Despite what movies and trashy teenage novels tell you, getting caught spying on someone is not a whimsical way of building interhuman relationships.

It's weird, illegal and scary as fuck.

Marisa Delterre has the greenest eyes I've ever seen.

And she's frowning. Because the rumor is true and she's not a braindead idiot. She's a person with sense who sees how wrong it is for someone to be in her yard, up a fucking tree, and looking through her window.

My skull still screaming in pain, I ease back on the branch, towards the trunk. The dizziness makes my moves clumsy and slow, so I put more effort into not falling. Breaking something would be the end of me.

"Hey!" She opens the window and screams at me. Her voice is authoritative, nothing like the normal sing-song she uses at school.

I don't listen. It's dark and I have my hoodie on, I'm not about to give myself away. My butt hits the trunk and my legs wrap around it.

"Stop right there. I saw you!"

Fuck off, you have no idea who I am. I wrap my arms around the trunk and twist so that I'm out of sight before I start climbing down. She shouts more warnings, but I block out her words because only idiots freeze and reveal themselves. My boots hit the soft grass with a silent thud.

Adrenaline races through my veins and I hardly contain myself from knocking my head back and laughing. It was a close one.

"Adrienne!"

I freeze. Against my better judgement, I look towards Marisa's window. Her hands are pressed on the windowsill and she's leaning her torso outside, looking straight at me. I'm wondering how well she can see from up there. And how does she even know my name?

It doesn't matter. It will all be a rumor she will fail to follow up on and maybe tell her ditzy friends who would laugh and assure her that it was actually a hot sad boy trying to steal her underwear or something.

"Take another step and I'm calling the police."

That gets my attention. Her tone has lowered to make sure the neighbors don't hear, so she obviously means it. Just the thought of policemen swarming inside my house sends my stomach into a jolt and nausea up my throat.

Marisa takes advantage of my lack of movement and crawls out her window and into the tree I just used to spy on her. She's not as good as me when it comes to climbing down, but she does it. In less than a minute, she's standing on the grass, five feet from me. She's not even panting.

"Come inside," she says.

I take an involuntary step back.

"I mean it. I'm calling the police if you bolt. Or better yet, tell the entire school you're behind TMI."

"I'm not." The lie leaves my lips easily because I've been training myself to deny it ever since I started what I'm doing.

"Of course not." From her tone, I can't tell if she believes me or is just humoring me. All I note is the lack of sarcasm. "Let's go in. My parents aren't home." And just like that, she walks towards the entrance of her house.

I follow, not sure what's happening, but taking the chance to avoid more rumors and drama. As I walk to her door, my hand tightens around the swiss army knife I have in the pouch of my hoodie. I hope I won't be forced to use it, but I'm not beyond it.

"Don't take your shoes off," Marisa says, holding the door for me.

The moment I'm in, she shuts the door behind me and starts up the stairs, her own scarlet converse still on. I have sneakers like that at home, an identical pair I haven't worn since I started stalking people.

I only get to glance at a kitchen to our left and a long, narrow hall next to the staircase that appears to be leading into the living room before I start climbing after her. Marisa enters the first room to the left on the landing and I follow.

I can't believe I'm in Marisa Delterre's bedroom. Yes, her walls are filled with maps and the notebook on her bed is riddled with mathematical calculations. She sits on her bed and nods towards the chair at her desk.

I would normally be telling her to fuck off, but I'm interested in what I'm seeing. There are more notebooks and textbooks on her desk and I realize it's not math she's working on.

"Astrophysics," she says as if reading my mind. "You're here about the rumor, aren't you?"

I cross my arms over my chest and glare at her. She's not impressed. The thing is, I have no idea what to say. Any word coming out of my mouth would either be a dangerous admission or a lie which will obviously not be believed.

"Why are you hiding all this?" I ask instead.

Marisa raises and eyebrow, but seems to lose some of the tension in her shoulders. "Are you kidding? Smarts aren't all that appreciated at Petraka. It's okay to have decent grades, but not to be valedictorian."

I frown at her words. "Isn't Rosie Geld valedictorian?" Not because she's necessarily smart, but because her father is who he is and no one dares upset him over something as inconsequential as his daughter not being a genius.

"That's what the entire school thinks," Marisa says with a shrug. "Big surprise for her when she won't be, but that's not my problem."

I narrow my eyes even further because none of this adds up. Marisa Delterre is not a genius. Sure, she's not the school idiot either, but her interest in grades is sketchy at best. I've seen her half-wailing over 70 percent tests. Something clicks, something I refuse to admit to myself because it's terrifying.

"Do you fake your tests?"

A smile lifts her plump lips. Her Latina heritage makes her skin glow and she looks a lot more beautiful than I care to admit. Without the makeup she puts on at school, I can finally see the real her. Her cheeks are rounder and her cheekbones not as jutted out. Also her eyes look bigger and her lips are narrower than with lipstick on, which completely cancels the vulgar air she displays at school. She uses makeup to make herself uglier.

