I pick my grades out of the trash, tear them into confetti, and let them fall from my hands down the stairwell. With my foot, I start pushing the trash can toward the stairs. I inch it closer and closer to the edge. When it gets to the tipping point, it hangs there for a minute and then seems to make up its own mind. I watch it bounce down the stairs; the echo reverberates through the empty halls of Colchis High. It comes to the first landing, rolls, and the top comes off and bounces down the second flight of stairs. I close my eyes and listen to the soft sound of crumpled paper spilling down the steps. Mr. C. hurries out of his room, sees it’s me standing there, looks worried.

“Serena?”

We look down at the paper on the stairs. He puts his hand on my shoulder, and I let him steer me down the stairs.

“I just did that.”

“We’ll go clean it up,” Mr. C. says. “We’ll do it together.”

At the bottom of the stairs, a janitor is standing, looking up at the mess. He’s the big one, the one with the limp. His hair is white, cut in military style. In his breast pocket is a pack of Salem menthols.

“Just a little accident, Mike,” says Mr. C. “We got it.”

“No,” the janitor says. He climbs the stairs heavily. “It’s my job, not yours.” Halfway up the stairs, he’s out of breath and stops to get it back. By that time, I’ve picked up the trash bag and have put the yearbook back into it. He takes it from me. I don’t want to let it go, but he pulls it out of my hand. It’s Mike’s father, the one who hurt his back falling off a ladder. I look into his pale blue eyes, almost colorless, into the hatred I thought would never shock me again.

“Do me a favor,” he says. “Just get out of here.”

When I get back home, Allegra and Tyler are studying one of Scot’s accounting textbooks.

“I’m not going to graduation,” I tell Allegra. “So we can pretty much leave for Maine any time. Tomorrow, if you want.”

“Serena.” Allegra says my name in a calm, soothing tone of voice, like she’s become the undertaker of my life.

“What now?”

“We’re not going to Maine,” she says. “Or at least I’m not.” I look from her to Tyler and then back at her.

“Scot bought another field from Mizerak,” he explains. “So he’s broke again. He can’t afford Nanci Lee anymore, and we’re going to manage Pentz Homes for a while, get some experience running a business, and maybe go into business for ourselves someday.”

I look at Allegra. “What’s he talking about?”