I returned to the room a few minutes before nine with some sandwiches, extra chips, and five different candies you couldn’t get in America.

Mom-Darius wouldn’t let me get more than that. He said it was “bad for me.”

I had pointed out that leaving a store full of new and exciting candy without buying all of it would probably scar me for life.

“‘No person has the power to have everything they want, but it is in their power not to want what they don’t have,’” he quoted.

I stared at him.

“Seneca.”

More staring.

“The stoic?”

“I’m not going to win this argument, am I?”

“Put the candy on the counter, Emerra.”

Conrad wasn’t there to receive his boon.

“Do you think he’s okay?” I asked, looking over the empty bedroom.

Darius walked past me and pulled out his overnight bag from the wardrobe. “Why don’t you text him?”

“I don’t want to annoy him.”

The vampire stopped what he was doing. “Annoy him?”

“I’ll write a note so he knows these are for him. What time is it?”

“Ten to nine.”

“Shoot! I told the boys not to wait for me. I’ll have to hurry.”

I dumped the food on the bed, ignoring Darius’s cry of distress, and ran out to the desk.

I took the time to make sure my handwriting was more legible.

Conrad,

This is for you. Thought you might be hungry. Promise Please save half of each candy for me, I haven’t had any yet.

I ran back to the room, put the note on Conrad’s pillow, and neatly stacked the food around it. I had originally planned on leaving one or two of the candies for Conrad, but I couldn’t decide which ones he’d like best, so I left them all.

I grabbed the biggest bag of Doritos.

“Am I allowed to ask you to be careful?” Darius said when I was almost out the door.

I took a step back.

The count was fiddling around with his toiletry bag, but when he glanced up at me, I could see how serious he was—how worried.

I thought about Eric. And Wes. And how I was worrying about Conrad.

A tear or two sprang to my eyes, but I blinked them away and walked around the bed. As I got close to Darius, I saw him take a half step back, but the stupid bloodsucker wasn’t going to get away that easily.

I put my arms over his shoulders and pulled him into a hug.

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“I like you too, Darius.”

At first his whole body was stiff, but then he bent to my inevitable will and relaxed. He even put his arms around me and squeezed me back.

“You’re a strange girl, Emerra Cole.”

“It’s called a ‘hug.’ Victorian or not, you must have at least heard of them.”

He patted my shoulder, then pushed me back to arm’s length.

“Be careful,” he ordered. “If you need any help, call Conrad. It won’t annoy him.”

“And you!” I said. “Don’t go speeding around on the wrong side of the road.”

“I’ll see you Saturday morning at the latest. Try to stay out of trouble until then.”

“No promises.”

I waved with the bag of Doritos and left.

The boys were still in the common room shared by all four houses when I got there. Scott grabbed his chips and laughed like the gremlin he was, but he still had enough social instinct to share it with the group.

When Wes asked if I wanted to keep exploring the school, my stomach torqued itself into a knot. I guess I wasn’t as over the panic attack as I needed to be.

I countered with the offer to teach them how to play hacky sack. Since I didn’t have a footbag, we had to use a wadded-up piece of paper. It was awful, but the boys didn’t know any better. I tried not to laugh when Wes explained that they’d all be brilliant at it because of how good they were at football.

“You mean soccer?”

“I mean football. When in Rome, Emerra.”

“And what do they call it in Rome?”

“Calcio,” Dustin said, batting the paper ball up with his foot and sending it flying across the room.

It turned out that soccer skills do not translate to hacky sack when the sack in question weighs five grams. Imagine that!

Other boys joined us. Wes accused Evans of using his power. Evans told him he was welcome to use his powers if he thought it’d be useful. Since Wes seemed to be considering the idea, Dustin had to remind him that lighting the ball on fire was not generally considered useful.

A teacher showed up five minutes to ten to clear out the common room. We all filed back toward the dorms. Scott broke off to head toward Fox House. At the end of the Salix hall, I said goodbye to the rest of them.

I had already turned toward the stairs when I remembered there was something useful I could do.

“Hey, Wes!”

Osborn whipped around to face me.

“What happens to your powers when you’re on a break?”

His cheek lifted in a half smile, and he shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Huh?”

“I never use my powers when I’m on break.”

I lifted my hand in the universal what’s-up-with-that gesture.

He jogged the few steps back to me and muttered under his breath. “It’s my parents, you know? I think it’s cool, but if they saw it, they’d probably freak out and take me out of school. I like it here.”

“Your parents don’t know you’re a pyrokinetic?”

“Wooly’s good about that. He doesn’t tell them. He lets us tell them if we want to.”

Yes, Wuller, who knew the history of psychics, would be very considerate about that.

“What happens if you light your bed on fire while you’re at home?” I asked.

Wes grinned. “Hasn’t happened yet!”

I shoved him toward his friends and called out a last goodnight. As I walked back to my room, I thought about what he’d said.

I could understand why the pyros would hide their power; knowing your child could burst into flames at any moment would freak anyone out.

I should have asked Evans, I thought.

An image of exploding pots and glass leapt into my head.

Maybe the telekinetics kept their powers hidden too. It was probably easier than trying to control them.

When I got back to the room, I heard the shower running. Conrad had made it back, safe and sound. As long as he was showering, I could change without worrying, and I was tired enough, pajamas sounded like a good idea. I went over to the desk to grab my luggage.

All five candies were sitting on the desk, unopened. No note.

I couldn’t help feeling rejected.

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The hallway was lined with open doors. At each door was one or two people, spilling out to watch. Their figures were so blurred by my tears, they looked like nothing more than ambiguous shapes. As I passed, some bowed their heads. I felt grateful to them. And sorry.

I had to walk with my head up. Twice I had tried to look down, hoping to avoid part of my humiliation by pretending I was alone, but my head had been jerked back by my hair. This was a message: nothing could be hidden. It would all be seen.

I couldn’t even retreat into the illusion that I was wearing clothes. I could feel the cold wood boards beneath my bare feet and the chill of the air against my skin. The heat of my blush had faded. The only warmth left in me was my anguish—and it burned.

It smoldered in my chest, growing hotter with each step, charring my arteries as the blood pulsed through them. I could feel the course of the agony. It was nearing my hands.

I took a deep breath, and let the sound of the jeers, the calls, and the laughter fall around my deadened ears. It was only noise. Nothing but noise. I fixed my eyes on the window at the far end of the hall. It was too dark outside to see anything except a navy-tinted reflection of myself, growing larger and clearer as I advanced: a woman with her head held high.

I held it even higher.

The pain of all the shame and isolation cooled.

I could hide that, at least.