Megan eyed me in study hall. She kept eying me, sneaking glances when I was hunkered over my sketchbook. My doodles grew eyes and arms, reaching out of the paper, grasping for dry land. Sanctuary. Megan’s eyes were black ash.
“Did you know this guy they found in the river?” she asked.
I looked at Stienz. His head was bent toward a book.
“No,” I lied.
“It’s awful sad. Does stuff like this happen often around here?” she asked.
My tongue was a stone, heavy and stubborn. “No,” I lied again.