THE STARES AND whispers were everywhere. As Roman and I walked past the main office, even the secretaries paused in what they were doing. I felt Roman nudge me. Chris Clarke was coming down the hall. I steeled my nerves and decided to do what Roman suggested and say something.

“You go, girl,” she whispered as I headed toward him.

But I didn’t make it. Halfway there, my eyes met his, and he instantly looked away. No smile. No nod.

I felt a chill and rejoined Roman.

“What happened?” she asked in a low voice.

“He’s not interested anymore,” I said, feeling like I wanted to cry.

“What are you talking about? He—”

“Stop.” I cut her short, not wanting to discuss it. “You didn’t see what I saw. He’s not interested, period. End of discussion.”

Roman slid her arm through mine. “I’m sorry, Shels; that really sucks.”

I fought back tears. Yes, I thought. It really does.

By lunchtime I’d called Dad three times, but he hadn’t answered. It was so unlike him that I even tried the studio number, hoping Janet or Mercedes would get him for me. But all I got was voice mail.

“No appetite?” Roman asked in the cafeteria at lunch.

I shook my head. The thought of eating made me ill.

“Talk to your dad?”

I told her about the unanswered calls. “I’m worried that something bad has happened.”

“Why don’t you go over to the studio?”

The idea hadn’t occurred to me. “You mean, right now? Just leave school?”

“I told you this morning I was kind of amazed you wanted to come here in the first place.”

I thought about it and, without realizing what I was doing, let my gaze drift around the cafeteria. For what felt like the first time that day, not one person was staring in my direction. They were all eating and talking with friends. I don’t know why my gaze stopped where it did, at a table filled with girls. Maybe because Ashley Walsh, an old friend of mine, was sitting there. And now I looked at the girls she was currently friendly with: Emily Bryson, Sonja Dean, and Tara Kraus, the girl who’d called Dad a creep the day before.

Just at that moment, Tara looked up. When she realized my eyes were on her, she wrinkled her nose and gave me the most hateful look imaginable. Then she said something to the other girls at the table, and they all stared at me.

I quickly looked away, but my mind was made up. Given the choice between getting hateful stares or going to the studio to see if Dad was okay, I chose the latter.

“I’m out of here.” I got up.

Roman gave me a quick hug. “Let me know what you find out, okay?”

It felt strange to walk out of school in the middle of the day, almost as if I expected one of the principals to come running out to ask where I thought I was going. But no one did.

A few minutes later, as I drove down the street toward the studio, the mob of media people camped outside began to mobilize. Camera strobes flashed, and one guy with a microphone made a cranking motion as if he wanted me to lower my window. I looked for Whit in the crowd but didn’t see him.

In addition to the regular collection of cars, two dark sedans were parked in the lot behind the studio. The police had returned. Maybe that explained why Dad hadn’t answered my calls that morning.

I rang the back-door bell and waited a long time before Mercedes answered. She tried to smile, but you could see the stress in her eyes.

“La policía está aqui?” I whispered as I stepped inside.

“Yes.”

“¿Cómo estás?” I asked.

She blinked, as if surprised that I’d be concerned about her, considering what was going on with my father, then nodded silently.

“This must be so upsetting for you.”

“More for you than for me,” she replied.

“I don’t have a little boy to support.”

Her gaze quickly dropped. The new allegations didn’t affect just Mom and me. They affected everyone who worked at the studio. “I’ll be okay,” she said.

I wondered how true that was. Mercedes needed this job. She didn’t have a husband to help raise her son and support her. Each day, a rotating cast of men with tattoos and earrings driving low-riding growly cars would drop her off at work. I had no idea whether they were brothers, cousins, or…boyfriends?

Janet came around the corner, looking agitated. She walked toward us with her head down, rummaging through her bag and muttering to herself until she looked up and abruptly stopped with an expression of surprise on her face. It was a strange moment, and I had the distinct feeling that she was apprehensive about what I might do or say.

“Hi,” I said.

A second passed when she seemed to gather herself. “He’s in the office,” she said, then pulled a pack of cigarettes from her bag and went outside.