Miranda Stevens absentmindedly drew the curtains across her window, her mind still torn between her hate for Harper—and an undeniable concern.

Harper had been her best friend since grade three; so why had she been so willing to throw away their friendship? Why had she been so eager to send Beth flying into Kane's arms, just so that she could claim Adam for herself? What had happened to her promise to Miranda?

"You and Kane—it's a done deal."

Miranda felt a stab of hate every time she thought of Harper's words. And yet, she'd known for years that Harper was egocentric, that she was self-centered, that she thought only of herself; why had she even bothered to expect any better now? She might as well accept that she was never going to mean much to Harper, and move on to find a new best friend.

But then…there was the speech. Harper had obviously been on some kind of drug, throwing herself on the podium and begging Adam to take her back, making a fool out of herself in front of the entire Haven High population—and then some. Miranda had heard real pain in Harper's voice, seen real grief in her expression. And maybe she'd done what she'd done because she truly was desperate.

But Harper? Desperate? When was the last time that had happened?

Despite the fact that Miranda was attempting to cold-shoulder her best friend, she couldn't help but notice that Harper had never returned after she'd ran out of the auditorium. It had been three hours—where had she gone?

You don't care, she reminded herself. You're done with playing the good friend, with tending to her petty needs.

Her phone rang. She picked it up.

"Hello?" She asked, wondering who it was. For the past nine years, the only person that had ever bothered to call her was Harper and—occasionally—Kane.

"Miranda?"

She took a moment to distinguish the voice. "Mrs. Grace?"

"Harper's been in…an accident."

Cue the shock.

"A car crash," Harper's mother said, and Miranda noticed that, even while her daughter was weak and injured, she kept the same cold, condescending tone. "A collision with a van. It was a hit-and-run. She was with a girl named…" She paused, trying to remember. "Kaia. Kaia Sellers."

"Are they okay?" She asked, her formerly certain vow to snub Harper disintegrating into thin air. Anxiety over her best friend came flooding back. "Is she badly injured?"

"None of Harper's injuries were fatal, although they were quite…serious. But that girl, Kaia…" There was silence for a moment. "She's dead."

"Oh. Okay." Miranda felt vaguely numb.

"I know what a good friend you've been to Harper over these past few years, and, well….The doctor says that she needs her friends' support, especially after she gets out of the hospital. Would you look after her when she gets back to school? You're such a sensible young girl, and I can't have Harper being wild and reckless after something like this."

"Um. Sure," she stuttered.

Mrs. Grace hung up.

Miranda still held the phone long after the line had disconnected, suddenly aware of how much difference a phone call could make. She couldn't be holding a grudge now, she decided. This was big. After all the drama, after all the hate and disloyalty and backstabbing, Harper was still her best friend. This was a distressing experience, to say the least, and whatever she'd done to Miranda, it was nothing compared to what had been a life-and-death situation.

Miranda suddenly laughed. I can't even hate her, she thought, somehow amused in an extremely twisted way. She doesn't even need to make excuses. I make them for her. Her giggles escalated, becoming slightly hysterical. She couldn't even tell if she was crying or laughing anymore.

Why am I doing this for Harper? What has she ever done for me?

After being ditched, being betrayed, and being ignored, she just kept going back for more. Insisted on taking care of Harper, even though she knew that she wouldn't even get a thank-you for anything.

Eventually, Miranda stopped laughing—and crying—and fell silent.

Kane Geary didn't get a phone call; and for all intents and purposes, he had no desire to go through the sniveling, weeping conversation he would have had with Harper's arrogant (and slightly delusional) mother.

But he knew.

He had connections, and he was always sure to use them. And at a time like this, when something like this happened, he knew before anyone. He knew as soon as they found the car.

Two girls. One dead. One gravely injured, with traces of illegal drugs in her bloodstream.

And he knew what everyone else didn't: Harper was driving.

