“Hey,” I replied. Subtly updating him about Mischa and her fear of the number three, Mrs. Robinson, and candles in my bedroom lighting themselves on fire was going to be tricky. Since I knew a monitor was listening on the Northern side of the call, I had to choose my words carefully. I assumed from my own experience at Sheridan that the guards at Northern probably only half listened, and most likely had a list of keywords based on Trey’s case history for which they were supposed to keep their ears peeled. So I had to do my best to avoid saying words like “violet,” “curse,” “death,” and “revenge.”

“How are things in sunny Florida?” he asked. “Have you found a date to prom yet?”

“Ha.” From what I’d gathered, prom was a really big deal at Hyde Park High School, even bigger than it had been in Willow. I’d made the mistake of mentioning the chosen theme, Moulin Rouge, to Trey on our last call. I had guessed correctly that he’d find the idea of teenagers in suburban Florida dressing up like turn-of-the-century Parisian courtesans to be amusing. If Olivia had simply not invited Violet to her birthday party back in September and set a horrific chain of events into motion, I probably would have been very excited about prom. I had to believe that one way or another, Trey and I still would have fallen in love that year, and I’d be begging him to humor me by renting a tux. As a tenth grader, I’d imagined going all out for prom with a full-length gown and gloves. But there was no way I’d even consider going to the dance in Tampa with anyone besides Trey. Prom was just one more part of the normal high school experience I’d have to forfeit, and resenting it would prevent me from remaining focused. “Haven’t been looking for one, to be honest.”

“I’d assume you wouldn’t have to look too hard, being the mysterious new girl in town,” Trey teased. His voice sounded different, and I realized it was because I could hear an unfamiliar echo. “You’re probably way more of a source of intrigue than you realize.”

I asked, “Where are you? It sounds like there’s an echo.”

He hesitated before replying. “The infirmary. It’s a big room with a lot of tile.”

I was lying on my stomach across my bed, but at Trey’s mention of infirmary, I rolled over and sat upright in alarm. “Um, are you going to tell me why you’re there?” I asked, instantly worried.

He hummed, “Uhhhh,” for a prolonged moment as if he wasn’t sure whether or not it was safe to say. “Just not feeling well. They quarantine you here at the first sign of the sniffles—or any other kind of trouble.”

The melodious tone his voice had taken on insinuated that this wasn’t the whole truth. Trey was usually being sarcastic, and he normally spoke with a cool, detached delivery. But he shifted into a more vibrant, singsong voice when he was hinting there was something he couldn’t tell me. Something was going on at Northern, something he couldn’t describe over the phone, which made me even more worried. Automatically I wondered if he’d gotten into a fight or was more ill than he was telling me. Not being able to ask outright killed me. I just needed to know he was okay.