Revelation (Private 8)

"Look. She cut someone out of the picture," I said, pointing at the hand.

"Or folded it," Ivy said. She grabbed the frame from me. She started to undo the clasps at the

back.

"Ivy! What are you doing?" I hissed, trying to snatch back the frame. "Leave Sabine's stuff alone!"

"We need to throw away the broken glass," Ivy said matter-of-factly.

Ivy finally freed the photo and the glass shards tumbled onto Sabine's perfectly made bed. Sure

enough, the photo was folded. I snagged what was left of the frame back from Ivy as she opened

the picture in front of her. Her face went pale so fast it made my heart drop.

"Oh. My. God."

"What?" I said. "What's wrong?"

She turned the picture around, holding it up in front of her chest. The room around me blurred as I

focused in on the photo. Focused in on the smiling face of a pretty blond girl with icy blue eyes.

On the face of Ariana Osgood.

My hands shook as I reached for the photo. Every single inch of me shook. On Ariana's other side

was an older man with white hair and blue eyes, who appeared to be laughing as the picture was

being shot. Ariana's dad. It had to be. He looked just like her.

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I knew what I was seeing, but I couldn't make sense of it. My brain refused to take it in. Mr.

Osgood laughing with his arm around Ariana. Ariana smiling with her arm around Sabine. Sabine

holding her mother close to her side. They looked like a big, happy family.

"I don't understand," I said, sitting down shakily on the edge of Sabine's bed. My breath started to

come fast and shallow, my chest heaving up and down. "I don't understand."

"Did she ever tell you that she knew Ariana?" Ivy asked, sitting down next to me.

"Never. She never said a word," I replied, my mind racing as my skin started to burn. "She's

supposed to be my best friend, but all semester she's been keeping this from me. She knows the

girl who tried to murder me. She even looks like she's... friends with her."

"You don't think that she's... I mean, that Sabine is..." Ivy trailed off, as if it was impossible for her

to say what she was thinking. I was right there with her. It was impossible for me to process it.

That Sabine could be our stalker. That sweet, innocuous Sabine could be Cheyenne's murderer.

Suddenly, I found myself on my feet, still clutching the photo. "I have to go," I said, half blind with