Charles continued burbling about procedures and feelings. Stevie shoved another square of melon in her mouth and chewed it slowly. Her mind decided this was nowhere to be and took a little trip back to anatomy class. Dis means apart. So many dis words. Discover. Dismember. Distance.

All of it applied to her life.

Charles relinquished the chair. Order was returned, and the cafeteria began buzzing gently again, everyone conferring about what they had just heard.

“So is the school going to shut down or something?” Nate finally asked.

“We hope not.” This was from Jenny Quinn, who had approached their table. Though she had seen Dr. Quinn many times, or overheard her several, Stevie had never really been part of any face-to-face discussion with her. Dr. Quinn was one of Ellingham’s most formidable academics. She was on more committees and was a member of more institutes than she had fingers and toes. Think tanks courted her. Harvard still missed her and was waiting for her to call. She was second in command to Charles, which seemed unlikely, until you remembered that Charles was a guy. Even at Ellingham, the patriarchy reared its shaggy head. She was also the first person Stevie had ever seen who was clearly wearing fashion. Not just things that were cool. Things that had been on runways.

“Nathaniel,” she said. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

Nate visibly gulped.

“Fine?”

Jenny’s eyes were still tracking, going from face to face. She glanced at Nate, glided over Janelle and Vi, paused a beat when she caught Stevie’s glance, and then landed on David. David got a hard, long look before she looped back around to Nate.

“If this causes problems with your book . . .” she said. “Just come to me.”

She did the track of the table again. Whatever Jenny Quinn had come over here for, it was not to see how Nate was doing in the worlds of feelings or dragons. She had some other agenda she had decided not to share, and that agenda had something to do with David, who was now looking down at his plate and stabbing at his food.

“I have a question,” Janelle said. “I need a job. I need to do something. What can we do?”

A look that could have been approval spread over Jenny’s features.

“I think a strong, positive message from the students would go a long way,” Jenny said. “If there is press, and there will be, then the students should be part of the message. Ellingham is an institution, and we have been here for many years and we will be here for many years to come, hopefully. In fact, we are likely about to expand, maybe even double in size. So perhaps you want to organize the students? Make yourselves heard. You can work with me to develop a message and work with our media team.”

“I can do that,” Janelle said. “I can do that.”

“Definitely,” Vi said. “I’ve worked on messaging with all kinds of campaigns.”

“Good,” Jenny said. Then she made her exit. Janelle and Vi huddled at once to start discussing this. David picked up his tray and walked to the door, dumping the tray in the busing bin as he left.

“So,” Nate said, turning to Stevie and speaking in a low voice. “Are you going to tell me what the fuck has been going on?”

18

“SO WAIT,” NATE SAID, WALKING UP AND DOWN. “DAVID EASTMAN IS Edward King’s son.”

“Don’t tell anyone that,” Stevie said.

She was sitting on the stack of yoga mats in the gloom of the rainy midmorning. Nate was one of those people who couldn’t quite sit still or look at you if the conversation went on too long, so he had been traversing the room, half lifting himself on the barre, tracing his finger along the edge where the mirrors met on the wall. He was doing everything to keep from standing still.

“You’re here because of Edward King. And your job is to make sure David is stable?”

“Basically,” Stevie said.

“Is this normal?”

“How am I supposed to know what normal is?” Stevie said, pulling at a loose thread in the cuff of her hoodie.

“But you told David,” Nate said. “That his father is why you’re here.”

Stevie had given Nate the overview on this, but not the bloody details about the crying and how she ran away.

“Except that Edward King didn’t seem to know that when he called me this morning,” Stevie said.

“He called you this morning?”

Stevie had not gotten that far in the story. It was a lot of story.

“Jesus Christ,” Nate said, banging his head delicately against the mirror wall. “Is this even a school, or are we in some kind of experiment?”

Stevie shook her head.

“So what happens now?” Nate said.

“I don’t know.”

