Classes were canceled on Monday morning, by which point there was a definite funk in the air in Hawthorne. I don’t want to say the building stank, but there was a closeness. The heaters were on full blast, the air was thick with moisture and stress hormones. On Monday afternoon, they allowed us to go to class and to the library, but our movements were strictly controlled. We had to stick to the cobblestone path at all times. They put up nylon barriers on the edge of the green so that we couldn’t see the tent as easily—but we still had a pretty clear view from any second-story window.

I had a free period, so I went over to the library, just to get out of the building. I thought I went quickly, but by the time I got there, all the carrels were taken, as were all the chairs around the room and all the spots on the floor next to the electrical outlets.

I decided to go upstairs, and I made my way back to the literature section. I peered down each one until I found Alistair. He was there—same magnificent hair, same big trench coat and Doc Martens boots. He had only changed positions. Now he was sitting in the windowsill, still mostly in the dark.

“Mind if I sit here?” I asked. “There’s nowhere downstairs.”

“Do what you like,” he said, not looking up.

I hit the switch at the end of the aisle and took my place on the floor. The floor was cold, but at least it was somewhere to sit, and somewhere not totally on my own. After ten minutes, the light automatically clicked off. I looked over to see if Alistair was going to get up and turn it back on, but he just kept on reading. I peeled myself from the floor and flicked the switch.

“It’s bad for your eyes,” I said. “Reading in the dark.”

Alistair smirked a little. I didn’t know why. There was nothing funny about eyestrain. I hadn’t been there very long when Jerome appeared at the end of the aisle, his computer under his arm.

“Jazza said you were over here,” he said. “Can I talk to you? I need to show you something.”

Jerome was so preoccupied that he didn’t even acknowledge Alistair’s presence.

Jerome led me to one of the tiny study rooms that lined the first floor. All the rooms were occupied, but he found one containing three year twelves who were all playing video games.

“Out,” he said, opening the door. “We need this room.”

There were cries of protest, but Jerome pushed the door open wider.

“Study use only,” he said. “Out.”