This isn’t just an odd school with creepy rules. The people here are actually vicious, even the ones who are supposed to be regulating law and order.

“You want me to hit him in the face?” My voice cracks in disbelief.

“Do it!” Aarya yells from somewhere in the crowd, and I catch a glimpse of Brendan’s white shock of hair. He and Charles watch with interest.

My stomach flips. Blackwood raises her hand and Aarya shuts up. I look at Matteo. He seems calm, like he did exactly what he needed to.

“Uh, um,” I stammer, still in shock.

“Well, get on with it,” Blackwood says, and I can’t believe how cavalier she’s being about this.

“I…I’m not going to hit him,” I say, and I can feel the surprise ripple through the onlookers. I’ve never hit anyone in the face in my life and I’m definitely not going to start with a guy whose face will probably do more damage to my hand than the other way around.

“Do you think the rules don’t apply to you?” Blackwood asks.

“I didn’t say that. I just…What will punching him prove?” And as I think about it, the answer occurs to me. “The real problem is that he hit me in the first place, not that I won’t hit him back.” I want to tell her exactly what I think of these students with their “tests,” and her archaic punishment system, but my emotions are running too high and I can’t get my thoughts clear enough to do it without sounding like I’m scared.

Blackwood lifts her chin and raises her voice. “Apparently November believes that retaliation is beneath her. So if any of you are looking to blow off some steam, she’s an easy target. She won’t hit back.”

My mouth opens and for a moment I think I must be hearing things. Did she really just tell all the students that they could hit me? Frustration wells in my chest and a lump forms in my throat. Now I know exactly what Conner meant when he warned me that I might not survive here. I catch Layla’s eye in the crowd and she frowns.

Matteo hasn’t taken his eyes off me, and now he mutters, “Like I said, you’re an idiot.”

Anger begins to bubble inside my already clenched chest—anger that I was hit, that I haven’t understood a single thing since I set foot on this campus, and that I’m even here at all. This is the most screwed-up school in the world.

“This is your only chance, November,” Blackwood says, like maybe I don’t get what she’s offering me.

I step forward. I can’t have people thinking that they can hit me whenever they want. I’m sure there are already about six onlookers who would jump at the chance. But I also can’t believe I’m in a position where I’m being encouraged to hit another student in a school, and by the headmaster. All I want to do is walk away and fly straight back to Pembrook.