Conferences ran a little late for Minn, that night. Usually, parents didn't have much of substance to say to their teenager's art teacher (not to mention almost nobody failed an art class), and that night was no different except for the couple who showed up literally the last five minutes of the evening. They were nice enough, but their daughter—a quiet, clever girl who desired to go into actual art school—had been hesitant to discuss her goals with Minn, and the parents seemed to need advice and assurance that art school was a valid life path. It was nearly eight forty-five by the time Minn was able to persuade them to send their future questions and concerns to the college and career center. As she packed up her belongings and watered her plants one last time before the long weekend led into a well-deserved spring break, she thought of the conversation she'd had with her friend about that strange student, the one she'd not seen in over a week, now.

"Kid's messed up," Anne, the crisis counselor, had bluntly expressed. Minn had visited her friend in the counseling office, and Anne had closed the two of them into her room. "I'll talk to him, tell him to stay away from you."

Minn had wondered briefly at her friend's professionalism. "He hasn't done anything, Anne. I just wondered, because he seems . . ."

"To have taken an interest in you, right? Kind of creepy?"

"Well, only pleasant, so far. Nothing I'd call overtly creepy."

Ann, a petite woman whose energy reserves were endless, had dropped into a chair behind her desk and begun twirling a fake-rose-tipped pen. "Long time back, I had a kid asking to walk me to my car every day, wanted to help me carry stuff. I put a stop to that real fast. You just can't be sure about anything, Minn. Teachers have been let go for a lot less than indulging a creepy kid."

"But I'm not indulging anything—"

"Doesn't matter. If anyone even so much as hints that something's off about it, there goes your reputation. Once the students feel it, the parents feel it, and you know image is all admin cares about."

Minn hadn't wanted to argue, in spite of her conviction her friend was overreacting. At the risk of sounding a little too invested, she'd slipped in, "What's his story?"

"Isaac Adams?" Anne's expression hadn't been kind, almost as if she'd caught a whiff of something in the trashcan by her desk. "There's a lot I don't know, or more accurately, a lot I can't tell you. I helped him transfer about three months back. Kid's staying at Circle Ridge, the youth home? That one at the edge of town. Came to us from Middleberry, but he'd only been at their high school a couple months. Before that, it was somewhere else, and before that—you get the picture. Been bounced around so much he's a veritable football."

"Basketball makes more sense."

"You get the idea, Minn. Nobody wants him."

Minn hadn't quite understood. "Why, exactly, though? Is there something more? There're a lot of kids that dress weird and drift around quietly. I can't think that alone would warrant so many moves."

"Well . . . there's a lot of privacy stuff involved, all right? Even though you're my friend, I can't give you all the details, but I will tell you (because you're my friend) that the kid's into dark stuff. They couldn't get him into foster care. No one would take him. He comes to us from Tennessee, and my understanding is he was suspected of a pretty terrible crime down there. Suspected, not convicted or anything you could find record of. I—I can't tell you everything, as much as I want to—"

"No, it's ok. I don't need you to break any sort of code or anything."

Ann had just sighed, bemoaned the restrictions of her job, and sat back in her chair, tossing the floral pen onto her desk calendar. "If the kid would just dress normal, maybe, stop with all the satanic-looking crap—maybe people wouldn't look at him the wrong way, you know? Why don't these kids understand that so much of everything in life relies on other peoples' perception of them?"

Unsure whether she agreed with that or not, Minn hadn't found much benefit in sticking around. She'd gratefully accepted Anne's offer to speak with the boy, and then risen to leave.

But Anne had delayed her. "And how are you, Minn?"

"Me?"

"Yeah. How are you doing?"

"I'm great, as always."

"All right. Just checking on you, dear."

Minn had laughed, smiled, thanked Anne, and then she'd excused herself from the conversation as quickly as possible, leaving the office wondering more than she'd have liked about not only Isaac but Anne as well.

