I can hardly remember why it meant so much to me to stop drinking and dabbling in drugs in the first place. Because Molly was hurt from it? Molly can’t be hurt by me anymore; she doesn’t care what I do. Because I don’t want to harm my reputation further? It’s not as though my friends and I have been caught doing this in the past. Because I wanted to be a better person? What does it even matter what kind of person I am? The country seems happy with me at the moment, now that I’m apparently dating Alfie. Much happier than they were with me last month, when I was doing everything “right.” So, why bother trying to improve myself? I may as well do what I want. And tonight, I want to continue to feel nothing.

It’s supposed to be five of us meeting by the stairs. Eleanor and Florence, myself, and—inexplicably—Danni and Molly, who I only just found out Florence invited at all. Six, if you count Theodore. Just as we’re about to leave, though, Harriet joins us at the last second.

“It’s fine,” she says when Florence gives her a confused look. “I have the RA phone with me. If anyone needs me, they can call me.”

“Playing with fire, girl,” Florence says, but Harriet simply winks at Danni and shrugs, and we head off together. It’s an excellent thing that I’m fine, or I might have the irrational urge to throw her phone in the lake for having the audacity to flirt with my ex-girlfriend right in front of me.

Not that Danni was ever technically my girlfriend. And not that Harriet would have a clue either way.

But as I said. I’m fine, so it’s no matter at all.

We trudge through the woods in a tight group, following the light of Molly’s and Eleanor’s phone flashlights. It’s freezing, and by the time I pull out the gloves I keep folded in my coat pocket my fingers are so numb I can barely don them. Christmas break starts next week, as the tree erected in the dining hall, and the tinsel wrapped around the staircase bannisters, and the wreath they’ve hung over the Dewitt entrance keep reminding us. Even though we rarely get a white Christmas in Henland, it seems this year may be one of those rare years.

“We won’t get in trouble for this, will we?” Danni asks in a whisper as we trudge.

“Not if we don’t get caught,” Florence says cheerfully, and Danni looks stricken.

“No,” Harriet assures her, shooting Florence a dirty look. “We did this all the time last year.”

“But isn’t there a zero-tolerance policy now?”