something that Tabitha had told me about Alexandria’s little gang was sticking in my craw. Something about the ruthlessness of the graffiti on the lockers and the way Miranda hid her intelligence. Something about the way Alexandria’s lips had curled back from her teeth when I’d called her “Alex.” There was something dark there, a big shadow under the surface of the water, and I needed to know if it was a log or a crocodile.