She hadn't been able to get the boy off her mind since that conversation. He'd been suspected of a crime? A scary one? As Anne had warned her, Minn hadn't been able to find anything online, though not for lack of trying. She'd kept the information to herself, mostly because she didn't want her brother or co-workers to worry but also because there was something within her she couldn't quite explain—something she felt for that boy. Maybe it was close to pity? She wasn't sure, but too much prying seemed as if it would only reinforce Anne's ideas about perception. He'd left her alone since that day he'd come into her classroom, anyway, and that'd helped her clear some space in her mind. By the time conferences rolled around, Minn had been far too focused on work and family to think much more about Isaac Adams.

After at last assuaging the parents who'd come to conference with her at the last minute, the woman locked up her room and headed out of the building, declining an offer from one of the kindly older janitors to escort her. It was late, he noted, but Minn had never had cause to feel unsafe in her quiet community after all her years teaching and living in it, and she'd parked in the staff lot, which was well-lit. Surely other teachers and administrators would be leaving as well. However, she realized when she left through the gymnasium and hastened down the wide concrete stairs that she was pretty much alone in the crisp night. There were houses with glowing porch lights just across the street, and the lot itself, to the side of the building, was bright enough. Nevertheless, she picked up speed as she made her way to her car, pulling her jacket a little tighter around her to fend off the damp, early spring air. She reached the black sedan, fumbled with her keys at the lock. Minn just wanted to get home, to take a hot shower and pour a glass of wine and—

"Do you have a kid who goes to school here?"

The voice startled her so much the woman gasped aloud, dropped her keys. She spun to find the boy behind her, Isaac, standing as if he'd been there the whole time though she hadn't seen him at first, and it occurred to Minn that he'd been waiting for her.

Attempting to calm her nerves, she bent to get her keys, not taking her eyes off him. He didn't make a move toward her, though, kept a decent distance. "I'd never send my kid to this school," she found herself saying, though the words came out a little more harshly than she'd have liked. "What I mean is that . . ." She stopped herself. He didn't care. Why would he? He wouldn't care about her kid. "I have to get going," she hurried, darting a quick look around the lot but seeing no sign of others. This interaction had pushed things into inappropriate and, actually, frightening territory. She pressed the unlock button on her key fob and, not wanting to turn her back to him, reached behind for the handle.

"I just wanted to talk to you."

Minn smiled as normally as she could. "Come by my class any time after break, all right? No problem." Her fingers curled up under the door handle, but before she could do more than open it a few inches, he'd stepped toward her and shut it. He towered over her in all his black attire, his multiple piercings, his loose green shoulder-length hair, T-shirt and necklace displaying some occult symbols Minn didn't recognize (or did she only think they were occult because of what Anne had said?).

"I told you I just want to talk."

The woman's mind raced. Her options were slim. His proximity made running impossible; if she screamed, he'd probably get mad. Maybe she could defuse this. She'd had enough de-escalation training over the years.

"All right." She breathed deeply, attempting to calm her wild heart, her tumultuous brain. "What is it you want to talk about?" If she got him going, kept things steady for a moment, surely someone would show up, enter the parking lot. There were still cars, which meant there were still people in the building, and they'd have to be leaving soon.

Put on the spot, though, he didn't appear to know what to say. He just stared at her, one of his eyelids quivered as with a tic. His eyes themselves were dark and deep-set on either side of his long, straight nose. The frown into which his small mouth had shaped itself hardened. "I . . ." He shook his head.

Minn was growing too tense to continue this sort of indefinite standstill. "You are more than welcome to come see me once school resumes, all right? But right now I have to go home. Oh—oh, hey!" She'd seen someone over the boy's shoulder, lifted a hand to wave. A figure had exited the building and was descending the stairs.

Isaac's entire body language changed, as if he were some sort of inflatable figure and the air were being let out of him. He slumped considerably; his clothing looked almost too big on him. "Please," he begged. "Can you just—I'm not trying to do anything wrong. I just want to talk to you."

