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Tears chase each other down her cheeks. “Where the hell is the ambulance?”
    I concentrate on breathing in and out. It’s difficult for me, but not impossible. Like it is for Alex. I step off the couch. I want to lie down and close my eyes.
    I want to pretend it’s all a very, very bad dream. I want to be back in the kitchen at home with my dad. I want him to order me not to go to the party.
    I don’t want to be so hungry all the time. I don’t want to act totally out of character and kiss a boy minutes after meeting him.
    A boy who is allergic to peanuts and is apparently having an anaphylactic reaction on the deck. I don’t want to have snacked before the party even though I ate a full dinner. I don’t want the snack to be a peanut butter sandwich.
    I consider bolting out the back door but plop down on a nearby chair, too shocked to do much of anything else. People run in circles around me. No one talks to me. No one asks me what I ate before I kissed him. My lips press tightly together.
    The sound of sirens reaches the house. People cry and screech, in a panic. Two medics charge in the house and run out to the deck.
    I don’t have to ask. It’s not good.



chapter three
    I don’t know how long it’s been since the Amazon pointed an accusing finger at me as the girl who had been with Alex, but people have finally stopped firing questions at me. I’ve answered questions over and over again. What did I eat before kissing Alex? When did I have the peanut butter sandwich? What happened after?
    Almost all the kids are gone. Taylor is at the kitchen table, crying softly. Justin sits beside her, looking like he’s about to.
    A police officer’s walkie-talkie crackles. She speaks into it, then walks over to me.
    “Alex died on the way to the hospital,” she says softly.
    Taylor moans, and Justin drops his head to his hands. I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head. Back and forth. Back and forth. As if the motion can stop the truth from becoming real. No. I want to scream. This can’t be real.
    The police officer puts her hand on my arm. “Have you been drinking?” she asks.
    I shake my head no. I wonder why it even matters.
    “You’re sure?”
    “I swim,” I say, as if that’s an answer. My voice sounds foreign to me.
    Her eyes soften, and I guess she’s a mom, thinking about her own kid, hoping she won’t drink either. Or kiss boys she doesn’t know at parties. “Did you drive here?”
    I nod.
    “I’ll drive you home in your car. My partner will follow us.”
    I don’t argue. She pulls me up. I don’t look at Taylor or Justin. I don’t look at anyone. I wonder if I can stay inside my head and make it all go away.
    It’s raining outside and the wind is whipping leaves around. The cop asks me a couple more questions on the way home, but other than supplying my address in a squeezed voice, I can’t speak. I can’t talk anymore. I can only shake my head and stare at my lap. I’m holding so many emotions inside, and they’re fighting hard to blast out. Swallowing is virtually impossible.
    “We already contacted your dad. You won’t be charged with anything,” she’s saying. “In a case like this there’s no intent. No liability.”
    My joints weaken and my stomach gurgles. I should go to jail. Live behind bars. Be punished forever for what I did.
    She parks in the driveway and walks me to the door, and my body starts to shake when my dad opens the door. For a second I imagine Chloe going home. Her parents waiting at the front door. No son or brother will walk inside again. Horrified, I slip past my dad while the policewoman has a hushed conversation with him in the doorway. They talked earlier, but he’s just learning that Alex died. I hover behind him. Waiting.
    When she finally leaves and he closes the door, my body lets go. I throw my arms around him, crumpling against him. He squeezes me harder than he ever has before and the tears I’ve somehow kept down gush out. I’m a snotty,