Alastair had survived the first week in Arts, barely. Cowdrey was sharp and highly Conscious, and he knew that she would detect his intoxication. But he didn't want to skip that class. It didn't feel right to cut Cowdrey's class. So he went, but he kept his head down as scribbled and scrabbled pages of his Amp-induced madness darkly across the pages. Perhaps she was too busy with the new fifth graders, or perhaps she just left him alone because she trusted him. Either way, it was starting to bother Alastair that no one saw how completely lost he was. Whitley had just let him skate for being late and missing government. Cowdrey hardly even spoke to him. It's not that he wanted someone to stop him, or catch him, or bust him. He didn't want to be in trouble. But he did want to feel like he actually mattered. That he existed. That he was not invisible. But no one noticed him sinking.

Until someone did. As he was heading into arts the next Monday, Rose was heading out. She smiled as she tried to catch his eye, but he turned away, shaking his head. At the door, he cut sharply to the right and descended the stairs instead of continuing into class. So much for not cutting. At the first floor, he flopped into a large leather chair in the boys' dorm lounge, tilting his head back and closing his eyes.

The faint click of the door closing jolted him upright. Rose was across the room in two long strides, reaching her hands toward him.

He flinched away, hiding behind the chair. "Don't touch me!" He didn't want her to heal him, to steal his precious Amp, if she even could. She stepped closer anyway, wrapping her arms around his neck and resting her head on his shoulder. He was surprised to see how tall she was, relieved she didn't take his intoxication, comforted by her embrace. Without really meaning to, he relaxed against her and allowed the contact, resting his cheek against her hair and folding his arms around her back. When they finally pulled apart, he frowned, "You're not supposed to be in here."

Do you want to go somewhere and talk? She wrote daintily in the small notebook she always carried.

He intended to say no, but his voice, like his body, had a mind of its own. "Yeah," he croaked. She slipped her soft, warm hand into his, and he led her to the auditorium. They sat on the edge of the stage, looking out at the sea of empty seats.

Are you okay?

He remembered Bennett's funeral, his mother's stubborn silence, his grandfather's watch, and the summer's sweat-soaked thieving. "Not really," he answered. Alastair took a deep breath and decided how much to share. In the end, he told her about the strain between him and his mom. "I've tried my whole life to be perfect. And I've failed. Completely," he shook his head as he finished.

Rose wished so desperately she could speak to him, to tell him how much he had helped her. How he hadn't failed her. She noticed his spindly fingers, like an insect's legs, rubbing together nervously, a trickle of charcoal mist escaping. Alastair was not okay, and she needed him to be okay. Her face flushed, frustrated that her words had become stuck in her throat again. She rested her hand on his knee.

Of course you failed. Nobody's perfect. She prodded the pen to move with Object Manipulation, leaving her hand on his leg.

"But I have to be."

No, you don't. What would be the point of life if you were perfect?

"So perfect people should just kill themselves or something?"

She shook her head. There are no perfect people. Life is about making mistakes, learning from them. Growing. We can't be perfect but we can do better. We can be better.

The bell rang to end last period, and Alastair stood and walked away without a word. Or even a glance back. He was in trouble, she was sure of it. But he didn't seem to want her help. She considered alerting the dean, but that felt like a betrayal, and he had kept her secrets last year. She decided to keep quiet, and now she would have to figure out how to avoid getting in trouble for ditching Grant's class.

But Grant was on top of his game the next day, giving Rose hell for cutting class as soon as she walked into Incantations that morning. "And where were you yesterday afternoon, Ms. Regitano?"

Rose shrugged in response, as she dropped her bag on her desk.

His face began to shake, that crazy angry red-faced trembling Rose saw so many times last year when he kept trying to get her to speak.

"Unacceptable. You have detention today, and you cannot make up yesterday's work."

She shrugged again, just wanting it to be over. But he was far from finished with her. As they broke up in pairs, he again singled her out to partner with him.

