Maybe this school is the best thing that ever happened to her; she can figure out how to deal with what she sees. But why do I still feel so wrong when she's so happy and hopeful? No. It's my job to take care of her. If staying here is what she needs, I'll stay.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickle and I turn to see what Annie's eyes can't. Ms. Robertson is standing, perfectly silent in the doorway, watching me.

It's been two weeks since the window was nailed shut. Bars were installed on all the windows, on all the floors. The administration said it was because of an attempted break-in.

Every day Annie chatters to me about what she learned, how smart Clarice is, what an amazing coincidence it is that she'd end up with the one person in the world who could understand her. I do not smile because with Annie I don't have to, but I lie when we are together.

Now I am sitting in class.

I am not doing any of my assignments.

I sit perfectly still and straight, and I do not work, and I do not answer questions, and they do not do anything to me. There is no detention. There are no threats. Except in self-defense, where my instructor hits me and hits me until I finally block and hit back.

I am riddled with bruises under my stiff white shirt that smells of bleach and makes me miss my mom with an ache I didn't think I could feel anymore.

I do not tell Annie. I cannot tell Annie. Annie is happy, and I have to let her be happy. It is my job to make sure Annie is happy.

I glare at Ms. Robertson, standing in the front detailing the upcoming ski trip; I still blame her for the nailed-shut window, though I have no reason to.

Then I have an idea. Maybe Clarice isn't a coincidence. This school is wrong, I know it is. I want to know why, because if I know why, then maybe it won't make me feel sick all the time. If there's a reason why it's wrong, then I am not crazy for feeling this way. (I'm not crazy, I'm not.) I lean back in my chair, stare straight at Ms. Robertson's forehead, and think, I have a knife in my shoe. I have a knife in my shoe. I have a knife in my shoe, and I am going to pull it out and stab Eden. I am going to stab her until she screams. I have a knife in my shoe. I'm going to stab Eden. Right now.

Ms. Robertson sprints down the row and rips me out of my chair, knocking me to the ground; my head slams against the floor. She pins me, it's not hard-I am all elbows and knees and I am only thirteen. She yanks off one of my shoes and then the other, breathing hard. My face is smashed into the tile. I can't see anything. I can't move.

My teacher swears. "What-why would you-Eden! How is Sofia feeling right now?"

"I don't know! How can I-"

"Just tell me how she's feeling right now!"

"She's-she was totally calm before you grabbed her. And now it's like, I don't know, like she's laughing inside, but she's also really scared." Eden sounds scared, too, having to admit that she knows this.

Ms. Robertson stands up, and I roll over onto my back, tears streaming down my cheeks from the pain in my head, but Eden's right-I'm laughing.

I laugh and laugh and laugh, and I think about stabbing Ms. Robertson with the knife I don't have in my shoe. Lighting this whole room on fire with the matches I don't have in my pocket. Hanging myself in my room with the rope I don't have in my closet.

This place is wrong, I think at her, and I know.

"Very clever," Ms. Robertson says, with that lie of a smile. "It would appear you're ready for the advanced placement track."

Chapter Six

ANNIE

Monday Afternoon

SHE SHOULD BE BACK BY NOW. WHY ISN'T SHE BACK? I need to hear her, to figure out if she's okay. She'll lie to me, of course, but I still need to hear her.

It's my fault. Again. Either I see things and I can't stop them, or I cause them because I see them wrong. I will be the death of my entire family. I've already destroyed Fia by dragging her to this school with me. I can't kill her, too.

I walk to the door and out into the hall. Someone stands up immediately-Darren, by the sounds of it. He has a particular way of exhaling whenever he has to actually do something.

"Can I help you, Miss Annabelle?"

"Why yes, Darren, you can! There's a window at the end of the hallway, right?"

"Yeah."

"Can you open it?"

"Are you too warm? I can have the AC adjusted."

"Oh, no, the window isn't for me. It's for you. So you can throw yourself out of it."

A pause and then, "You have such a sense of humor, Miss Annabelle."

"Well, I only have the four senses, so I've got to compensate somehow. You are welcome to keep sitting in your chair, reading your romance novels. I'm going to see Eden."

"Let me know if you need anything."

"So you can disappoint me yet again by never listening? Please, Darren." I continue down the hall, tracing a hand along the smooth wood paneling, counting the seams. Skip an empty door. Skip another. Knock.

The door opens and she reaches out immediately for my hand. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"They sent Fia on a hit."

Eden swears. "Is she okay?"

"I need you to get a feel for her when she gets back. She'll lie to me."

She sighs and her grip changes as she shifts to lean farther away from me. "I'm sorry she had to do that. Really. I think it's wrong. But I can't handle being around her. You have no idea what it's like since we came back, getting sucked into all that anger. It gives me a headache. My whole mouth tastes like I'm chugging battery acid. She's poison."

"My sister is not poison." I yank my hand back.

She swears again, her voice softer. "Sorry. Just-I can already tell you how she'll feel. She'll feel angry. It's the only way she's felt since we left Europe. I wish I could help her, but I can't, and neither can you."

"Why are you even still here?" I'm so furious I want to shake her, and I know she can feel it. "Why did you come back? Why didn't you go out into the world to be Keane's little spy?"

