I feel bad for him, and afraid of him. I don’t know what to make of those two feelings warring inside me, and maybe I just shouldn’t have read the fucking thing or stolen it in the first place. Has it done me any good? I mean, knowing the details of his life has shown me what aggravates him. That gives me ammunition in dead world, provides the opportunity to turn his fears against him in a way that might kill him. But I barely know how to conjure things, and especially not how he can—not whips, not spiders, and especially not a swarm of cockroaches. And even if I could, what power would those projections wield against him, anyway?

I haven’t been sleeping, just swinging through my two locations. School, home, school home school home—can’t I go somewhere else? The sun comes and goes. The desks and counters and chairs and beds change. I can’t focus on a single thing that’s said to me, because I’m thinking of what I’ll do to Sawyer when he comes back. What he’ll do to me.

Ms. Kingston is still talking. “What’s with the hood? Take it down, please.”

I don’t have time to argue. “I’m cold, though.”

Nobody should be allowed to tell me what I get to wear. This morning I stood at my closet and reached past my blazer and dress shirts to snatch my hoodie off the hanger—one I rarely wear in public, and especially not with the hood up, for fear I’ll get in trouble.

But today, I wanted to be comfortable. Something about being hunted by Sawyer Doon makes this schoolteacher lady feel . . . small.

“Jake,” she says. “It’s not cold in here.”

“It is to me. I’m African American, ma’am. My homeostasis is not built for cold weather. So I feel it even though you guys don’t.”

A round of laughter follows. A few “whats?” I don’t mind the attention. All I’m doing is telling the truth—I get colder because I’m Black. It’s not that hard to understand.

Ms. Kingston is red, embarrassed, and intrigued. She tilts her head at me like I’m a curious creature under a microscope—one she could squash with the heel of her boot. It’s an evil, dehumanizing, calculating stare. One practiced to strike intimidation into hearts like mine.

I stare back. There are worse things out there than falling out of favor with a white woman who graduated from a college because her family had the money to send her there.