And he intended to keep them unaware. After all, what would have happened if they knew that Harper was the one that was partially responsible for Kaia's death? After years of repressing his sympathy and compassion, he was surprised to find that he felt concerned. He couldn't have Harper feeling guilty or beating herself up over something that she'd unintentionally done. And he obviously couldn't have everyone else know. They'd crucify her. She was one of the few people left that he could actually tolerate, and even—though he was reluctant to admit it—be friends with. Who would he plot schemes and execute illegal activities with if she turned into one of those people that were left mentally unbalanced for life because of some so-called traumatic incident? Then she'd be just another whiny, pathetic, clingy airhead. And he'd had enough of those as it was.

So there was one option left—lie. He'd seen enough in his eighteen years of life to know that Harper would remember nothing, so her nonexistent recollection obviously wasn't a problem. He'd been informed that the car they'd been in had burned to ashes, so there were no fingerprints, no proof of who was sitting in the driver's seat. He was the only one that had seen them as they'd gotten into the car. Everyone else had to take his word for it. They had to believe that Kaia was the one who'd crashed them.

And he was going to make sure that they did.

Adam Morgan grabbed the phone as it rang, cursing loudly. Lately, he was always angry. Angry over Harper's betrayal of their ten years of best friendship. Angry over Kane stealing Beth away from him. Angry over Kaia telling Beth that he had been cheating on her. Angry over Beth for refusing to forgive him.

"Hello?" he growled into the phone, hoping that his tone of voice would convey his meaning: Shut up if you know what's good for you.

"Adam?"

"Uh…Miranda?" he asked, surprised.

"Harper's been in a car accident," she said quietly, as if she couldn't believe it herself. "She's in the hospital right now, probably still unconscious."

"What—she's—how did she get into a car accident?" A small kernel of condolence popped up, buried under the layers of hatred and fury. He tried—but failed—to force it down.

"After the—the speech. She ran outside and got into a car with Kaia. They crashed into a van." Her voice broke, and he wondered idly if she had been crying. "Kaia's…Kaia's dead."

Adam stared blankly at the wall, trying to wrap his head around what seemed like an impossible scenario. His best friend—a traitor best friend, but his best friend nevertheless—almost killed. And the girl he'd slept with...dead.

"Hello? Adam?" Miranda's voice came through the other end, and he realized that he was still holding the phone.

"I—I've got to go," he said quickly, and hung up before she had a chance to respond. He had to forgive Harper, tell her he wanted her friendship back. He couldn't let her limp along after almost getting killed, and he didn't have the heart to hate her anymore, not after this.

He just hoped that she wouldn't ask for anything more.

No one had told Beth Manning about what had happened; no one paid attention to a nobody like her. Her friends had drifted apart from her when she'd started dating Adam; and now that they were done, the friends she'd gained—that were actually Adam's friends—didn't bother to talk to her anymore.

She was, in every way possible, alone.

But people talked; and in a small town like Grace, that was more than enough to spread the news around.

Harper Grace and Kaia Sellers. A collision with a van. Harper hospitalized; Kaia dead.

A wave of terror spread through her as she heard the news, although she convinced herself that it was illogical. She had drugged Harper's drink; Kaia had driven them both into a collision. Surely, these two had no relation to each other. Surely, she had nothing to do with the accident.

But she couldn't help the sense of dread taking over. Some part of her mind was screaming out in guilt, questioning whether it really was just a coincidence. What if Harper had been driving? What if they got the facts wrong? What then?

She'd be a murderer. A killer. Her life would be reduced to nothing, her hopes and dreams shattered. How would she be able to restart her life again if she had a criminal record?

Stop, she told herself. That was unlikely, almost impossible. Who was she to question the facts? Who was she to doubt authority?

Still, she couldn't help herself. She had to ask someone.

Nervously, Beth approached Miranda, walking alone in the school's hallway. She was stooping so low, bringing herself to talk to her worst enemy's best friend.

"Mir—Miranda."

Miranda whirled around. Her eyes looked bleary, no doubt worried about Harper. She's concerned for someone who couldn't care less about her, Beth thought, then stopped, immediately horrified at her own spitefulness.

"Um, you know the accident? They say that Kaia was driving the car."

