I inhale and hug myself, feeling self-conscious. I have no idea what’s going on here.

“Mr. Savior, I think it’s about time Miss Silby made it to class,” the lady in the pink blazer advises from the counter.

Shy turns and smiles at her. “Yes. Sorry, Mrs. Cole.” He looks at me, clearing his throat. “So what’s your first class?”

I’m glad the distraction gives me a reason to look away from him, because my gaping is a whole new level of awkward. I open my folder to look at my schedule. I’d seen it a few minutes ago, but now I can’t remember anything.

“Um, Mr. Val, trig…in Walcourt?”

Shy laughs.

“What?” I lean away to get a good look at his face, but he just shakes his head, eyes focused on my schedule.

“Nothing. What’s your locker number?”

Forty-four.

Shy directs me out of the lobby, down a hallway flanked with a large trophy case and a couple of bulletin boards covered with flyers for homecoming.

“The lockers, dorms, and cafeteria are all located here in Emerson,” he explains. “It’s a little inconvenient, but you just have to make sure you have everything you need for your first four classes before lunch.” He pauses and nods to my locker, then the one next to it. “That one’s mine.”

I smile at him, and it feels like I’m falling into a trap. Fate must be messing with me. “I guess I’ll see more of you, then?”

“Yeah.” He grins, showing his teeth, and runs a hand through his hair. I like the way his eyes crinkle at the sides when he smiles, all things I shouldn’t notice about him, considering my rules. “Yeah, you will.”

The sunlight blinds me as we exit Emerson, and I blink several times to adjust my vision before turning to watch the girl overhead. She sways ever so slightly, propelled by nothing but the memory of the day of her death. Shy has stopped too, and he watches me, following my gaze to the bars.

“It was to keep people—”

“From jumping,” I finish quickly. “I know.”

He doesn’t smile back, and he studies me. The intensity of his eyes makes me feel like he can see every layer of me.

“Why don’t they take them down?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Aesthetics, history, a precaution. The windows in the dorms don’t open either.”

“History?”

“This place used to be an asylum before it was a school. Back in the twenties. There’s a lot of history here, and most of it is kind of shady.”

Oh, that isn’t good.

I look back up at the bars and then around. So far so good. I haven’t encountered any other dead, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t here.