Karen M. McManus

I’m starting to realize there are some things you can’t undo, no matter how good your intentions are.

“That was fast,” I say. “I expected more resistance.”
“I already wasted too much time.”

At least, none of them are as good at it as me.

I don’t know why it’s so hard for people to admit that sometimes they’re just assholes who screw up because they don’t expect to get caught.

I’ll give you a hint to get you started: everyone’s lying.

I swallow hard. Somehow, the fact that Nonny accepts my word without question makes me feel guilty.

If it ever came out that I’d actually done something to Simon, plenty of people would hate me. But there’d also be people who’d make excuses for me, and say there must be more to my story than just getting accused of using steroids.

The thing is, they’d be right.

“I don’t know. But it’s different, which makes it interesting. I need to come back with a thumb drive and download it.”

But I didn’t, and I don’t. For the first time in a long time, I feel free.

And two: I don’t think any of them did it.