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I got called in for breaking into the office, told the principal it was me. don’t say anything stupid

And then Felicity’s response, right before Ms. Penny steps into the room, clears her throat, and holds out her hand to confiscate my phone:

FK

oh.

thank you.

i wont, i swear.

If this is what it’s like to do something selfless—hell, I think there’s a nonzero chance that this could almost be described as kind—then I’m not sure I like it. I feel unmoored, strange, vulnerable like a dog’s soft underbelly.

Their thank you repeats in my head until the final bell.

In-school restriction also apparently means getting kicked out of the building at the end of the day, and that’s how I end up on the sidewalk in front of Winthrop Academy as everyone else rushes out, buffeted from every side as they all brandish their student transit cards or call rides at once.

This is why I hide in the bathroom after classes. It’s too loud and there’s too many people and I can almost feel my throat closing up.

The only safety I can find is cementing myself to the closest wall and digging my phone out of my pocket. I need to talk to Felicity. I haven’t told them that I’m going to East Early, or that we need to have our stories straight. I have to shake them and demand, Why did I do that for you? What are you doing to me? We need to talk, NOW.

But as soon as I open our texts—

“I’ll catch up with you later,” a too-familiar voice calls, and then, “Morgan!”

Alyssa catches her breath as she stops in front of me, gracelessly jamming her hair out of her face. “Th-there you are,” she stammers. “I heard the announcement, then you weren’t at lunch, and Latraey told me that the girl you were talking about, Felicity Keating, she straight-up almost panicked when you got called to the office and—oh my god, what happened?”

Her face is so open and innocent.

It makes something nasty congeal in the back of my throat.

“It’s none of your business,” I snap.

“What?”

“I thought you didn’t want to get involved.”

“Involved?” It clearly takes her a second to figure out what I’m talking about, eyes darting up and down like there’s something about my torn-up cuticles and dry lips that will provide a clue to the situation at hand. “You got called to the office … and Felicity Keating panicked … over the Jane Doe thing?”

It visibly clicks.

“The bio project with her is bullshit,” she says. “Oh my god. What are you two doing? How did you get in trouble—”

There’s no way to answer those questions that won’t result in a lecture, so I don’t. “Of course it was bullshit.” I push away from the wall and start walking down the street, toward the Metro station, in a flimsy attempt at escape. Alyssa follows. “Literally how is this a surprise.”

“Because I thought you might have the decency to tell the truth for once in your life?”

That gets a sneer from me, and Alyssa hesitates like she can’t believe something so stern came out of her mouth.

“I—” She hurries to catch up, oxfords scuffing on the sidewalk. “Latraey heard you got ISR, and you weren’t responding to my texts. I was worried.”

I have no idea who Latraey is or why Alyssa keeps bringing them up. “This sounds an awful lot like wanting to get involved to me.”

“Oh my god,” she says, “not wanting to help you hurt yourself is not the same as literally abandoning you?”

I almost laugh. In a situation like this, it’s exactly the same thing.

“And sorry if this is presumptuous or whatever,” she continues, “but I don’t think I like Felicity. I know we’ve barely talked, but you decide on this quest, then you start hanging out with …” Hesitation. Pronoun check incoming. “Wait, does Felicity use she/her?”