I want nothing more than to run—from Misha, from this cold palace built on Optimal money to save the kids it might be pumping full of poison, from the crazy economy of sacrifice that Misha believes in. But I follow her mutely through another swinging door.

Misha raises the lights and the hallway takes shape in front of us: dark-painted walls, and a row of student photographs framed on both sides, surrounded by constellations of paper stars.

“These are our Optimal Stars,” she says brightly. “The recipients of the Optimal Scholarship. Remember the scholarship program I mentioned? For several years now, we’ve worked with Optimal to grant full or partial scholarships to a handful of students who show academic promise. Most of them struggle with difficult home lives. Some have had disciplinary problems. But the program really turns them around.” She sounds like she’s reciting from a brochure. For all I know, she might be. “The first was Mackenzie Brown. She was a ballroom dancer. Don’t get that much around here.”

She indicates a girl with a beauty-queen smile. Actually, all the girls have beauty-queen smiles—and out of eighteen scholarship recipients, only two are boys. One portrait in particular stops me. The girl looks distractingly like Kaycee: a waterfall of blond hair, wide-spaced blue eyes. According to the little brass nametag, her name is Sophie Nantes.

“Why so many girls?” I can’t help but ask.

“Well, we keep need in mind as much as we do talent,” Misha says. “Plenty of colleges offer their own sports scholarships, but most of the money is for the male teams, so there’s that. And there are more local opportunities for our male students who don’t want to go to college. Farming, construction is making a comeback, entry-level jobs at Optimal. That kind of thing.”

The door at the end of the corridor leads us to the auditorium. “Next year, we’ll mount our first musical production,” she says. Her voice is swallowed by the vast space. Tiers of seats climb into darkness. “And we have forty students already signed up for a two-week music camp in August. Half of them will be playing on donated instruments. Can you imagine? For years, the marching band had to meet in the back parking lot while the cheer team got the cafeteria after school. Now they’ll rehearse here.” She opens her arms to the silent stage. For the first time, she seems happy. Not just happy, but joyful, alive with energy and pride. She turns to me. “And do you know what was here before?”

I shake my head.

“Nothing.” There’s a dark satisfaction in her eyes. “Absolutely nothing at all.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Joe is on me as soon as I walk in the door.

“I’ve been calling you for an hour,” he says. “Where were you?”

I put down my bag, nice and slow. “Good morning to you, too.” I reach for my computer but he’s too fast and snaps it shut.

“You ducked out yesterday, too.” He gives me a funny look. “Do you need a refresher course in teamwork?”