For instance, on the grounds one day, two guys started laughing when a girl—not the Evernight type—dropped her backpack, then half stumbled over it. Lucas, strolling right behind them, said, “That’s ironic.”

“What?” Erich was one of the guys laughing. “That this school lets in total losers now?” The girl who had dropped her bag blushed.

“Even if that were true, it wouldn’t be irony,” Lucas pointed out. “Irony is the contrast between what’s said and what happens.”

Erich made a face. “What are you talking about?”

“You laughed at her for stumbling right before you fell flat on your face.”

I couldn’t see exactly how Lucas tripped Erich, but I knew that he’d done it even before Erich went sprawling into the grass. A few people laughed, but most of Courtney’s friends glared at Lucas, like he’d done something wrong by standing up for that girl.

“See, that’s irony,” Lucas said as kept walking.

If I’d had the chance, I would’ve told Lucas that I thought he’d done the right thing, and I wouldn’t have cared if Erich and Courtney and those guys were watching. I didn’t get the chance, though. Lucas moved past me as if I’d become invisible.

Erich hated Lucas. Courtney hated Lucas. Patrice hated Lucas. So far as I could tell, virtually everyone at Evernight Academy hated Lucas, except the goofy surfer-type guy I’d noticed on the first day—and me. Okay, Lucas was kind of a troublemaker, but I thought he was brave and honest, which were qualities more people at the school could stand to share.

Apparently, though, I would have to admire Lucas from a distance. For now, I was still alone.

“Aren’t you ready yet?” Patrice crouched upon our windowsill. The night outlined her slender body, graceful even as she prepared to make the leap to the nearest tree branch. “The monitors will be back soon.”

Evernight was policed by hall monitors every night. My parents were the only teachers I hadn’t yet seen lurking in a hallway, waiting to pounce upon any rule breakers. This was good reason to get out while we could, but I kept trying to fix my appearance in the mirror.

“Fix” was the operative word. Patrice looked effortlessly chic in slim slacks and a pale pink sweater that made her skin glow. Me, on the other hand—I was trying to make jeans and a black T-shirt look good. Without much success, I might add.

“Bianca, come on.” Patrice’s patience had run out. “I’m going now. Come with me or don’t.”

“I’m coming.” What did it matter how I looked, anyway? I was only going to this party because I hadn’t had the guts to refuse.

Patrice leaped to the tree branch, then to the ground, her landing as controlled as a gymnast descending from the uneven parallel bars. I managed to follow her, bark scraping my palms. The fear of discovery made me acutely aware of the noises around us: laughter from somebody’s room inside, the first fall leaves rustling on the ground, the hooting of another owl on the hunt.

The night air was cool enough to make me shiver as we ran across the grounds into the woods. Patrice could get through the underbrush without making a sound, a talent I envied. Maybe someday I’d be that coordinated, but it was hard to imagine.

At last we saw the firelight. They’d built a bonfire by the edge of the lake, small enough to avoid attracting attention but big enough to give warmth and cast eerie, flickering light. The students were huddled together, here or there, leaning in to talk in whispers or laugh. I wondered if this was the laughter I’d heard the night of the picnic. Superficially, they looked like any other group of teenagers, hanging out—but there was an energy in the air that heightened my senses, added tension to everyone’s movements and cruelty to most of the smiles. I remembered what I’d thought when I’d met Lucas in the woods during our frightening first encounter; sometimes, when you looked at certain people, you could glimpse something a little bit wild beneath the surface. I felt that wildness here.

Music from somebody’s radio played, trancelike and smooth. I didn’t know the singer; the lyrics weren’t in English. Patrice seemed to vanish into a circle of her friends right away, which left me standing alone, wondering what to do with my hands.

Pockets? No, that looks stupid. Hands on hips? What, like I’m angry about something? No. Okay, even thinking about this is lame.

“Hello there,” Balthazar said. I hadn’t seen him coming up behind me. He wore a black suede blazer and held a bottle in one hand. The firelight painted his face in warm light; he had curly hair, a strong jaw, and a heavy brow. He looked like a tough guy, a bruiser, somebody who would be quicker with a punch than a joke. But his eyes made him approachable and even sexy, because there was intelligence there and humor, too. There was no cruelty in his smile. “Want a beer? There’s still some left.”

“That’s okay.” He had to know I was blushing, even in the dark. “I’m, uh, not legal.”

Not legal? Like anyone here cared about that. I should’ve just painted GEEK on my forehead and saved everybody time.

Balthazar smiled, but not like he was laughing at me. “You know, children used to drink wine at the dinner table with their parents. And doctors used to advise women whose babies didn’t nurse well to feed them a little beer as extra food.”

“That was then, this is now.”

“Fair enough.” He didn’t press me, and I realized that he wasn’t drunk in the slightest. I began to relax. Balthazar had a way of putting people at ease, despite his size and his obvious strength. “I’ve been meaning to say hello to you since the first day.”