I was trying to be cool, but I was still inwardly freaking out. Barrett couldn’t leave tomorrow. That wasn’t enough time to say goodbye.

“All the same,” she said, “why don’t you stay in bed and rest in the morning? I’ll bring you breakfast, and you can come down in the afternoon with plenty of time to see Barrett off.”

I didn’t answer. I wasn’t committing to her plan because I thought it was a dumb plan. Much better just to get up and get out of bed the next day like normal, and if she asked, tell her I felt perfectly fine.

“Sound good?” she asked, handing the teacup back.

“Mm,” I said, looking away.

“Good girl, Margot,” she said, patting my leg. “Finish your tea and get some rest.”

I’D CURSED MYSELF. The next morning, my body and brain felt vaguely fuzzy. My vision blurred around the edges, making windows and light bulbs look like they were surrounded by pale auras. My mouth felt like I’d been chewing cotton balls all night. And my hands and feet were clumsy and tingly, as if my fingers were wrapped in gauze.

So when Laura showed up with a trayful of food, I was grateful. I sat up and ate the toast, the bowl of yogurt with berries in it, the little wedges of fancy cheese, and I felt less hostile toward her than I had the previous night. I went along with her plan, staying in bed and dozing all morning, and then before lunchtime I got up and dressed.

Agatha was nowhere to be found—she must have been downstairs—and I was combing my hair when there was a loud knock at the door.

I pulled it open and found Barrett, looking somewhat frantic.

He slipped inside and took my hands.

“I’m leaving,” he said.

“I know.” I was proud of myself for not betraying any emotion. You show him, Margot.

But my cool delivery clearly pained him. “What did she say to you about me?”

I bit my lip.

“Please, Margot,” he said. “Whatever she said, don’t believe her. She doesn’t understand me at all.”

“She’s right, though,” I said. “You wouldn’t look twice at me if we weren’t stuck here together. When you’re back at school, you’ll forget I exist.”

“You think that?” he asked. The disbelief in his voice made my heart hiccup. “Really? Seriously? I get that my mom might think that way, but . . . it doesn’t seem like you’d believe her.”

I shrugged, a little embarrassed. “Look at you,” I said. “Look at your life. And then look at me.”

“I see you,” he said. “And I don’t know anyone else like you.”

“But that’s part of it,” I said. “I’m a curiosity. I’m something to think about while you’re bored and stuck here.”