Ben

Something in my chest reverberates when she says the name Ryan. Something else twangs when the SUV whips into the road. I don’t know what to do with any of it, or the insane implication that a football player has been running forensic tests on me in secret.

None of that matters now.

“Get in the car!” I shout.

Marcie, Heather, and Everett just look from me to the SUV. One of its windows buzzes down, and something dark pokes out. Neurons I don’t remember having fire. That’s the muzzle of a gun.

No time left. I grab Marcie’s upper arm—the meathead doesn’t even try to stop me—and start...