I wake up one late January morning after a fitful night of sleep. I can’t hide the dark circles under my eyes anymore, not even with concealer. What’s the point of trying? I know I’m depressed—deeply so. I have no pharmas this time around to alleviate my pain. I could see the school therapist, but what would I possibly say to her? My best friend’s been taken, again? And this time he’s been replaced by a clone? But, oh yeah, don’t tell a soul?

Every day, I think of how I left things with Ollie—my Ollie—and I’m filled with regret.

Of course I love him. Of course there’s a part of me that could see myself with him. Loving him. I wish I’d said that, instead of pulling away, running away, like I did.

Pru’s already gone to crew practice when I roll out of bed at seven. I slip on jeans and my warmest coat, rooting around in my closet for my gloves. I’m on my way out when Dash interrupts me.

“You have an incoming email, Emmaline,” he tells me in his comforting voice. “From the University of Oxford. It looks quite official.”

I stop what I’m doing and pull up the email on my plum. I’m momentarily confused—why would they be contacting me now?—until I remember that Oxford sends out its admissions decisions early. In January.

My heart sinks when I see what they’ve written. In spite of my “strong academic record,” I’ve been wait-listed until the university has a chance to review recent materials submitted to the school. I know instantly that those “materials” must be the video Harlowe sent them of me leaping from the boathouse roof. Surely Oxford isn’t taking this footage seriously, is it? Furious at Harlowe, I swipe off my plum screen and head to the dining hall.

Duplicate Oliver is in line there when I arrive. I’m exhausted and shaken, and my heart almost breaks its steady rhythm at the sight of him.

“Em,” he says, brightening at the sight of me. “Why do I feel like I haven’t seen you in days?”

It hasn’t been days. But I’ve been distant with him, and he must sense that. Coexisting with him, here at school, is almost harder than it was to accept Levi last year. Tears prick my eyes, and I feel Ollie’s absence like an open wound. But what can I expect this Duplicate to do? It’s not like I’d want to send him back to that island; his life there couldn’t have been meaningful, and it was probably filled with suffering.