I don't have to be a Feeler to hear the hurt in Eden's voice. "I didn't want you to be alone."

"How can you work for them?" I whisper. "They keep me here, prisoner, to control Fia."

"Did you ever think that maybe they keep you here to keep you safe from Fia?"

"That's a lie."

"You can't feel her like I can. She's dangerous, Annie, and it scares me every time she's alone with you. She's-" I hear her inhale sharply. "Good news, she's here. I can feel her from the first floor. Guess Art Institute is out. Come over after she's gone and we'll do manicures, okay?" Eden starts to close the door, but hesitates. "I'm sorry." Then it clicks shut.

I turn expectantly toward the elevator end of the hall. I wish I could go straight down to meet her, but unlike Eden who can come and go as she pleases, without Darren's key card I'm not allowed off the floor.

To keep me safe. Right. I am the safest prisoner in the entire world.

I strain, listening for the hum of the elevator, the muffled ding, the slide of its doors. The sound of Fia's feet stomping down the hall. She always walks loud, just for me.

But instead of sounds, I'm greeted by a flash of light and I can see-oh, light, I can see!-and it's all lights and darkness, flashing pounding lights and vibrations and everything is dark and there's smoke and it's a fire? It must be a fire! There are too many people, they'll all die-

No, it's not a fire, the bodies are dancing, the vibrations are the pounding rhythms of a song. The lights change color so quickly I can't remember their names. And Fia-oh, Fia, you are so beautiful it makes my heart hurt-is in the middle of it all, slamming her body, moving and swaying and dancing to the beat in a way that no one else can. Her eyes are closed and her arm is raised. Only one arm, she's hurt; how did she get hurt? Is this soon? But she has lost herself and I know that there, in that moment, she's happy.

I want to do nothing but stay here and watch my sister dance.

But then I know I'm not the one watching her. Someone else is. That's the point of this vision, not to see Fia happy but to see that someone else is seeing her. I try to turn to scan the crowd, but it doesn't work like that: I'm locked in, stuck seeing and only seeing but never seeing enough. Someone is watching her. Fia dances on, oblivious.

If I can just figure out who is doing the watching, then-

"Annie! Annabelle!"

Fia's voice pulls me out of the light and the darkness slams in all around me again, permanent, claustrophobic after my brief foray into vision.

"What did you see?" James's voice is terse. Crap. I should have been in my room. He wouldn't have known I saw anything. I don't tell them about the majority of what I see. That's the glory of your power being in your head and your head alone. They can't get it there.

"Fia. Dancing."

"Whoop! I'm going dancing!" I can feel her stomping around me in a circle, then her steps falter and something thuds into the wall.

"You are going to bed," James snaps.

"Ooh, James," Fia whispers dramatically. "Not in front of my sister. She hates you."

"Are you okay?" I reach out for her, but she dances away from my grasp, humming under her breath. Some obnoxious pop song. Doris must be here-I missed everything when I was seeing.

"I'm not getting anything from her," Doris snaps. "I'm going back to my office." She walks away, muttering about having that song stuck in her head all day now.

"Baby baby baby, Ms. Robertson! Ta-taa!" Fia doesn't take my hand, she never does anymore, but I hear her stomping toward my room and I follow.

Her steps jerk to a halt. I assume James grabbed her. His voice is deliberately calm. "Okay, Fia. You saw her. I don't know why you needed to, but you've seen Annabelle now, so can we please get you to Dr. Grant?"

"Dr. Grant? Why does she need a doctor?" I ask.

"But I have to tell Annabelle all about my great adventure. Annie-" She leans in so close to my face I can feel her breath. "I got SHOT. It was awesome. How many seventeen-year-olds can say that?"

"Someone shot her?" I turn toward James's voice in horror. "You let her get shot?"

"Please, Fia," James says.

"Oh, fine. I also killed some poor innocent college kid. You would have liked him, Annie. He was cute. He had long legs and long arms and gray eyes. Then he was dead. Poor cute dead kid."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. It felt like I'd been holding it since I lied to Keane. "I'm sorry."

"That I almost got killed or that I did some killing? 'Cause I'm not sorry about any of it. Not sorry, not sorry, not sorry at all. Is the hall spinning for anyone else? Just me? Okay, I'm gonna go get blood on Annie's couch. Don't worry, James-she can't see it. She'll never know."

I hear her shoulder dragging along the wall as she stomps-lurches-stomps to my room.

"Did you give her something?" I ask. I assume she isn't bleeding to death or James wouldn't have let her come up here at all. Maybe he gave her something for the pain already? I didn't smell any alcohol on her breath. She hasn't been this bad in a long time.

"No." James has the audacity to sound sad. He has no right to be sad about what this is doing to my sister. I take another step toward my apartment, and he brings his hand down on my arm. I shrug away from it.

"She's not allowed to be here right now."

"James. She got shot. She killed someone. I think you can afford to bend the rules."

He's quiet and I hold my breath: please, please be a person, just this once. "Fine. I'll send Grant up to take care of her in your rooms. But then she's got to go." I hate him. I hate that Fia can only visit me when they say so, that we can't ever leave this floor of the school together. That Fia can live somewhere else while I am kept locked up.