Revealed by Amanda Valentino

truth because she slipped her arm out of my grasp and dropped the jacket to the floor. Then, taking both my hands in hers, she looked at me for a long, long moment. “You have a look, Hal. You look like a sensitive guitar-playing painter who can run 5K in under fifteen minutes.”
    Despite (or maybe because of) the intensity of her gaze, I laughed. “Listen, I can’t speak for the sensitive thing, but as for the rest—I don’t look like those things, Valentino. I am those things.”
    But my joke didn’t make her laugh. “Exactly,” she said. Then she bent down, picked up the jacket, and slipped my arm into it.
    Sometimes it was easier to humor Amanda than to fight her, and now was definitely one of those times. I let her work the jacket over my shoulder, then slipped my other arm into it. She came back to stand in front of me, untucking the collar where it had gotten twisted.
    â€œAah,” she said, looking at me like I was something she’d made and was pleased with.
    â€œSatisfied?” I teased.
    She moved me a few paces to the left, then turned me around to face a mirror that hung on the back of a dressing-room door.
    I had to admit it—the jacket made me look very, very cool. It was cut broad at the shoulders and narrow at the waist, and seeing me in it, you’d think I’d just hopped off my motorcycle and was heading to play a quick guest set with Mick and Keith.
    â€œYou’ve got a good eye, Valentino, I’ll give you that.” I forced myself to look away from that guy staring back at me in the mirror. Because there was no way around it—he was way cooler than I’d ever be. “Now, let’s go.” I started to remove the jacket.
    But Amanda put her hand on my chest, stopping me.
    â€œYou’re going to tell me that the clothes make the man, so I need this jacket, right?” I asked.
    She shook her head slowly. “Don’t you get it, Hal?”
    â€œWhat?” Suddenly I didn’t feel like joking anymore.
    â€œNature forms us for ourselves, not for others; to be, not to seem.”
    Now it was my turn to shake my head. “Still not getting it,” I admitted.
    And now she was the one who smiled. “I am saying that you need this jacket because you don’t need this jacket.”
    Heart pounding, I entered Frieda’s number and typed a reply.
    BLACK LEATHER VINTAGE JACKET. HAL.
    It seemed I’d barely hit SEND when my phone buzzed again. I flipped it open and read the new message on my screen.
    I NEED TO SEE U. TAKE THE 1:42 FROM
ORION TO BALTIMORE ON SAT. MEET ME
@ THE OLD TRAIN STATION. I WILL NOT
CONTACT U AGAIN BTWN NOW & THEN.
    There was one final sentence, three words long.
    TELL NO ONE.

Chapter 11
    I went to Baltimore alone.
    At first I was going to tell Callie and Nia about Frieda’s text. I knew I should. I kept hearing my mom’s voice:
    What would you want them to do if the situation were reversed?
    And of course the answer was obvious: I’d want them to tell me.
    When we were walking out of school together on Friday and they started talking about how we needed to find a way to convince our parents to let us go to Baltimore so we could find Dr. Joy, I tried to change the subject. “Do you realize nobody but Thornhill seems to know we’re supposed to be in Saturday detention for the car thing?”
    As soon as the sentence was out of my mouth, I thought about how my dad’s always saying there are no accidents. Had I mentioned our not having to serve detention out of a guilty conscience? Was part of me hoping they’d suggest we all go to Baltimore together on Saturday so that I’d have to bring them with me to meet Frieda or at least tell them about her?
    If so, my plan backfired, since my mentioning Saturday provided them with the opportunity not to suggest we spend the day investigating but to remind me that some of us were going to be spending Saturday