"I knew you were smart." She relaxes further and actually leans on her elbows on the bed, leaving herself uncovered. "Yes, I usually photograph my tests before handing them in and grade myself so I can show others. No one bothers with the official records anyway."

That's genius and something I would've probably used myself if I still cared to play the social game. I nod towards her face.

"What about your makeup? You look much better without it."

She laughs at this. It's a clear, honest sound, so unlike the annoying giggle she uses at school.

"You don't want to be prettier than Rosie Geld. No one does." Marisa flips her hair over her shoulder and grins at me. She still has the gaptooth, but it seems much smaller.

"You're prettier than Rosie Geld even with the bad makeup on," I point out. "She looks like an entitled pig."

"To you and me, because we know that's what she really is."

"What do your parents think about your transformation?"

"I do my makeup in the car. And they do know I rely on the clothes to fit in. My mother remembers how effed up high school is, so no questions asked. All she wants is to make sure it doesn't eat away my soul. It may sound like a paradox, but pretending to be someone else helps me not lose who I really am."

I clench my fists and try to keep my face as impassible as I can, but my adrenaline spikes again and my mind is swirling. I missed this. Marisa Delterre completely fooled me and maybe she's not the only one. I thought I was on top of the game just to be proven wrong in the most humiliating way possible.

She notices the change in my mood, because she's back in a sitting position and looks guarded. She's a smart girl, maybe she's figured out that I'm not exactly safe, that she shouldn't have let me into the house while she's alone.

"Am I right?" she asks. "Are you here to check on the rumor? Because if you're not, I have a backup plan that involves a very heavy baseball bat."

"Don't threaten me, Delterre. I'm not helpless either."

We stare each other down for a few seconds and I wonder if her bat is hidden in her rumpled bedspread.

"It doesn't have to get to that," she finally says. "I called you in here because I want in."

"You want what?"

"I want to be a contributor on TMI."

"Yeah, right."

"Why not? I hang out in the highest circles. I could give you dirt on everybody. And I'm maybe one of the few people who understands why you're doing this."

Her words trigger something deep inside me, something that I've forced to lie dormant for months. My vision tunnels and air fails to enter my lungs. I see her lips moving, but my hearing has turned fuzzy.

"I'm really sorry about--"

"No." I clamp my hands over my ears and shake my head. "No, no, no." I don't want to hear it. I don't want her to say it. I don't want anyone confirming that it's real even if I know it is, even if it's what drives me.

She calls a name I no longer recognize, asks me to calm down, if I want a glass of water. I know it's stupid, but I'm freaking the fuck out.

"Adrienne!"

The name snaps me out of it and I look up. Marisa is right in my face, her hands wrapped around my forearms.

"It's okay," she says, her voice soothing, as if she's talking to a spooked animal. Not far from the truth, but I still yank myself from her grasp.

"I understand," she continues, "and I agree. They need to pay for what they did."

"Yes," I whisper. "They need to pay."

"That's why I need in on this." Her voice cracks the tiniest bit and I finally see it. The pain in her eyes, the well-hidden despair.

"Who?" I ask.

"Davey Postvam," she says with a wince. "He's first on my list, but it's essentially all of them. They all had a hand in it. Just like in your case."

"Not my case." Audrey Hart's case.

"Call it what you like." She shrugs and sits back on the bed. "So if you let me be a contributor on TMI, I can be loads of help. For you as well as everyone else getting bullied in this hell of a school."

"What do you know?"

"You want a piece of gossip like a guarantee or what?"

That's exactly what I want. I'm still not sure what to make of this, if I should let Marisa in, but she's right about one thing. She could get me inside dirt I could never get on my own. Observing the monsters in school is one thing, but she has access to their private parties. Luigi Delterre is a senator, too, so the it crowd doesn't shun Marisa away, even if she isn't part of the golden circle.

"You already know a lot about me that could get me into serious trouble with them," she adds.

That was also true. A mere two days ago, I would've never even considered this. But ever since my success with Jace Rosenberg, things have gotten more complicated and maybe I did need someone on the in, just for the sake of bouncing ideas off them.

Marisa was dangerous. She was smart and observant and already suspected me. I'm convinced that if she puts her mind to it, she could be a nuisance I don't need.

I hate depending on people, but maybe I don't have to. Not with her.

"Okay, here's your test. If you were in on TMI and had to decide how to better punish your targets, how would you go about it? Make them feel like they're hunted or scare them by keeping it random so that they know no one is safe?"

She narrows her eyes at me and I'm wondering how much she can read between the lines.

"I'd terrify them by having them know they're next, but unable to predict when it will happen and what will be revealed. I'd want them to lose sleep and shake with terror every hour of every day."

The harshness in her voice makes me shudder, but I like what I'm hearing. It helps me make up my mind. Up the ladder it is.

"Okay." I can't help my own evil grin. "You're in."