“If David tells his dad, you could be gone, whenever? How?”

“I guess he talks to my parents or something,” she said. “They listen to him. He has influence and . . . planes. He can do pretty much anything.”

“Jesus. Jesus, Stevie.”

“You wanted to know,” she said.

“Does Janelle know?”

“No. I couldn’t tell anyone.”

“Are you going to tell her?”

“Probably. She already hates David.” Stevie rubbed her temples. “Look, I have to do something. There’s one more thing I have.”

She unzipped her bag and removed the tin and set it on the floor.

“What’s that?” he said. “Are snakes going to come out of it?”

“It’s proof,” she said, “that the person who wrote the Truly Devious letter wasn’t the person who kidnapped the Ellinghams. I found it in Ellie’s room.”

Nate tipped back his head and laughed. She had never heard him laugh like this before. It was deep and bounced all around the mirrors and the floor.

“Now you are shitting me,” he said. “You’re in some secret deal with a senator, who is David’s dad, two people are dead, and you have proof about the Ellingham case.”

“This is why my anatomy grades are bad,” Stevie explained.

“You can’t be a real person.”

“Whatever happens to me here, this case has to get solved. If they take me away, I need you to help me.”

Nate pinched his nose and paced from one side of the room to the other.

“Okay,” he finally said. “Okay. Yes. Okay. Sure. Let’s solve the crime of the century. Why the fuck not?”

Stevie’s phone rang, and she pulled it from her pocket. The number was unknown.

“Oh God,” she said. “I think it’s him.”

“Who?”

“Edward King,” she said. The phone continued to ring. Stevie considered throwing it at the wall, then decided that it would be better to answer than be kept wondering forever.

But it was not Edward King. It was Larry.

“There’s someone here to see you.”

“Someone here?” she said.

Nate raised an eyebrow.

The first rule of Ellingham Academy was that no one was allowed at Ellingham Academy except the students and faculty. Even parents could only come at appointed times. The road could not withstand heavy traffic, and the school was big on fostering a creative spirit of learning, which meant no randos. Visitors were rare and had recently been only of the police variety.

So, her parents. They had come. It was over. She felt herself sag into the yoga mats.

“Dr. Fenton,” Larry said. “She’s waiting at the Great House for you.”

When Stevie arrived at the Great House, Fenton was there, leaning on the security desk, deep in conversation with Call Me Charles. And she had not come alone. Hunter sat in a chair by the door, looking like he wished he could sink into the floor. He was wearing some old jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, and had the general air of someone who had been dragged along on someone else’s date.

“. . . it’s a real work of scholarship,” she was saying. “It far surpasses the original.”

“I’ll have to be sure to read it,” Charles said. For once, Captain Enthusiasm looked like he had been bested by someone much more exhausting than himself. He shifted uncomfortably and looked at his watch.

“Stevie,” he said as she approached. “Dr. Fenton has come up to—”

“I just wanted to check on some of these references,” Fenton interrupted, holding up the pad. “It looks like I may have come on a bad day.”

“Yes . . .” Charles said. “I think what would be best is if you came to my office and we’ll look at the schedule. We’ll be a few minutes.”

“Is there any chance my nephew could have a look around? He’s always wanted to see the place.”

Hunter continued drilling into the floor with his mind.

“I . . . think that would be all right,” Charles said, not sounding at all like this was all right. “Stevie, maybe you could take Hunter on a brief . . .”

He didn’t linger on the word, but the point was made.

“. . . tour of the campus. Dr. Fenton, if you could come with me . . .”

As they stepped outside, Hunter sighed loudly. The rain had given up a little bit, leaving the day gray and soggy, but good enough to walk in.

“Sorry,” he immediately said, “she made me come. I know we’re not supposed to be here. She knows it too. I’m really sorry. You don’t have to give me a tour. I can wait in the car.”

“No,” Stevie said. “It’s fine. Today is . . .”

“Bad,” he said. “I know.”

“You know?”