"With me, Regitano," he snapped.

Last year, Cain always seemed to appreciate the fact that she did all the same incantations as her classmates without ever uttering a word. But not Grant. No, Grant was hellbent on making her talk just like he had been last year. They were still practicing levitation, which Rose felt she had mastered last year. Last week, it was a book. Today, a pale blue glass orb hovered in the air between them.

He shook his head in annoyance, snatching the orb out of the air and setting it on the desk. "No." He stepped forward and gently moved her fingers into a slightly different position. "Again."

Rose made the orb float into the air easily. This was easy. She didn't understand Grant's problem. She had levitated the stupid ball a dozen times already, perfectly.

"You need to say the incantation! How many times will we have to go through this?" The whole class stopped and watched them as he grabbed the ball of glass out of the air again. "Do it again," he snapped, his face shaking with anger.

Rose was struggling to contain her own anger. She levitated the damn stupid thing.

"No, no, no!" he shouted. "Ms. Regitano, are you doing it wrong on purpose just to annoy me?"

Rose lost Control of her emotions, and the orb fell to the ground, shattering with an angry pop. She was sick of him hounding her, never appreciating what she did right.

"Out!"

Rose stomped out into the hall, breathing heavily in frustration. She would still have to see this jerk in two more classes today. After collecting her breath and composure, Rose went down to the dean's office. The secretary told her to wait because Whitley was teaching history that period. In the passing period, the dean arrived looking worn out and irritated.

"Rose, do you have anything to say for yourself?" Such a stupid question.

She shook her head, trying to hide the anger still bubbling under the surface.

"Hmmm. All right, well Mr. Grant has assigned you kitchen duty. You are to report to the kitchen whenever you have his class for the rest of this week."

This was surely not her punishment. This was a vacation. This was a gift. She couldn't stop the smile from spreading as she walked alongside Whitley to her next class.

Rose spent the next three days scrubbing pots without magic, and she loved every second of it.

««•»»

Alastair was hesitant to see his mother for Parents' day because he worried she would see how far gone he was. Plus, he had missed quite a few classes, Amping, and he was nervous that the teachers would rat on him. But at the same time, he desperately wanted to see her. Needed to see her. Even though he left her just a few weeks ago, they had hardly seen one another all summer. She worked too much; he Amped too much. They had never fully resolved their issues from the year before, and Alastair realized how much he missed her. She was all he had, really.

He watched the crowds from a distance, staying behind the door of the boys' first floor lounge. Sarah was there, with her parents. God, she was so beautiful. Perfect in every way. Except one, and he was headed for her now. Mason Warner draped his arm over her shoulder as he shook hands with Sarah's father.

His iPod binged at him. "Can't make it to parents day. Working."

"Ok, don't worry about it," he typed quickly back, his heart twisting with longing.

Wait. What? He blinked, willing the view in front of him to be a joke. Mason was down on his knee in front of Sarah, who had her hands over her mouth. No!

Bing. "Whitley says you're doing well." Rather than revealing his poor performance, Whitley overlooked it, and again Alastair was half relieved, half annoyed that everyone was giving him a pass. Bing. "I love you, Al. I'm proud of you."

Alastair knew words could slice you like a paper cut, nagging and stinging your mind. But those are usually insults and criticisms. He had never felt so hurt by something so good. She was proud of him, but he was a lie. He wanted to cry.

Alastair hadn't cried--really cried--since he lost Sarah the first time. He had locked himself in the same backstage dressing room he used this year and wept. It had been cathartic, letting all of those emotions out. Now, his chin wobbled as he turned away from the sight of Mason and Sarah entwined in a joyful embrace. He bit his lip, and wrapped his fingers around the small vial in his pocket, wandering off to find somewhere he could waste the day away.

««•»»

Rose hid away in the empty Arts room at the start of parents day, hoping to have some time alone to play. She lost herself in the instruments, reveling in the feeling of the smooth wood and taut strings. It had been too long, and she missed this so much.

