Revelation (Private 8)

smell the anticipation and tension in the air. Final exams. Final papers. Final oral reports. It was all

upon us.And I was spending my Saturday surfing the Web for a gift for Josh Hollis. Well, that and

Googling what was left of my suspect list. I hadn't done one full minute of studying since Sabine

had left me an hour ago to go hook up with her bio study group. I was so screwing myself, but I

couldn't bring myself to care. I had bigger things on my mind. Like murder. Like first love. Like not

letting the murderer--if it was Ivy--murder my former best friend.

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Sigh.

On the first-love front, it was impossible to find something good for Josh. Nothing said what I

wanted it to say. Namely, "I love you. Doesn't this gift remind you of how much you love me?" I

had been at it for hours, scouring every shopping site from L.L. Bean to art.com to eBay, but had

come up with nothing good. The Holiday Dinner was less than a week away. It was time to admit

defeat--especially since I definitely didn't have the money for overnight shipping. I couldn't pay for

an Internet gift with what little money I had left from the Billings fund, since it was in the form of

cash. All I had was the only-in-emergencies credit card my dad had given me over the summer,

and the less I spent on that, the quicker he would be to forgive me. I went back to art.com,

selected the Gauguin print I had been halfheartedly eyeing, and just ordered the damn thing.

Sigh, sigh.

The sophomore guy next to me vacated his computer and even before the scent of his raspberry

bubble gum had faded into the ether, Marc Alberro had taken his place. He sat down on the chair

sideways so that he could face me, the bulk of his winter coat wedged between desk and chair

back, his book bag on his lap. Instantly, my heart stopped beating and a tingle of fear shot through

me.

"Sorry I haven't returned your message. It's been crazy," he said. "So, what's up?"

I'd been avoiding him since James showed me that video, and glancing over at him now, I found I

couldn't even look him in the eye.

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Could he be the killer? Had he sneaked into Billings while we were all asleep and force-fed those

pills to Cheyenne? Suddenly I felt like I was about to retch.

"What? What's the matter?" Marc asked, tilting his head.