It was a pretty fascinating book, especially for me, a girl who didn’t really like to read. The book described exactly what had happened to me in the bathrooms of the King’s and Le Gardin.

Violent chills are impressive—the cold sensation almost identical with freezing, all the muscles convulsed in a frenzy of shivering contractions, the teeth chattering with tension, the whole body bent in a fetal position, the skin pale, the hair on end, the heart beating rapidly. Patient is overcome with extreme anguish.

In 1679, some doctor named Sydenham discovered fever, and he wrote a better version of what the quack doctor at White Oaks told me:

Fever is nature’s engine which she brings into the field to remove her enemy.

I loved the line, though I didn’t know why. I wrote it down in my notebook. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. I just thought, This is my notebook, a place where I can write a phrase I love.

But now I regret writing because the cop took my notebook. And they probably think fever is a code because of what me and Justine did. They think I premeditated my crime only because I loved writing the words: remove her enemy.

At 5:45, I looked out the library window and saw Ivy Mercer’s green Volvo. I was pretty sure it was her mother’s car. It seemed like a sign. With library books in my hand, I thought I’d politely ask Mrs. Mercer if she minded driving me to the Mickelsons’ in Gordon Head. On the drive to the serene suburb, I would tell her how much I admired her daughter. Because I did admire Ivy. She also made me sick with jealousy.

Ivy was not meant for Mount Drug; she looked so out of place, with her olive skin and flat chest and unfeathered hair. But I liked the way she looked, with her immense blue eyes and bowl-cut brown hair and corduroy floods. When she walked by the foyer, her forehead would furrow as if she was concentrating furiously on an idea. I don’t know if she heard Mackie tell her she was a two, but she gave the impression that his ratings meant nothing to her.