"No, it's okay, I promise," laughed a familiar voice as the door opened, a couple of hours later.

"What if someone finds out?" the girl's voice hissed.

The jerk who picked on Alastair last year stepped into Rose's view. "Baby, they won't. Come on," he tugged at her belt loop, leading her toward the back storage room.

Sarah giggled. Alastair's Sarah. Alastair's wished-she-was-his, Sarah. Rose couldn't help but feel a little jealous when she remembered the way he stared at her.

Mason and Sarah had their backs turned as they hid away, so Rose snuck out to the hallway. She chided herself, Are you really jealous? It's not like Rose and Alastair were an item. But Rose thought that Alastair was the sort of guy she would want to like her. She thought Sarah was lucky. That was really it. Sarah was lucky to have the love of someone like him, even if she didn't return that love. And Alastair was so lost right now.

"Hey, Cali," Tommy grasped Rose's wrist, pulling her from her thoughts as he walked past. "Wanna come play?"

Rose smiled at the thought of Tommy's pounding percussion interrupting Sarah and Mason. "Maybe later," she said.

"Your parents coming?"

Rose widened her eyes, her voice slipping away again. She shook her head.

"Hey," he smoothed his thumb across her knuckles, his voice almost a whisper. "You wanna talk about it?"

"No," she snapped, irritated suddenly.

"Whoa, relax, Cali."

She shook her head again, this time sweeping the memories of her long-dead parents back into the hole where she kept them buried. "Sorry. No, I don't want to talk, and I don't want to play."

"Why not?" He still held her hand in his, the rough skin of his fingertips scratching at hers, soothing her boiling blood. How did he always manage to calm her down?

"I don't want to remember. I don't want to feel--well, anything." He inhaled quickly as if surprised by her answer. She was totally surprised by her answer, by her honesty. "I prefer to be numb."

"You can't go through life numb, Cali." He moved his other hand up to her cheek, brushing away tears she didn't realize had come. "If you never feel anything--you... You have to feel pain to appreciate happiness. To know love." His hazel green eyes were boring into hers so intensely, and her heart started to pound in her ears.

She shrugged, pulling away, needing to break the contact.

"All right, all right," Tommy acquiesced, releasing her hand with a squeeze and a grin that didn't reach his eyes.

Rose turned and pushed through the door to the stairs, heading for the library. As she exited on the ground floor, a sharp voice stopped her.

"Straighten your sweater," snapped a woman's voice. "For crying out loud, Porsche, you look a mess. You're spilling over your skirt. What have you been eating?"

Rose peeked around the corner and saw Porsche Warner, the girl who had taunted her all last year, and an older woman Rose assumed was her mother. Porsche shrugged and slumped as her mother fussed with her clothes.

The woman rested her hand on Porsche's face. "You would be so beautiful if you just lost the weight." Wow. Rose raised her eyebrows as she sucked in a breath. Porsche was gorgeous now, but her mother couldn't see it. Maybe because Porsche was so ugly on the inside. Or maybe, Rose considered, Porsche was such an awful person because her mother berated her. The book in Rose's hands slipped from her grasp and clattered to the floor. As she levitated it back up--perfectly she would add if Grant were around--Rose caught the angry glare Porsche was sending her way. She was busted, and there was no way Porsche would let this slide. Rose hurried past them into the library.

Rose hugged Ellie goodnight that night, as had become their custom. The other girls in their dorm were part of Porsche's clique, and they usually either mocked or ignored Rose and Ellie. Tonight it seemed they had gone for option one, giggling and staring as they spoke in hushed voices. Rose rolled her eyes as the lights cut out. She would have read for awhile, but really, she was exhausted. The pressure from Grant, the draining energy of the little kids in arts, Porsche. It was too much. She rolled over and, as she always did, begged her unconscious mind to let her sleep free of dreams.

