printin it in mon’s homepage! All we had to do now was wait for our killer to strike. At me. At Herbert Hoover High, homecoming was one of those things usually reserved for a certain type of girl—a girl with a date. Since I hadn’t been one of those girls until this morning, there was one gaping hole in my plan to smoke out the killer there. “I don’t have anything to wear,” I moaned to Sam as soon as Kyle and Chase left to go get their rented tuxes. “Don’t worry. I’m sure I have something.” “That’s even more worrisome.” She punched me in the arm. “I have excellent taste.” She was right. She did. She also had a track record of overdressing me. But, considering this was homecoming, I guess that wouldn’t really be an issue, right? Famous last words. That afternoon, while fielding a tidal wave of incoming tweets and texts—including ones from Quinn, Connor, Drea, and Jenni—all asking if it was really true that I knew who killed Sydney, I let Sam put my homecoming outfit together.