Miranda nodded tiredly. "Why do you care?"

"Who knew about it? Who knew who was driving?"

"Kane," Miranda said. "He skipped out on the assembly. He saw them." Then, realizing whom she was talking to, quickly straightened up. "Why does it even matter to you anyway? Nice of you to drop by and offer your commiseration," she said sarcastically. "Don't you have some nerd meeting to get to? Yearbook committee? Spirit council? Spineless bimbo conference?"

Beth said nothing, but kept her head down and hurried away.

So Kane was the only one who knew. Would Kane lie, for any reason at all? Would he have misled everyone else? Maybe he had seen Harper getting into the driver's seat, steering the car away, speeding down the road—

Beth took a few deep breaths. You're panicking, she thought. You're thinking up worst-case scenarios.

She had never trusted Kane; why would she? He was sleazy, immoral, and corrupted; he had stomped all over her heart and ruined her life, just because he could.

But these days, she trusted anyone more than she trusted herself.

Reed Sawyer had heard. It was hard not to with the whole town buzzing about the collision. Everyone else took a great deal of amusement out of talking about it, as if it were a fun way to pass the day. But they didn't know how horrible it all was. They didn't know what it was like to lose someone.

He'd never thought that he would.

He hadn't known what he was doing with Kaia in the first place. She hadn't known either. He was a marijuana addict, a pizza delivery boy, a high school failure stuck in twelfth grade. She was a rich East Coast girl, a spoiled only child, an impassive ice queen with a perpetually patronizing smile. He was filthy, poor, and useless; she was elegant, stylish, and refined.

And now she was something else: gone.

She had tried to call him an hour before the accident. His cell phone hadn't been on. She'd left a voice mail, pleading almost desperately for forgiveness.

But by the time he'd heard it, it was too late.

And Kaia was never going to know the answer.

"Dude, come practice!" Hale yelled from the living room, holding his half-broken guitar. Reed made no move to shift from his position on the couch. Why would he? Their band was doomed to fail. Hale would be drugged-up from all his smoking, unable to read any of the notes on the page. Fish would zone out and forget where he was in the middle of a song.

And Reed was just too tired, too lazy, and too depressed to move.

"Dude, what are you doing? She's just a chick, man," Fish said, planting himself in front of the couch. "A spoiled rich chick. Get up. We need to practice."

Reed said nothing.

"Dude!" Fish repeated, and, after receiving no response, punched Reed in the shoulder.

"Watch it," he snarled, jumping up from the couch.

Fish left him alone, shaking his head as he went, his greasy, sandy-blond hair flopping around on his egg-shaped head.

Reed reached for the joint lying on the table. He lit it up and brought it to his lips, inhaling a breath full of smoke. He needed an escape.

Harper Grace lies on the hospital bed, unconscious. She doesn't dream. She just sleeps.

She doesn't know anything yet; and when she wakes up, she won't remember the accident. She'll go through therapy, then go back to school. She'll resume her duties as the alpha girl. She'll go through the same procedures—smiling at people she hates, talking to people she looks down on, putting on a blank and expressionless mask whenever anyone asks her about what had happened. She'll try to go on as best as she can, but she'll never fully recover.

But she doesn't know any of that yet.

She doesn't know that Miranda will swallow up her pride and pretend to forget about how much she'd wanted to make Harper pay for everything.

She doesn't know that Kane—cold, heartless, detached Kane—will lie to everyone—and to her—so that she won't hate herself, so that no one will suspect the truth.

She doesn't know that Adam will beg her to mend their friendship, but that when she asks for more, he will resolutely refuse, completely unaware of how agonizingly he will break her heart, again and again.

She doesn't know that Beth will feel guilty every time she sees her, and try so hard to repay a debt that she is only subconsciously aware of.

She doesn't know that Reed will watch her from afar, looking for reassurance that Harper had been a companion to the only girl he'd cared about, that Kaia had truly had a friend.

She doesn't know that Kaia is dead.

And maybe, if Harper Grace had known, she never would have chosen to wake up.