"It's about Jocelyn."

"Oh, really?"

I nod.

"That's great, because I just got an email from her, and she's loving life there. Happy?"

"No."

"Yes," Poe says in a way that feels like someone punching me in the gut. "She said you keep sending emails and texts and that you can't get the point."

I look around us and wonder if this is real, if what she's saying is real, if the ground I'm standing on is real.

"Poe."

"Yes, Chris?"

She says my name the way she might say fungus.

For the first time I notice how pretty Poe is, those blue eyes standing out in the white and black picture that is her. I don't understand why she wants to hide it. The dark dress with long sleeves and the thing around her neck-I don't even know what that is. The strange high-heeled shoes. The spiky, multi-colored short hair.

I don't understand why she has to act so ugly when I just want to help.

"Look, all I want to do-"

But as I go to finish my sentence-each word collapsing like chunks of a concrete bridge during an earthquake-Poe nods and mocks me with a just finish it already glance.

I stop midsentence. Probably looking red-faced, humbled, and pretty stupid.

"Don't," Poe says.

"Don't what?"

"Don't anything."

Then she walks away.

The Poe-and-me-versus-the-world story line isn't going to happen the way I might have imagined.

I reach my locker and wonder how I can fit my entire body into it. I open it up and see a photo slip out.

What now?

I pick up the picture, annoyed that someone or maybe everyone has the combination to my locker.

It could've been slipped in through the holes, Chris.

I look at the picture of a smiling guy.

He has messy hair that seems lit up and lighter because of the sun. He's laughing, with one hand rubbing the back of his head in a nervous sort of way.

I study the picture because it shocks me.

Not because the guy looks so carefree and happy.

But because the guy is me.

"Hi," says the mouse on my right.

It's not really a mouse, but the way the blond talks, sometimes it seems like she's auditioning to play the part. Everybody in the art room goes to the same place to paint their masterpiece. Somehow Kelsey has managed to be right next to me, always standing on my right. She always says hi first, usually about five or ten minutes into the class, as if she has to build up the courage first.

"Hey," I say, not really interested in talking.

She's a girl, and she might look harmless now, but I know. Those glasses and that round little face and the braces may make her look sweet and innocent, but I know. She's a girl, and I'm watching myself around her.

"I saw you talking with that girl."

"What?"

"I don't know her name. But I know you're friends with her."

"Poe."

"That's her name?"

I nod. "Not sure if she'd call me a friend."

"Why?"

"Maybe you can ask her that. Haven't quite figured that out."

She keeps working. Her painting is symmetrical and logical and very bright. Mine is like an ugly face plastered in mud and smeared over the high school hall.

"What's that supposed to be?" I ask her, changing the subject, wanting to change the mood.

This usually happens, where she'll break ice that doesn't really need breaking and then we'll go on to chat and I'll do 75 percent of the talking. I'll leave the class wondering what all I was talking about and why I was talking so much. I guess art class makes me realize just how badly I need to talk to someone. Even Minnie Mouse here.

Kelsey describes the porch on the back of her grandparents' house, and I see her painting with new appreciation.

"What about yours?"

"This is what I first thought and felt when I walked the hallways of Harrington."

She laughs in this cute way that makes me want to keep joking around. So I do. Saying nothing really; she's just being polite, and she's easy to make laugh. But laughter never gets old to listen to. Ever. And someone smiling at you never gets old either.

It's a nice break. It's nice not to be glared at. It's nice not to be ignored.

It's nice to just have something ...

Normal.

"Do you live in Solitary?"

"Lowden, technically," she says.

Maybe not having a technical address is a good thing.

"Do you think you're going to be here next year?" Kelsey asks.

"I really hope so. I mean, I don't know what I'd do at a school where people actually like me."

"It's not all that bad."

I give her a really?? expression, and she laughs. Maybe she's not laughing with me but more at me and my expressions.

"It's not bad all the time," she says.

"Yeah, right."

"People can't help where they're from."

She says this in a slightly defensive manner, and when I glance at her she's looking at her painting.

"I know that," I say. "Really. It's just this place, that's all."

Kelsey nods, but I think I pushed it a little too far.

The joking stops and my attempts at conversation stall, and I leave the class feeling like the dork I felt like when I walked in.

Like I said, girls.

I mean, come on.

What is their deal?

26. The Prisoner.

I'm in the restroom when I see Gus and his boys walk in. I think it's the same one that we were in when they cornered me in the stall and forced me to go militant all over them.

"Relax," Gus says. "You look like you're auditioning for the next Karate Kid movie."

"What do you want?"

Gus looks back at Oli and the two other clowns he's with, then comes and stands next to me at the sinks. He washes his hands and watches me.

"So we're all cool, right?" he asks. "After that nice little chat with my pop?"

I nod. Oli is looking at me but giving away nothing.

It seems like Gus is biding his time. He moves and checks down the line of stalls, then nods to the guys. Oli goes and stands by the door. Burt goes over to make sure I don't hide in a stall while Riley stands close to Oli.

Gus looks at me, laughs, then darts in my direction and grips the top of my T-shirt with his hand, bringing me forward and off my feet. He pulls me down, and in one motion I crash against the floor and then feel him pulling me back up.

Something's in his hand it's a knife.

Then something pricks at my temple.

It's not a knife but the edge of a very sharp pencil that digs into my skin.

He presses hard as he moves his head to my ear. "Now you listen and you listen good. We're not finished, you and I. And just because my pop said that everything's fine and dandy doesn't mean it's fine and dandy."

I yell as he digs the pencil in further.

"I could take this and put it in your eye just for starters. And don't think I won't. I will."

My eyes are closed, and I'm wondering what's next.

I hear someone else speak, but Gus curses over the voice. "When the time comes, when nobody is looking, I'm going to be there."

"What do you want from me?"

"I don't want anything. Not a thing. I just want to watch you bleed."

I howl as he thrusts the pencil deeper, then lets it go.

"You tell anybody about this and it will just get worse for you. But I don't want you walking around thinking you're safe."

He lets go, and I grab the side of my face and hold it.

He leans over me. "I don't care what your last name is or what you may or may not do. When this-all of this-is over with, you're mine."

He spits in my face, and I feel it splatter on my forehead, nose, and cheeks. I wipe it and watch Gus walk out, followed by the boys in boots and jeans and then Oli.

I look down at my hand, which is covered in blood and spit. Then I glance at the doorway.

Oli is still there. He looks like he's about to say something, then he leaves.

The dark prick on the side of my head is bleeding. I wash it with warm water that doesn't really stop the bleeding; it only makes the pain worse.

I glance briefly at myself in the mirror, my hair a bit wet, my face a bit red, the piece of tissue on my puncture.

Chris.