“I can’t take my meds on my own?”

The vice principal leans his pockmarked face so close to mine that a fleck of his spit ricochets off my cheek.

“This may be hard to understand, but the best thing we can do for you is treat you like every other student,” he says. “No special treatment. No special rules.”

Unlike Mr. D, Vice Principal Lynch stares directly at me when he talks, and his eyes stay glued to me even when I turn back to the principal. Shameless staring. Unusual for an adult.

I’d say he’s swerving into tough-love territory, which is usually reserved for people like Cora and the nurses in the burn unit, whose jobs or bloodlines require them to spend time with me. They develop a whole separate set of coping-with-Ava strategies.

“What Mr. Lynch means is we do have some legal criteria we have to meet. Students can’t carry pills with them. You can understand that, right?”

I nod even though I want to scream. I take a ridiculous amount of medicine like clockwork. It’s going to be hard to fade into the back row if I have to march out the front of the classroom every two hours.

“We’re already into our second semester, but your teachers have all been informed about you. About your situation. What I’m trying to say is we’ve tried to prepare everyone.” He ekes out a smile as he trips over his tongue. “Enough logistics, right? Let’s talk about you. We hear you’re a singer?”

I shake my head.

“Your aunt Cora—”

“Is wrong.” Should have known Cora would already have been here, sprinkling her optimistic pixie dust. “I don’t sing.”

Mr. D looks from me to Mr. Lynch, probably searching for some other get-to-know-you small talk. He fails.

“Then I guess that’s that. Do you have any questions?”

Only about a million. What if I can’t do this? What if I’m not strong enough? How did I get here, with this face and your eyes looking through me and your hands wiping on your pants like I’m contagious?

I shake my head. Nope. No questions. At least, none you can answer.

Mr. Lynch points to the headphones around my neck. “Those will have to go in your bag until after the final bell.”

I look from him to Mr. D, hoping for some sort of intervention, some exception to the no-exceptions rule. “They’re just for the hallway. I won’t use them in class.”

Mr. Lynch shakes his head. “School rule.”

Both men watch as I take the headphones off my neck, the slight lifting of weight off my skin making me feel instantly more exposed. A ball of panic rises in my throat as I stick them in my bag. How will I disappear now?