“Miki, you’re a control freak. If I’d told you in advance, you would have second-guessed yourself, seen each scenario before it played out. Tried to twist it to conform to your mental plan. And that could have gotten you killed.” He pauses. “The way it panned out, you were confronted by a situation; you reacted without overthinking. You’re trained for battle, Miki. That’s what kendo did for you. So I let your training take over.”

Anger flickers and flares. I hate that he did this. That he high-handedly made decisions for me. But that’s his job—at least, it is when we’re in the game. He’s the leader. He’s supposed to make decisions.

I doubly hate it that I know he’s right about the control thing.

“So you did it because I’m not capable of knowing the truth and thinking it through?” I snap, not even meaning to. It just comes out. “Because I’m just a bundle of raw nerves? Is that what you think of me? Is that who you think I am?”

“No.”

I push to my feet, pace away, then back again. He’s not totally wrong. I do get panic attacks. I do have anxiety. But not when we’re on a mission. On every mission, I’ve done what I had to, done it with a cool head and a fair amount of logic.

Because I’ve been dumped right into the thick of things. No forewarning, no time to agonize and second-guess.

Which backs up Jackson’s claim that his way was the right way. I ball my fists, angry with him. Angry with myself.

He catches my hand and draws me back down next to him on the step.

“It isn’t just about me. Or you,” he says. “It’s about the rest of them. Was I supposed to tell them, too? Drag you aside and whisper it in your ear?”

“However you want to spin this in your own mind, whatever justifications you have, you didn’t just omit information, Jackson. You lied. When we first respawned in the hallway, you said it was like Vegas. You said no one outside the game would get hurt.”

“Did I say that?”

I stare at him, thinking back, dissecting my memories. “No,” I say slowly. “You didn’t. You said one word. Vegas. You let me fill in the rest. And you didn’t correct me when I filled it in wrong.”

“I made a judgment call.”

“Do you understand how wrong that is? You making decisions like that for me?”

He shrugs. “Blame it on a heavy dose of caveman genes.”

Caveman genes that have kept us all alive. I’m torn. I see his side, but I also see mine. We’re both right. We’re both wrong. “You told me you wouldn’t lie to me anymore.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“If we don’t have honesty . . . if we don’t have trust . . . what do we have?” I whisper.

“I trust you, Miki. I trust you with my life.”

It’s my turn not to say anything. If I say I trust him, I negate all my arguments and this will never be resolved between us. If I say I don’t trust him, then I’m the one who’s lying. Rock and a hard place.

He sighs. “If you can’t forgive me”—he holds up a hand when I start to interrupt—“if you can’t forgive me, Miki, then what do we have?”

“I forgive you.”

“Do you? For what? For not telling you everything on this mission? For doling out details on a need-to-know basis? Or is it that you forgive me for tricking you in the first place? Dragging you into the game?”

I open my mouth. He shakes his head and keeps going. “What is it you forgive me for, Miki? For being the leader I’ve been forced to be for the past five years? For making the choice to risk my life so your friend could live, making that choice so you didn’t have to? For not being perfect? For not being the boy who tells you absolutely everything, and never will?”

I recoil from him, stinging like he struck me. “Is that how you see me? Is that what you think of me? That I’m so shallow, so weak . . . so foolish?”

His laugh is bitter and dark. “I see you as strength incarnate, a warrior forged of steel, the single bright light in my effed-up world. But it’s how you see us. It’s about what you can and can’t accept.”

He pushes to his feet, his back to me, and says, “Some buildings sway when an earthquake hits, and they’re the ones that are still standing when it’s over. Some buildings don’t. They’re too rigid. They snap. You’re lucky, Miki. You get to choose what sort of building you want to be.”

I stare at his back, feeling sick, wondering how we got to this place when we ought to be hugging and jumping for joy because he just got our whole team out alive, got me out alive, got Carly out. Sent the Drau back to the hole they crawled out of. Saved the team. The school. And for the moment, the world.

“Jackson.” I jump to my feet, lay my hand on his shoulder, feeling sick and hurt and confused, not wanting to let this conversation end like this.

“I’ll drop you and Carly at your place,” he says. “I just need some time on my own.”

“He says he’ll never be the boy who tells me absolutely everything,” I say to Carly. She’s lying on my bed. I’m lying on my back on my floor.

I didn’t tell her what my fight with Jackson was about. How could I? When she asked why he and Luka weren’t coming in, I just told her Jackson and I had a disagreement, that he isn’t always completely truthful with me.

“That is completely unacceptable,” she says in her best imitation of Mr. Shomper. “I mean, how can he not tell you what toothpaste he uses? Or what he ate for breakfast? Or . . . wait, no,” she says in a horrified tone, “if he forgot to do laundry and didn’t have any clean socks so he’s wearing the same ones as yesterday.” She tips her head to look at me. “Does he do his own laundry? Did he tell you?”