her cheeks, and unshed tears still glisten on her long eyelashes.

“Coach Andrews?” she echoes, with a sniff. “N-no. No, of course not.”

“Are you sure?” I ask her.

Cheryl nods. “Yeah,” she says. “I mean, Coach A, he… ” She looks up at Jeff. “Um.”

“What?” Jeff looks frightened. “Coach A what, Cher?”

Cheryl sighs and looks back at me. “Well, none of us are sure,” she says. “But we always just assumed Coach A is gay.”

“WHAT?”Now Jeff looks as if he’s the one who’s about to cry. “Coach Andrews? No way. NO WAY.”

Cheryl blinks up at me tearfully. “You can see why we kept that suspicion to ourselves,” Cheryl says.

“I can,” I say. I give Cheryl a pat on the wrist. “Thank you.”

And then I’m gone, brushing past Pete to head out of the café and toward the elevator.

“Heather?” Magda trots after me in her stilettos. “Where are you going?”

I jab at the UP button, and the elevator door slides open.

“Heather.” Pete follows me out into the lobby, gazing after me in concern. “What’s going on?”