He stops a few feet away. “You left your things in class.” He unshoulders my backpack and holds it out to me. I take it from him, hugging the bag to my chest, careful to keep the coin clasped tight in my hand as I slip it into the mesh side pocket.

“Thanks,” I whisper, but I can’t meet his gaze. I’m not sure I can handle those eyes, already familiar because they’ve studied me so much today.

“Do you have panic attacks often?”

Now I can’t help looking at him. “Panic attacks?”

“Yeah. I’m assuming that’s what happened in art…why you ran outside.”

I bite my lip. “No, I don’t have them often.”

We’re silent for a moment, and then I take a quick breath. “I’m guessing this will end up on Roundtable.”

“So you’ve been introduced?” He looks down at his feet and then away across campus. “Let me guess, the ever-so-enlightening Lennon told you?”

I narrow my eyes. “What do you have against her?”

“Nothing. It’s more the app I have a problem with. It’s…ruined people here.”

Not what I want to hear.

“Can’t the administration or someone stop it?”

“Trust me, people have tried. It just resurfaces about a week later with a different look. It’s like someone knows how to work around anything they put up to block it.”

Great. I’ll be under constant threat of having my crazy projected to the entire school.

“We should probably get to class,” Shy says after a moment. “The teachers are really fond of detention.”

Just as we start to walk, a loud caw makes my heart jump in my throat. I spin around to see a large black bird swoop down from the branches of a tree and fly into the bright sky—the only witness to my secret.

“Is that a crow?” I ask Shy, and when I look at him, my heart falls from my throat into my stomach. His expression holds tension and what seems like confusion.

“No.” He shifts his bright-eyed gaze to me. “A raven.”

I swallow hard. Thank God birds can’t talk.

* * *

My last class of the day is physical education. Lennon and I change in the field house and walk to the football field where a black track circles the turf. Even though it’s warm, Lennon wears a baggy, long-sleeved shirt. I wonder why she feels the need to hide her thin frame.

The air around me is punctuated with coaches’ whistles, the crack of helmets and gear, and high-pitched chants from cheerleaders practicing on the sidelines. Apparently in Oklahoma, the athletes have their last period of the day to start practice, while the rest of us have to suffer through PE. Among the cheerleaders is Natalie, who continues her routine while keeping an eye on me—a combination of skills I find equally impressive and annoying.