“Four long-ass hours.” Another voice from behind. When I turn, it’s the class president from Gideon’s school. Up close she has elaborate, perfectly applied eye makeup. When she tucks her hair behind her ear, I catch sight of her bracelet—diamond encrusted. I am guessing they are real. Gideon always was the poorest kid at his school. “Hey, do I know you?”

“No, but my brother goes to Stanton Prep,” I say, surprised that she recognizes me. Or maybe she recognizes Gideon in me. We are twins after all.

“What’s his name?”

“Gideon.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Nope, never heard of him.” She snaps the woven, black bracelet on her other wrist. Nervous and sad—she’s very easy to read—annoyed, too, but that seems secondary to being nervous. “I’m Ramona.”

When I turn, I see that Becca has slunk her way over.

“And I’m Becca,” she says.

“Yeah,” I say, already dreading the awkwardness. “I think we went to Newton Regional together. I used to be friends with Maia, a long time ago.”

“Oh yeah?” Becca asks but not like she’s especially interested. “I don’t remember anyone from there. I was so high all the time. And then I stopped going.”

“Stopped?” I ask. And it comes out so weirdly judgmental. I will myself to stop talking. Because what I really want to do is ask her if she knows Jasper. And I have the nagging feeling she might say something that would make me even more worried about him.

Becca shrugs. “Getting clean is a full-time job. But I am now. I’ve been doing everything they said I had to do to graduate on time. I’ve been seeing my therapist, and I have a tutor and whatever.” She shakes her head. “Which is why this is such bullshit.”

“Almost nobody in here has been in regular school for a while. We’ve figured out we have that much in common on our own,” Ramona says. “They keep saying they’re going to explain everything, including, like, why us. Why are we here? But they haven’t told us shit. They just keep on saying that it’s somebody else who has to tell us. First, it was Dr. Haddox, now he says it’s the NIH. So we’re guessing it has something to do with the not being in school, even if it is all for different reasons—Becca’s got the drugs, Teresa’s homeschooled, which—let’s face it—seems best for everybody.” I look over at Teresa to see if she’s noticed the dig, but she doesn’t seem to be listening. “That girl over there had some kind of eating thing. That girl has some klepto thing. I was ‘bullying’ somebody. Which, by the way, I totally was not.”

“They didn’t tell you about the PANDAS?” I ask, not thrilled that I might have to explain it.