I feel the loss of him acutely. Knowing he lied to me all last year, even by omission, makes me feel like I never really knew him. Logically, I understand why he made the choice he did. He felt like it wasn’t his place to tell me what he knew. Maybe he questioned whether it was even the truth. But still. We were close. So close it’s hard to imagine how he wasn’t tempted to tell me everything.

At least I haven’t lost Ollie. He doesn’t ask what we mean to each other, or bring up that kiss, and I’m grateful. He remains steadfast, in spite of everything that’s happened this year. Thank God. Because if I lost him too—again—I don’t know what I’d do.

The threats against the Similars haven’t stopped. More nasty notes are left in their bags. Someone scrawls a hateful message on the whiteboard before English class, and another “op-ed” appears in The Daily Darkwood, on the day everyone returns from Thanksgiving break. It asserts that the Similars are dangerous and that Darkwood should strongly consider whether they belong here. I burn inside, at the hatred exhibited by my fellow students, and at the knowledge that I, too, am included in that statement.

With Ransom’s return nowhere in sight, Jane’s tenure as headmistress continues, and I stop by her office one Saturday after the break, hoping her familiar face can offer me some comfort. As a kid, I always loved seeing her, imagining she were my real mother. I know it’s childish, but I need her right now. I knock on her office door. It’s ajar, and when I don’t get a response, I push it open.

“Jane?” I ask on my way in. She’s at her desk, head in her hands. “Oh. I’m sorry, I’ll come back—”

“No, Emmaline, please,” she says, looking up from the scattered piles of papers in front of her. Dark shadows ring her eyes. “Sit.” She gestures at the couch in the corner, where I curl up with a blanket. I’d never sit this way, so casually, were this still Ransom’s office.

“Am I interrupting something?” I hug my knees to my chest.

“Just a woman at a loss for how to manage a single one of her headmistress duties.” She smiles wanly. “But other than that, no.”

“Are things that bad?”

“Oh, no. Worse.” She sighs. “Emma, there is absolutely no way I can do my job here. Which is to protect the Similars,” she adds. “I don’t take that lightly, you know. As the head of this school, even as interim head, I must protect their privacy and their civil rights. I’m failing at both.”