He rushed down another hallway, and there, at the end of it, was the door: JANITOR. He ran faster, his feet pounding against the tile. Was the Room moving farther away with each step? No, that couldn’t be. The Room would never do that to him.

He stopped. Turned to his left. And there it was, the same frosted glass as always, and Héctor yanked it open, so desperate for the relief that place always gave him, and—

No.

Not the Room.

There was Mrs. Caroline, hunched over a desk, deep in conversation with another student.

It was Mike.

And when Mike saw Héctor, he raised a finger and pointed it right at him.

“I can’t work with him here!” he cried out, and then Mrs. Caroline was advancing toward Héctor, moving closer and closer, but there was no joy on her face, no kind greeting on her tongue. She was scowling at him. Héctor tripped over his feet as he tried to back up and leave. He landed hard on the tile, and his heart was in his throat.

“You’re ruining the creative energy in here,” said Mrs. Caroline, and she pointed her finger in his face. “I can’t have that.”

“But . . . but I—” Héctor stuttered the words out. How could she do this to him? Didn’t she enjoy having him in class?

He scrambled backward, unable to stand up, and so he rolled over and out into the hallway and pushed himself up. Then he was running, running toward the cafeteria, and her voice echoed all around him.

“No running in the hallways, Mr. Muñoz!”

Héctor glanced behind him, and Ms. Heath was sprinting, moving way faster than a human should. He screamed and flung himself around the corner, shoved his way through the double doors into the cafeteria and—

All the tables were gone but one: the Table of Misfits. There, surrounding Mike, were Taylor, Aishah, Jackson, and Carmen.

“Ocupado,” said Carmen, moving her tray over to the empty space to her left.

“Find another table,” said Jackson. “We don’t like theater kids here.”

But there were no other tables. Héctor approached the Table of Misfits in a panic. “Please, guys, I’m being chased by—”

He looked down.

Aishah was drawing him.

It was a stunning likeness, but . . .

She had completely blacked out his eyes.

“You’re not from this world, are you?” asked Taylor. “Are you?”

Héctor ran. It was all he knew.

Mike’s cackling rang out in the cafeteria, and it seemed to follow him into the hallway. “Stop it!” Héctor cried out. “Leave me alone!”

Silence.

Héctor froze. He was completely alone in the hallway.

He spun around, and the janitor’s closet was right there, so close that he could touch it.

Finally, he thought. Some relief.

He twisted the handle, pushed the door open, and—

No. This was wrong.