His transformed affect touched Minn, somehow. This boy didn't look scary; he looked scared. She knew she shouldn't offer, but she found herself stupidly advising him to get in the car.

She climbed in behind the wheel and twisted her keys into the ignition as he slipped into the passenger seat. A million red flags went up. The woman knew what she was doing was foolish, and yet Minn's heart overrode her reason. She backed out of her spot at the same time a couple other staff members walked into the parking lot. Soon enough, they were on the road, and she informed the boy she intended to drive him back to Circle Ridge, which was within the district's boundaries, within walking distance of the high school, in fact. When she mentioned the group home, though, Isaac balked. He spoke more than she'd heard him say up until that point, imploring her not to return him to "that shithole" for fear he'd be punished. He'd skipped the bus that afternoon, he told her. He'd not gone back after the school day, which had broken all kinds of rules.

"What sort of punishment would they give you?" Minn wanted to know.

"Isolation, probably. Four or five days."

Whether or not it was true, Minn couldn't determine. But she also had no idea what else to do with him and kept on the route, much to his mounting agitation. She'd explain to them, she told him. She'd tell the Circle Ridge people that he shouldn't get in trouble, that he'd only wanted to talk to her. Isaac didn't argue, not in any angry manner; after a brief protest, he just fell silent, and it was only when she pulled up outside the youth home that she realized he hadn't actually done what he'd said he wanted to do—talk to her. She sat in that car, unmoving, wanting to get home and yet unsure what to do with this person next to her. He was troubled; she was sure of that, and she was sorry for it. But he wasn't her responsibility. She had other people to care about, and even though he hadn't particularly threatened her, he could very well be dangerous. She needed to get this under control.

"Hey, listen. I'll walk you in there, all right? It'll be fine. I'll make something up so you don't get isolated or whatever. But do you want to tell me why you needed to talk to me? Was it about that? About how they treat you there? I can get help for you, all right? I can talk to people."

As she spoke, Isaac stared straight ahead, out the dashboard window. Minn had thought his eyes dark earlier, but now they were defined by a thin curve of light, looked more like glass marbles, and from the side, his profile was sharper, as well. She saw his chin was quivering ever so slightly, and when she repeated her question, he suddenly snapped, "I have a gun."

Minn thought she'd misheard him. "What?"

"I said I have a gun. If you try to make me go in there I will shoot myself."

She leaned away instinctively, everything sinking within her. "No—no you don't. You're lying."

But in confirmation of his claim, he pulled a handgun from somewhere within his jacket and held it sideways across his thighs. "I didn't want to do it this way," he said, though his words hardly registered against the rushing between Minn's ears. "I wasn't going to do this."

After a short, tense pause, Minn suddenly reached for her door, but Isaac gripped her arm faster than she could unbuckle her seatbelt. "Stop it! Stop!" the woman cried, the hysteria she'd worked to avoid bursting out in full force. "I was nice to you! I want to help you!"

"I'm not going to hurt you!"

Had she been able to see him through the burning in her eyes, she might have noticed real agony in his features. But Minn was overwrought; her fight or flight instinct set in, and she went to bite his hand. He was stronger than she was, though, and wrapped his arm up and under her chin, effectively cutting off her breath. With his other hand, he held the firearm to his temple. Minn could just see his widening eyes, his teeth as he grunted through them.

"I swear—I fucking swear—that if you don't stop it and drive I will put a fucking bullet in my head right here in front of you! Do you get that?"

Struggling, Minn nodded, and he slowly relaxed his arm and allowed her to sit back up, though he didn't pull the weapon away from himself. The woman was shaking, attempting to stifle sobs.

"Please just—just drive," he reiterated. "There's trailers somewhere, by a lake. Go there."

She knew the worst thing she could do was isolate herself further with him. That was how women were raped and murdered. And yet, what could she do? She didn't want him to hurt himself. So as reluctant as she was, she did as he asked and began driving.