I feel Fender’s muscles tensing. I don’t know if I can still hold him. He’s staring at Claus as if he’s possessed.

“Kate,” I shout.

Kate finally starts moving and gently takes the weapon from Fender’s hand.

“It’s me,” Claus says again. “Don’t you recognize my voice?”

He stands up.

I look at the boy in front of me. The boy with the average face. I’ve talked to him. I’m one hundred percent certain he’s not a girl.

“That’s not possible,” Kate stammers. “Isolde’s dead.”

Claus shakes his head. “I really wanted to do it, but I couldn’t.”

“But…we saw the death notice. We got the suicide note…” Kate sounds like she’s about to faint.

“I placed my own death notice in this morning’s newspaper. I left the house before my dad could read the newspaper. I posted the suicide note myself.”

Kate shakes her head. “You can’t be Isolde. You’re lying.”

“You’re the one who’s lying, Kate. You’re all lying.” Claus grabs his own hair and pulls. For a moment I think he wants to hurt himself, but then his black hair comes away from his head.

I gasp for breath as blond strands of hair appear from under the wig. And finally: a braid.

“It’s a disguise.” Isolde drops the black wig by her side. “I didn’t want you to know it was me. Do you know something? I’ve stood by the train tracks dozens of times because I wanted to jump. I’ve stood in the bathroom with a razor blade in my hand, and I’ve lain in bed with a bottle of sleeping pills. I wanted to die, because of you guys. I wanted to make you feel what it would be like if I really had dared to do it.”

I stare at the boy in front of me. It’s Claus, but it’s also Isolde. It’s too much to handle.

“I was so happy when you suddenly appeared outside the door,” Isolde says to me. “My replacement. If I mutilated you, they’d have to go through everything again. And your life would be over, just like mine is. I’ve been practically dead for a year. The Isolde from before has been murdered. But I can’t do it. Seems there’s still a bit of the old Isolde left inside me after all.”

“B-but why…,” I stutter. “Why did you disguise yourself as the boy you hated? I mean, you wrote about Claus and…Did you make him up?”

“No, he’s not made up. But he’s not really called Claus. That’s an alias.”

I touch the wound on my head. This is all one big nightmare.

“So what’s his name?”

Isolde looks at me. “Did he hold your braid too when you kissed?”

None of this makes sense. “What?”