And she did. Her sleep was heavy and droolly, an unpleasant wet puddle collected next to her chin. Gross. But as her mind cleared the fog of sleep, she froze. Something was wrong. She turned just a fraction to see a shadow standing between the partially open door and the foot of her bed. It didn't move. It didn't speak. Rose's heart began to pound. They're back, she thought.

She swatted her hand on Ellie in the next bed, who mumbled as she rolled over. Then screamed. That ear-bleeding scream.

The form darted from the room as the lights came on. Rose saw only a dark sweatshirt. Ms. Steele, the pretty young math teacher, ran into the room.

"What is it? What's happenend?"

"Someone was in here." Ellie was breathless from screaming.

"Who?"

Ellie shook her head and looked at Rose, who shrugged.

The girls on the other side of the room rolled their eyes. "They're probably just overreacting," Kaitlyn said. "Freaks," she added under her breath. How did Steele not hear that?

"Hm. Probably. I'll stay in the common room tonight, okay?"

Ellie nodded, wide-eyed, and Rose shrugged again. Her thoughts were preoccupied. Who was that? Gray eyes? Porsche?

All signs seemed to point to the latter, as Porsche had clearly not forgiven Rose's unintended eavesdropping. Whenever they had class together the next few days, Porsche would find some way to harass her. Once, she dumped Rose's bag on the floor, supposedly an accident. Yet somehow every item in it was spilled. Rose's food tray kept tipping out of her hands in the dining hall. Her clothes kept ending up in a pile on her floor. And in an outright obvious attack, Porsche walked into Rose, elbows out. The bruise on her ribs had finally just faded when Porsche struck next, but Rose had no way of seeing this one coming.

««•»»

Alastair was out of Amp. His first thought was to call Keira, but no one answered. He messaged Cesar. Nothing. He felt the heavy drag of gravity upon his body as the lift of his last dose of Amplification faded away. Sweat dripped from his forehead and his hands and arms began to shake--it was almost like an itch deep down in his shoulders, between the tissue and bone, that he would never be able to scratch. He had to get more. Now. He didn't even remember Parents Day ending or the new school week starting, he was so lost in the haze of Amping and the burn of that need for more.

He took the elevator up to five and tried to stroll casually past Jackson's old classroom, which appeared to be empty. In his sad attempt at stealth, Alastair slid sideways through the partially open door. There was a rustling sound from the back of the room, and he looked up, afraid Cain had been in there all along and saw how stupidly he had entered. But he was alone. It was just a large colorful bird in a cage. Jackson rarely had the animals out of their habitats in the familiars lab, so he was surprised to see it here.

"Hi, Alastair." He jumped at the words. "Did I startle you? What do you need?" Cain asked, resting his hand on Alastair's shoulder.

"I thought I might have left my notebook in here the other day," such a lame lie. He didn't even have Cain. He quickly tried to distract him, "What's with the bird?"

"Oh, he's new, so I've been keeping him close until he gets used to the place. His name's Jack," Cain replied. "Go ahead and look for your notebook."

Alastair made a show of searching for a notebook that didn't exist, all the while wishing he had waited to do this. He had just jumped in without a plan, needing to get his hands on some Amp and give his nerves a rest, and now he was even more on edge. He couldn't help but be suspicious and creeped out by Cain and "Jack." Was that some strange reference to Mr. Jackson? Was Cain showing some allegiance to the dark and discredited teacher? Whatever the case, Alastair knew that he needed to be more careful. Next time, he would wait until he knew Cain was occupied elsewhere. He said goodbye and shrugged his feigned confusion at the lack of a notebook before making a hasty exit.

Back in his dorm, Alastair dug out all his empty vials of Amp and stuck his tongue into each in turn. The tiniest drops relieved his aching bones, and he found himself laughing at how strange he must have looked, making out with a bottle. He slumped onto his bed and laughed until his stomach hurt, the vial slipping from his slackened grip and shattering on the hardwood floor.