Molly sits to a round of applause, her pursed lips swirling in a courageous attempt to hold back the forest fire laying waste to her soul. Not only did she have to stand there and lie—she had to share this vulnerability with the class. And Molly doesn’t share.

By the time my name is called, I’m emotionally wrung from these brutal stories. Even if the storytellers are playing up their shame for the room, the details are real enough. The pins and needles are so close to my brain, I might faint. Breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth. Slowly, I step to the front and summon a winning, Briggs-like smile as Drew hands me my diary. By the time I face the room so eager for my Expulsion, I’ve already made up my mind not to talk about my mom. Or my dad.

I’m improvising.

“I gave money to a website,” I begin with a clear voice. Drew moans with an understanding mmmm. “It wasn’t for porn or anything. It was fundraising: this woman was trying to find her nephew who’d gone missing. She was convinced his parents sent him away someplace…a camp.” Everyone in the room freezes at once—from Molly to Marcos to Darcy—and I hold their breaths in my hand. “This camp she’s looking for is a place where they do mind games to change you…make you straight.” Darcy leans forward, eyes sharpened. Marcos can only click his fingers under his desk. “I was wrong to give this woman money because those camps are good. But even if the website doesn’t end up working for her, I got the feeling this woman would never stop searching for her nephew.”

Behind me, Drew’s breath clatters through his nose in an agitated, staccato rhythm.

“She could probably go on searching forever because she has lots of money,” I say, allowing myself a brief glance at Drew. His perfect skin has drained of color. “Her nephew is a famous model.”

Drew’s shoulders buckle, and his soulful lips shrivel like a raisin.

Who’s vulnerable now, asshole?

“CLASS. IS. OVER,” Briggs growls, cutting through the intense silence crushing the room.

“But most of us haven’t gone—” Marcos begins to argue, but stops at first sight of Briggs’s death glare.

Briggs scans the classroom, his muscular torso pulsating under his tank top like an angry boiler room of machinery. “Everyone except Connor…get out,” he hisses, and Marcos is the first to his feet. He shepherds the stampede of campers out of the treehouse and away from almost certain murder. Finally, Briggs spins toward Drew. “You too.”

Speechless, the model flees, accidentally ramming into Molly. They collide into the stack of Expulsion Diaries, sending the notebooks spilling across the wood-planked floor.

“LEAVE THEM!” Briggs screeches desperately.