Bittersweet

July

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Secret

Chapter Twenty-Three: The Book

Chapter Twenty-Four: The Turtles

Chapter Twenty-Five: The Evening

Chapter Twenty-Six: The Mother

Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Festivities

Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Fireworks

Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Enigma

Chapter Thirty: The Apology

Chapter Thirty-One: The Date

Chapter Thirty-Two: The Scene

Chapter Thirty-Three: The Swim

Chapter Thirty-Four: The Morning

Chapter Thirty-Five: The Pile

Chapter Thirty-Six: The Threat

Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Woods

Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Sister

Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Revelation

Chapter Forty: The Return

Chapter Forty-One: The Proof

Chapter Forty-Two: The Good-bye

Chapter Forty-Three: The Waiting

Chapter Forty-Four: The Widow

August

Chapter Forty-Five: The Aftermath

Chapter Forty-Six: The Row

Chapter Forty-Seven: The Picnic

Chapter Forty-Eight: The Key

Chapter Forty-Nine: The Theft

Chapter Fifty: The Director

Chapter Fifty-One: The Camp

Chapter Fifty-Two: The Witness

Chapter Fifty-Three: The Jailbreak

Chapter Fifty-Four: The Memory

Chapter Fifty-Five: The Handoff

Chapter Fifty-Six: The Service

Chapter Fifty-Seven: The Truth

Chapter Fifty-Eight: The Curse

Chapter Fifty-Nine: The Chaperone

June

Chapter Sixty: The End

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Miranda Beverly-Whittemore

About the Publisher

February (#ue039d61b-4f81-558e-9d0a-3049c9a25ac5)

CHAPTER ONE (#ue039d61b-4f81-558e-9d0a-3049c9a25ac5)

The Roommate (#ue039d61b-4f81-558e-9d0a-3049c9a25ac5)

BEFORE SHE LOATHED ME, before she loved me, Genevra Katherine Winslow didn’t know that I existed. That’s hyperbolic, of course; by February, student housing had required us to share a hot shoe box of a room for nearly six months, so she must have gathered I was a physical reality (if only because I coughed every time she smoked her Kools atop the bunk bed), but until the day Ev asked me to accompany her to Winloch, I was accustomed to her regarding me as she would a hideously upholstered armchair – something in her way, to be utilized when absolutely necessary, but certainly not what she’d have chosen herself.