I take my glasses off and put them on again. “You think I could get in at SAIC?”

“I think you’ve definitely got a chance.” He shrugs, likes it’s obvious. “And you’ve got time to work on assembling a solid portfolio. Is that something you think you’d be interested in?”

“Yes. I—Yes!” Honestly, I’d been hoping to get as far away from Fulton Heights as possible after graduation, but SAIC is SAIC. “Thank you so much!”

“Don’t thank me, you’re the one who has to do the work.” He grins again, stationing the easel to face the light. “Let me get the paper and the charcoals, and then you can blow my mind again.”

As he trots off to the supply cabinet, my head spins some more. Four years at a prestigious school where I can study art and never look at another imaginary number again sounds too good to be true. Now I’m twice as hopeful that I’ll have another episode like last week’s; ten or eleven more, and I’ll have that portfolio in no time.

“Hey.” Hope’s voice interrupts my daydream, and I look over to see her setting her bag down on the table nearest to me. Her voice is soft, edged with nervous humor as she asks, “So … last night, huh?”

“You could say that, yeah.” I laugh in spite of myself. “For whatever it’s worth, Fulton Heights is garbage, but that kind of thing still doesn’t usually happen.”

“Well, I’m really glad you’re okay.” Her fingers are so tight around her bag that her knuckles are white. “I was sure he was going to eat you, and—” She stops short, squeezing her eyes shut. “Okay, that’s not helping. To be honest, I’m still completely freaked out.”

“To be honest? Me too.”

She nods, but her mouth twists a little bit. “Auggie…” She stops. Then, “When he spoke to you, did you understand what he meant?”

It is beginning. Numbly, I shake my head. “I think he was just babbling.”

“Are you sure?” she says carefully, scrutinizing my face. “You really don’t know what he was talking about?”

“No.” Something in her tone brings my goose bumps back. “Should I?”

Hope’s mouth twists some more until it’s nearly sideways. “I don’t know. Forget it.” She looks down at her bag. “Maybe it just … sounded familiar. It’s probably—”

“Okay—paper and charcoal sticks, including a few extras, just in case!” Mr. Strauss interrupts us, delivering the announced materials with a cheerful flourish. Turning to Hope, he plops a few things onto her table as well. “For our resident sculptor, here’s the epoxy and wire you’ve been using. Let me know if you need anything else.”