“Which is?” I asked, looking back at the board as I smoothed out the hem of my skirt.

“You.”

My lips trembled as the word left his mouth. “I’m not a specimen.”

“I just want to know you.”

I turned to him, wanting to ask him a million questions. I settled for one. “But I can’t know anything about you?”

Dante leaned back in his chair. “My favorite author is Dante, obviously,” he said, his tone mocking me. “Though I’m also partial to the Russians. I’m very fond of music. All kinds, really, though I especially enjoy Mussorgsky and Stravinsky or anything involving a violin. They’re a bit dark, no? I used to like opera, but I’ve mostly grown out of it. I have a low tolerance for hot climates. I’ve never enjoyed dessert, though I once loved cherries. My favorite color is red. I often take long walks in the woods to clear my head. As a result, I have a unique knowledge of the flora and fauna of North America. And,” he said, his eyes burning through me as I pretended to focus on our lab, “I remember everything everyone has ever told me. I consider it a special talent.”

Overwhelmed by the sudden influx of information, I sat there gaping, unsure of how to respond.

Dante frowned. “Did I leave something out?”

I thought about Benjamin, about my parents. This was my opportunity. “What about your friends?” I asked gently.

“I thought it was already decided that I didn’t have any.”

“And I thought it was already decided that there was more to you than you let on.”

Dante gave me a pensive look. “Maybe I did have friends once.”

“What happened?”

“They turned out to be different people than I thought they were.”

“What do you mean different?”

“Capable of doing things I never thought they would do.”

What was he talking about? “Like what?”

“Anything,” he said. “That’s the point.”

“Does it...does it have anything to do with Benjamin Gallow?”

Dante stared at me, his eyes almost threatening. “Benjamin Gallow?” he said softly, so that only I could hear. “What do you know about Benjamin Gallow?”

“Nothing,” I said quietly. “Just that he was dating your friend. And that he died. And that you found him.”

“So that’s why you wanted to talk to me. You wanted to gossip about a boy’s death.”

“No! I didn’t mean to—I just—I don’t think he died of a heart attack.”

Dante began to respond, but held back, taking me in. “What do you think he died of, then?”

“I was hoping you’d know.”

“And why are you so interested? So you can talk about it with your friends?”

His words hit me in the face like a slap. “My parents died three weeks ago. I was the one who found them. They both died of heart attacks. At the same time. In the woods. Just like Benjamin.”

I could feel his eyes on me as I turned away from him and faced the board.

He didn’t say anything for a long time. Finally he said stiffly, “I can’t help you.”

“Does that mean I’m right?”

Dante lowered his voice. “Maybe you’re right,” he said, almost mocking me. “Maybe it wasn’t a heart attack. Maybe it was an attack of the heart.”

It took me until Saturday to tell Eleanor about my suspicions about the connection between Benjamin’s death and my parents. She thought I was losing it.

“You’re losing it,” she said, looking at me in the mirror while she did her hair. It was the start of the weekend and she was helping the Humanities department hold auditions for the school play.

I didn’t respond.

“And aren’t those the same things anyway? A heart attack and an attack of the heart?”

“Who knows. He was just making fun of me.”

“What did you say after that?”

“Nothing. The bell rang. And then he was gone.”

“Maybe he’s losing it.” She pinned her hair back with a clip. “See, you’re perfect for each other.”

I rolled my eyes. “It means he’d rather torture me with teasing than actually answer my questions.”

“It means you’re reading too much into it,” she said, grabbing her bag. “Okay, I’ve gotta go.”

Eleanor would be busy all day, so we agreed to meet for dinner in the dining hall.

“I would say you should try out,” she said, “but only boys are allowed to act in plays. School policy.”

I frowned. “Why?”

“Apparently Shakespeare did it.”

“Isn’t that illegal or something. Like sexist?” Even if it wasn’t illegal, it was wrong.

Eleanor shrugged. “It’s a private school. They can do whatever they want.”

I normally would have been angry at such a ridiculous policy, though this one didn’t seem much worse than Gottfried’s other rules. But I was relieved to finally have time to myself. Or at least that’s what I thought. I had so much homework that I spent virtually the entire day in my room, huddled over my books, leaving only for dinner. But Eleanor never showed up. I waited outside the Megaron, drawing circles in the dirt with my shoe as everyone but her filtered in. Finally I gave up and went inside by myself. Thankfully, I spotted Nathaniel sitting alone in a corner, surrounded by papers and glasses of milk. He was even more stressed about his homework than I was, and together we ate a quick meal before going back to the dorms.

When I got to my room, Eleanor still wasn’t there. Maybe she was with the production crew. Alone at my desk, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I tried to write my philosophy essay, but as I stared at the words I had written on the page, the letters blurred, rearranging themselves into shadowy silhouettes of my parents. And when I was able to push them out of my mind, they were only replaced with Annie, Dante, and a perturbing amalgam of Wes and Brett.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. It seemed that every time I looked at it, another hour had passed and I still hadn’t gotten anything done. I needed to clear my head, but with Eleanor gone, I didn’t have anyone to talk to. I could go next door and see if her friends were there, but the only thing we seemed to have in common was Eleanor. I checked the clock again. If it was eight o’clock here, then it would be five o’clock in California. I picked up the phone and called Annie, but no one answered. Slamming the phone down into the receiver harder than I had intended, I paced around the room. It was messy and cluttered with clothes. I picked them up and shoved them into my dresser, and continued cleaning until I found my way under the bed to get a sweater out of my suitcase. Dust bunnies were everywhere, and thin wisps of spiderwebs fluttered down from the bed frame. Yet as I reached for my suitcase, my hand was met with something soft. I pulled it back to find a collection of dead moths dangling in a dusty knot. I gasped and shook my hand, wiping it on the carpet until the moths were stuck to the floor. I grimaced at them. I had to get out of this room. Without thinking, I shoved my books into my bag and slipped out the door.