Max | After Seven minutes isn't much, but it's enough. I've already wasted three in switching my school uniform for a T-shirt and jeans. I drop down onto the floor myself and pry up the floorboard with a red stripe on it. It's hardly noticeable since Carlos the neat freak hasn't, well, freaked about it. I pull out my video camera, set it to record and start talking.  "This is week two of Max being a lunatic," I announce. "Can you believe I thought I could do this shit every single damn day? I mean, I have a life, you know. Unbelievable, but true. I have a life and I can't talk to someone who doesn't exist every single day."  "It's been an okay week. I mean, okay as it can be. Grace is still dead and I'm still here and life is still mean."  I talk fast about my last week, starting with the assembly. Grace's portrait, Officer Davidson, Tristan, Vivienne, Dr Summers and her grief counsell

Max | After "Utterly unacceptable!" Mrs Elliot almost shouts angrily.  I haven't been listening much until this point, basically just drowning her out by singing songs loudly in my head but this snaps me back to reality.  "We will find them," Keely says. "Ali's doing some tech thing to check the printers."  I glance towards Ali who's sitting in the corner with a laptop. The sticker of the Rosewood crest— a rose with a raven in the middle— in the top right corner marks it as Rosewood property. His dark eyes are still tired like they were during breakfast, less than halfway through his cup of coffee. All of us are tired, not just me who got up at an ungodly hour to have a murder squad meeting in a graveyard. Elliot pulled us out of breakfast to Zoe's annoyance. Unless you're Mrs Elliot, you can't interrupt Zoe's breakfast and get away with it.  "This

Max | After I'm sitting with Davidson again, in a science lab this time because they're closer to the changing rooms. I'm already in my football kit since I always change in our dorm instead of taking my clothes to the changing room. The officer hasn't changed at all. Same haircut, same clean shaven face, same questioning techniques. Just a small follow up, he promised.  "Some of my guys went north to the Covey House," he tells me. "We found this in her room, still in the Amazon box. It arrived on the day she died."  He pushes a plastic evidence bag across the smooth tabletop towards me. I pull it towards myself with my index finger. Inside is a book— And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie. I remember mentioning to Grace I wanted to read it just before Carlos said that he wanted to watch the TV adaptation. Grace told him that he didn't have a Kindle to make his shelf look pretty.  <

Grace | Before It's cold tonight. I've started wearing shoes to these little excursions, and a hoodie over my pyjamas, but the winter chill still gets to me. Rosewood always becomes freezing during the winter and about one hundred years ago (alright, less than one hundred, but who cares?) they didn't even have radiators in here. They only installed them in the late fifties when a kid almost died of frostbite. I hoist myself onto the roof and look around for Tristan. Oddly, he's not here. He's always here before me.  "Nice to finally meet you face to face, Grace Covey," a voice says further down the roof.  I turn to see a man, tall and lean standing on the roof as easily as you can on a pavement. He wears a black shirt, black jeans, black boots and a silver belt. His hair matches, black with threads of silver weaving in every now and then. His eyes are a weird colour— black with a silver tinge to them.&nbs

Violet | Before DAY ONE "We don't have to do this," Dad tells me, glancing at me from the driver's seat as he stops the car. "We don't have to let Audrey win." "Yes we do," I answer. "It's dangerous for me to be free. I need to stay here until I can be in a room with a candle without causing a fire." It's been two months since my disastrous dinner at Audrey's. In that time, I have had three restraining orders filed against me and almost been taken to court by the Ivies' parents. Audrey's parents were as willing at first, but the girl didn't get into Yale for having pretty hair. She convinced them I'm psycho. I am psycho. Also, I am now officially the girl who killed Cassie George. It's even been spray painted on my locker in blood red.  "This place gives me the creeps," he says. "I guess we better go in."  I grab my duffel bag fille