Second floor. The hallway stretches before me, shorter than I remember as a child but long enough to still swallow all my courage in the middle of the night.

It was here.

This hallway.

The hallway, and then the stairs.

It ended on the stairs.

I close my eyes, as if inviting the memories back, and they come.

That night.

His face.

His fear.

This is why I’m here, isn’t it? To exorcise my demons? To face my past head-on? That was the plan, but this house has so far won the battle; it continues to scare the shit out of me.

My eyes open at the distant sound of my phone ringing. It’s a relief, as if the universe knew I needed to be pulled away from my thoughts.

I race down the stairs and into the kitchen where my phone is charging. The caller ID display ices my stomach.

MIDDLETON PREP

“Hello?” I say.

“Hello, I’m calling for Rose Yates.” The tone of the woman’s voice doesn’t do anything to assure me.

“This is she.”

“Hi, Rose. This is Sandra Halliday, assistant vice principal at Middleton.”

“Is everything okay? Is Max okay?”

“He’s fine. But I’m calling to tell you there’s been an incident, and we need you to come down and pick him up.”

My chest tightens at the word incident.

“What kind of incident?”

“We’ll explain more face-to-face, because that’s always easier. But he was involved in an altercation with another student.”

“Alter—”

“I know this is stressful, Rose. But I assure you he’s fine, as is the girl.”

Girl. Oh god, what the hell happened?

“We just need you to come down,” she continues. “Max will be in the front office with me.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll be right over.”

I hang up, scramble for my purse, and rush to the garage. I back out, race through the neighborhood, then force myself to slow down as I reach the main boulevard leading to Middleton.

Red light. I bring the car to a stop and use the precious few seconds to try to center myself. Deep breath. In, then out.

It doesn’t work. My pulse doesn’t slow a beat.

Four words keep churning in my head. Over and over. Usually I can summon a mantra, a positive affirmation, something simple and powerful I can repeat, looping in my mind, assuring me.

But these words don’t provide comfort, and though I want to think of different ones, these won’t go away.

It’s all my fault.

Fourteen

Middleton Prep looks a lot more like a prison than it did this morning. The tint on the exterior windows is too dark to see through them. I suppose that’s a safety feature, but I imagine each of those rooms as a solitary confinement cell.

I sign in at the front office, using the Student Absence sheet. I’m stopped when I get to the box asking for the reason I’m picking up my student. My gaze scans previous entries, which alternate between “sick” and “appointment.”