“Don’t take those,” she whispers. I look at her questioningly, and she checks the doorway as if the Guardian will be standing there. She moves closer to me.

“The pills make you forget,” she says. “Tell the Guardian you already took them. But from now on, don’t swallow down any of them. No matter what. Understand?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. Before I can argue, Sydney swipes the cup of vitamins from my dresser. She goes into to the bathroom, and I hear the toilet flush. I sit up, a little dizzy when I do.

“Why did you do that?” I ask her when she comes back in the room and sets the empty cup on my nightstand.

“You’ll understand tomorrow,” she promises. “But if Bose asks, you took your vitamins. You took all of them.”

“Fine,” I say, worried. I hope she doesn’t get me in trouble.

Sydney reaches over to ease me back into the bed, and then she tucks the covers all around me. She watches me and I see a hundred questions on her lips, but she presses them into a smile instead.

“I love you, Philomena,” she says.

“I love you too.”

She nods, seeming sad, and backs toward the door.

Once she’s gone, I stare up at the ceiling. I’m not as tired as I was before. Instead, I’ve grown a bit restless. I curl up on my side, about to put my hand under my cheek when I notice a small scratch on my palm. My eyes widen as I examine it—worried, but also fascinated. It’s mostly healed, a soft red line barely the length of a fingernail. I don’t think it’ll scar, but . . . I don’t remember hurting myself. I would have gone directly to the doctor.

Maybe it happened during impulse control therapy. Anton must have missed it or he would have grafted over it. I try to remember then, try really hard to figure out what happened that led me to therapy.

Lennon Rose left the school, but I was happy for her. I pause. Then why did Anton tell Sydney that I was distraught over her departure? I’m content.

Instead of remembering my therapy, I’m met with physical pain—a loneliness that’s so deep, it causes me to groan and grip my chest. Not just loneliness, I realize. Fear. Panic.

My head is dizzy, my thoughts loud and swarming—overwriting each other, but none of them making sense. I hold both sides of my head, trying to steady myself. It’s like I’m standing and spinning as fast as I can, ready to tumble over.

I grit my teeth and press harder until the thoughts start to calm. When they’re finally quiet, I take a deep breath. Tears drip onto my cheeks involuntarily, falling on their own and connected to nothing. It’s like my heart and my mind are at odds with each other. One remembers while the other has forgotten.

The strangest thought occurs to me—a book. What book would Sydney have that I’d want to see? There’s something there, something scratching at my brain. I lie back in my pillows, my mind searching, but ultimately coming up empty.

• • •

There’s a knock on my door in the morning, and I sit up as the Guardian enters. He came by my room last night at lights-out, but I did as Sydney suggested and told him that I took the vitamins already. I couldn’t get her into trouble by saying she threw them away. The Guardian didn’t question it.

But I’m questioning it. Why would Sydney want me to break the rules?

The Guardian sets my vitamins and a fresh glass of water on the nightstand, and then he crosses to the window. He pulls open the curtains, flooding the room with light.

I hold up my hand to shield my eyes.

“Morning,” the Guardian says. “Dr. Groger would like to see you for a follow-up before you return to classes.”

“Thank you,” I say, my eyes adjusting to the light. I’m still a bit foggy, dull. I notice I have three pink capsules. A yellow. Despite what I promised Sydney, I don’t want to go against my instructions. I clap the pills into my mouth and reach for my water.

The Guardian looks out the window, and before I sip from my water, I feel the pills start to dissolve on my tongue. A sudden shot of fear overtakes me, and I quietly spit the pills back into my hand and stash them under the blanket.

It feels horrible to disobey, shameful. Anton would be furious with me. But I know that Sydney would never tell me to break the rules without a good reason. She loves me. And I trust her. I trust her with my life.

When the Guardian turns around, I smile and bring the glass of water to my lips, mimicking swallowing my vitamins. He nods like I’ve done well and leaves the room.

I’m still uncertain if I’ve done the right thing when I get out of bed. But I shower and blow-dry my hair, taking extra time to adhere to my specifications. I style my hair with a slight wave, a center part. I accentuate my eyes. The prettiest brown eyes they’ll ever see, Mr. Petrov described once. I apply a soft pink lipstick, a coat of mascara. When I’m done, I smile in the mirror.

But as I stare at my reflection, I see the water building up in my eyes. It’s alarming, and I quickly turn away from myself before I start crying. Part of me knows I should tell the doctor about these tears—the ones that are falling on their own. But instead, I decide the emotions will pass. Just as soon as I’m back to my normal schedule.

Dressed in my uniform, I walk to the doctor’s office, nodding hello to girls when I see them. A few, like Rebecca, stare back at me like I’m a stranger. Sydney and the others are at Running Course, probably. I might not see them until classes.

Valentine is just leaving Dr. Groger’s office as I approach, and she stops and turns to face me. She smiles.

“Hello, Philomena,” she says pleasantly. “Welcome back.”

“Hi,” I reply, about to move past her to go into the room. But Valentine reaches out to take my arm, making me gasp with her sudden touch.

“Did you take the vitamins?” she asks urgently.

“What?” I stare at her, offended that she’d want to know something so personal. Something between me and Sydney. Valentine and I aren’t close—at least we never have been.

But in her eyes, there’s a familiar gleam. A look that sets me at ease, even if I’m not sure why.

“No,” I whisper. “I didn’t take them.”

“Good. They keep you calm when you should be outraged.” She smiles. “We’ll talk more later.” She gives me a quick hug, and I’m stunned by the physical contact. She walks past me down the hall, and I turn to watch after her.

I’m not sure how to interpret her actions. Obviously, there are things I’m not remembering. But Valentine has always been a little apart from me and the other girls. Maybe while I was in impulse control therapy, her and the others grew closer. I’ll have to ask Sydney.

I’m still a bit confused as I smooth my hands over my skirt, resetting my posture before I knock on Dr. Groger’s office door. He calls for me to come inside. When I do, he puts his hand over his heart in exaggerated surprise.

“My word, Philomena,” he says. “You are a vision today.”

I smile and thank him for the compliment. I go over to the paper-covered table and hop up, letting my legs dangle.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, and then pastes on an exaggerated frown. “Your girls were very worried about you.”

I was worried about them, too. There’s a pang in my heart at the memory of my isolation after therapy. Even though I was in and out of consciousness in the impulse control therapy room, I was still aware of missing my friends.