It was Leo. The other students, even those who, for some unknown reason, considered themselves his “friends,” were all back for the semester, but he’d purposefully made himself scarce. Being alone over the summer always did something to him—the longer he spent alone, the more alone he wanted to be. Sometimes he imagined the world without him. Would anyone really miss him when he was gone? By all accounts, his existence was a cosmic mistake anyway.

Out, he typed back.

Oh, oui, out, the response came back immediately. That makes everything clearer.

Grey waited.

We met someone interesting, Leo, used to Grey’s cryptic silences, added. Princess Jaya Rao and her sister, Isha. You know them? They seemed to know of you.

Grey felt a jolt of shock travel up his spine. The Rao sisters were here? But why?

He took a breath. He’d lived under the shadow of the Rao curse his entire life. He distinctly remembered being dropped off at St. Rosetta’s when he was almost six years old, about to begin kindergarten. In Dr. Waverly’s leather-and-brass office, his father had looked him in the eye. Dr. Waverly was waiting outside, giving them some privacy to say their goodbyes.

“Listen to me, Grey,” Father had said solemnly, and Grey had known whatever he was about to say was important. He’d listened very closely. “You’ll never be like the other children here, even though many of them are outcasts themselves. You’re… different. You’ll always be different.” Father’s face had contorted ever so slightly. “The Raos have seen to that. This is your burden to bear.”

Grey still remembered his confusion. “But I want to make friends,” he’d said.

Father had grasped him by the upper arm, hard. His water-colored eyes bored into Grey’s. “You must keep to yourself,” he’d said, each word slow and deliberate. “You hurt Mother because of what you are.”

Grey had stared, aghast. Of course Mother was dead, but had he killed Mother somehow? Why had no one told him before now?

“The curse,” Father had said, still looking at him in that unsettling way. “Do you remember what I’ve told you about your curse?”

Grey nodded, his mind still reeling with what he’d just learned, about his hand in Mother’s death. But the poem was ingrained in him. Father had taught it to him when he was very young. He remembered the curse.

“The curse has tainted your blood. It’s like a virus.” Seeing Grey’s incomprehension, he’d grunted impatiently. “And because of that, you won’t ever have any friends. People will sense there’s something wrong with you; they’ll hurt you. Best to keep your distance and save yourself the pain. Do you understand?”