Rafe’s eyes darted forward, but he didn’t sit up. He stayed where he was, stretched across the aisle, practically sitting in Violet’s desk. “Priest,” Rafe answered. “Rafe Priest.”

“Mr. Priest,” Mr. LeCompte continued. “Since you two have already started getting to know each other, you can go first.” Violet felt her cheeks growing warm as she realized she had no idea what their teacher was talking about. Then, to the entire class, he explained, “Everyone will pair up, and you’ll have five minutes to get to know your partner. After your five minutes is up, you’ll each take turns introducing your partner to the rest of us.”

There was a collective moan, and Violet sagged into her chair, not in the mood for this little getting-to-know-you exercise. But Rafe didn’t seem nearly as reluctant as she was, and he dragged his desk closer, making Violet cringe against the screeching sound the legs made across the industrial tile flooring.

“Okay . . . go,” Rafe said eagerly, watching her expectantly.

“Go? Go what?”

“Go . . . start telling me about yourself.”

She half smiled. “How about you tell me what you meant when you said it wasn’t your fault that you’re here? Whose fault is it then? What the hell are you doing at White River, Rafe?”

He grinned back at her, a stupid grin. One that made her wonder what really went on inside that head of his. “Fine. Be that way, V, but this is gonna make for one awkward introduction. Consider yourself warned.”

“You already know pretty much everything there is to know about me. Now stop avoiding my questions.” She settled her chin against her palm, trying to look perky rather than peeved as she waited for him to get on with it.

He leaned closer, coming over the top of the wood laminate desk, so that she found herself staring directly into his deep blue eyes. She told herself not to be unnerved. It wasn’t the first time she’d been this close to him. He was just trying to throw her, she was sure of it. His lips parted and her gaze shot down to watch them, her heart speeding up. “Sara,” he said.

“Sara?” she asked. “Sara what?”

He let out a low chuckle, and she knew he was laughing at her but couldn’t manage to be annoyed by it. “You asked whose fault it was. It was Sara’s. She’s the one who asked us to enroll this semester.”

Violet frowned, trying to make sense of what he was telling her. “Why would she do that?”

His hand crossed the space then, settling over hers, and like so many times before, there was a sudden surge of warmth, like a microexplosion, from his skin to hers. Achingly familiar, yet disquieting at the same time. Like the music-box imprint that followed her. “She was worried about you, and she doesn’t like the idea of us going to school in the city with metal detectors at the doors.” He grinned then. “Plus, I think she’s hoping some of your small-town charm will rub off on us.”

Violet drew away, but not far enough, and their fingers still touched. “I’m fine. I’ve already told you that. All of you.” She didn’t know if he could tell she was lying. Honestly, she didn’t even know if she was lying. She was fine, she supposed, as fine as she could be considering everything that had happened.

“Is that why you barely come to the Center?” He stared at her, unblinking as he studied her. “Is that why you avoid my phone calls?”

Violet glanced away. “I answer.”

“Sometimes,” he said, but there was a wistfulness to his voice now. “I get the feeling you wish I’d leave you alone though.”

She swallowed, not sure what to say to that.

“I can’t, V. And Sara’s not the only one worried.”

Her eyes shot back up to his, and she wondered if Gemma’s empathic gift was wearing off on her, because she swore she could feel everything Rafe was feeling in that moment. Restlessness and fear and concern, all frenzied and tangled together like wings trying to beat their way out of his chest.

Or maybe those were her feelings.

“I—I’m telling you the truth. I’m better. I’m . . . stronger now.”

Rafe just watched her, and then he shrugged. “Well, it wasn’t up to us anyway. And we’re not leaving, so you might as well get used to it.”

Violet heard someone clear their throat, and she looked up to find Mr. LeCompte looming above them. She glanced nervously down at their hands, realizing that their fingertips were still pressed lightly together. She squeezed hers into a fist.

“You’re up, you two,” Mr. LeCompte said, and then turned on his heel and left them sitting there, staring after him.

“Quick,” Violet whispered. “Tell me where you were born.”

Rafe got up, looking completely nonplussed by the panic in her huge green eyes. He bent down and whispered in her ear, “You were warned, V. This is about to get awkward.” And then he grinned at her before following Mr. LeCompte to the front of the room.

“Hey, V! What’s up?”

“Oh my god, will you please stop calling me that?” Violet complained to Chelsea as she dropped her lunch tray on the table with a crash.

Chelsea grinned back at her with absolutely zero remorse. “I think it’s kinda precious. Besides, word on the street is you prefer it.”

“Yeah, V,” Jules chimed in, a similar unrepentant look on her face. “What I don’t get is, why you never told us before. We’re your friends—you can tell us anything.”