Jerome and I had reached that point where I could say things like that. It was only a slight exaggeration. I ripped off a piece of my doughnut and threw it at him. He had eaten everything on his plate and had no food to fire back with, so he crumpled his napkin and chucked it at my head. Charlotte gave us a reproachful look from the end of the table.

“Don’t make me use my powers on you,” he said quietly.

“I’d like to see you try.”

I sent a low-flying piece of doughnut just inches over the table surface, right at his prefects’ tie.

“Jerome . . . ,” Charlotte said.

“Yes?” he replied, not looking over.

“You know you shouldn’t be doing that.”

“I know many things, Charlotte.”

He turned and gave her a smile and gave me a little shiver. It was pleasantly evil. I remembered now—Charlotte and Andrew had once gone out. Andrew and Jerome were best friends. Jerome probably did know many things. Charlotte simply turned away, as if she had forgotten what was going on.

“Okay,” I said very quietly. “Your powers are a little hot.”

It was as open a declaration as I’d ever made. I waited to see how he would respond. He looked down at his plate, still smiling.

“What’s going on now?” Jazza said, setting down her tea and throwing a leg over the bench.

“We’re annoying Charlotte,” I said.

“Finally,” Jazza replied in a low voice, “a hobby of Jerome’s I can fully support. Carry on.”

I didn’t even mean for it to, but Jazza’s commenting got to me. I started to watch Boo when we sat in the library together that afternoon during our free period. We sat across from each other at a table in the corner, our laptops back to back. I was trying to cram in the writing of the aforementioned essay. This was the first major assignment I’d had for literature—seven to ten pages on any work of my choice that we’d already read. I was doing mine on Samuel Pepys’s diary, mostly because that was the reading I understood the best. Boo had her computer open, but she was reading a gossip site. I could see the reflection in the window.

“What are you working on?” I asked quietly.

“What?” she said, pulling off her headphones.

“What are you working on?”

“Oh. Just reading.”

“What are you doing your essay on?”

“Not sure yet,” she said, yawning.

I gave up and went to get a book. Boo followed me, dawdling along behind me, staring at the books like they were very interesting objects from some other universe. As I made my way to the criticism section, I saw Alistair sprawled in the middle of an aisle, reading. He had his book on the floor and was idly turning the pages with one hand.

“Hi,” I said, switching on his light.

“Hello.”