“Have you ever stepped out of line, Lainey?”

My pulse jumps in my neck.

I searched for photos of my mom’s car accident online, hunting for the truth about what really happened. Once, I considered taking some of my dad’s leftover anxiety medicine when I found it sitting on his bedside table a week after his funeral. It was only a passing thought, not something I truly contemplated. I never would have done it.

So no, I haven’t really ever stepped out of line.

But I’m here now. Doesn’t that count?

I stand at the edge of a circle of seniors. The girls all seem to know exactly how to use clothes and products to enhance and draw attention to every beautiful feature they’ve been blessed with. The boys sit amongst them, terrifyingly confident, handsome, rich. They remind me of a pack of wolves, licking their chops at the sight of fresh meat dangling right in front of them.

I tried to wear makeup once. I came downstairs after applying a whole face of products the counter girl at Saks had sold me, and my grandmother sputtered and choked on her tea when she looked up and saw me standing in the doorway of the kitchen, obviously looking like a clown.

I did an immediate about-face and dashed back upstairs before she could scold me.

A twig crunches behind me and I jump.

“Easy there, Lainey.” Alexander laughs as he approaches, coming from deep in the woods with a case of beer clutched under his arm. He purposely gets too close, his chest bumping my shoulder as he asks, “What’s got you so spooked?”

The group snickers, and I work up the courage to peer back over at Emmett. He’s not smiling; he’s thinking. His eyes are slightly narrowed, his full mouth gently downturned. He’s a part of the group—their fearless leader—but he’s his own entity too. He should be seated on a dais raised in the air to accentuate the sense of separation between him and the others, his loyal sycophants. He could get up right now and tell them all to fuck off, and tomorrow they’d gather near again, eager as ever for a morsel of his attention.

My spine stiffens when I realize how close I am to becoming one of them. Lingering here, on the edge of their group, it’s clear what I want. A moment of his time would feed me for weeks. I’d have so much to think about back in my quiet room between bouts of studying.

Two of the girls bend their heads together and snicker, and I feel red-hot embarrassment creep up my neck.

Without another thought, I turn and run back in the direction I came from, forcing myself to slow down only after a passing branch tears into my cheek.

Chapter Two

Lainey

St. John’s is a campus overflowing with ivy and stone and carefully trimmed boxwoods, and its traditions date back a hundred years. The girls play field hockey, the boys row and fence. There’s a stable of horses for those who choose to play polo, and every year during homecoming week, there’s a lacrosse game between current students and alumni. The buildings are ancient, creaky, and dark. There’s a draft in winter time and an enduring heat in the summer. The architecture is of another era, not exactly intuitive. I’ve been lost here before, more than once. I took a turn down the music hall and ended up in the kitchens. A cook shooed me away with a ladle.