"Do you think our birth year is important?" Carson asks back at our table.

Willow breaks off a piece of untoasted bread. "Here you go, Carson. I think so. I think the fact that we're from the East Coast is important, too. What I don't think is that they just picked eighty-nine teenagers at random."

She holds out a piece to me. "I'm fine," I say. No reason for all of us to suffer. "If we weren't randomly selected, what else do we have in common? Why us out of millions of kids? It has to be more than age and location."

Carson stuffs the bread into his mouth and shrugs, mirroring Willow's clueless expression. I sigh under my breath. We've already been down this road and it looks like another trip won't get us anywhere.

"Have either of your families ever lived in Maryland?" Willow asks.

"Nope," Carson answers. "You'd be hard pressed to get my family out of Georgia as a matter of fact. We've got roots that run deeper than trees in a rainforest."

"What about you, April?"

I shake my head. I don't know much about my mom's life before I was born. For all I know, she might've grown up in Maryland and then moved to Harrisburg later in her life. She's never shared much with me about her past life—or her present one for that matter.

My stomach knots itself. Thinking of her is multiplying my misery, so I shove her back into her hole. "What's your family life like?" I ask Willow.

"Normal, I guess. We live in a nice house in a nice neighborhood in Hagerstown. My mom makes blueberry pancakes every weekend and goes to every baseball game and dance recital."

"You have siblings?"

"Yeah. Four of them, all younger."

"And your dad?" I ask.

"My dad's a cop—you know, one of those big cop type who's gained too many inches on his waistline because he can't give up coffee and donuts." She smiles. "He and my mom are still insanely in love after all these years."

She must miss them like crazy. "Sounds like you've had it good."

"I did. I really lucked out, ending up with them."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"They're not my biological parents. My siblings and I are all adopted. My mom and dad didn't let a little thing like infertility get in the way of their dream of having a big family."

I stare at the group of kids at the table in front of me. Someone snuck a board game out of one of the blocks, and those who aren't playing are spectating from the sidelines.

"Marcus was adopted, too, I think," I say.

Carson sits up straighter. "You think that's something? A clue?"

"What's a clue?"

A hand settles on my shoulders. I jump a foot in the air, slamming my thigh against the underside of the table. Not even the sight of Alec's surprised face when I crane my neck around calms me down.

"Whoa, it's just me," he says, his hands suspended midair. "You okay?"

Everyone is staring at me. A red-hot blush engulfs my face. They're looking at me like I'm a freak, and I feel every bit like one. Marcus asked the other night which girl I am, the one who's able to keep a lid on her emotions or the one who loses it over the smallest things. He had every reason for asking. Even I don't know.

"I'm fine."

Alec sits down at the table, giving a nod to the kids sitting nearby. "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to upset you like that." A wry smile crosses his face. "That'll teach me to keep my hands to myself."

"I'm okay. Really."

His smile deepens. "Good."

His eyelashes are unusually thick and dark, an incredible contrast to the brilliance of his green eyes, and all I can think is, why me? I can name at least five girls prettier—and far less inept—than me, and they're all sitting at the table he just left.

I look over at Willow for help, but she's staring at the TV screen across from us, focused on a survival reality show that has attracted a small crowd.

"Are you adopted?" I ask him.

A furrow forms between Alec's eyebrows. "Uh—what?"

"Marcus and Willow don't live with their birth parents. We were wondering if there's some kind of pattern there."

"I see." He gives us an apologetic look. "Sorry to disappoint. I live with my dad. My mom split when I was a kid, so there's that."

"Why did she leave?" Willow asks, turning to him. She tilts her head. "If you don't mind my asking."

He gives her a tight smile. "My mom was a brilliant poet, something my dad didn't appreciate until she fell in love with a colleague and took off for California. Last I heard, they have two young boys together. She sends birthday cards. These homemade ones with witty little poems like that'll make up for walking out on us."

"Damn," Carson says.

Alec laughs. "It's not as bad as you think. I barely remember her."

I have a feeling it does hurt, whether he remembers her or not. There's tension in his voice as he talks about her. You're not the only one with a screwed-up mom, I want to say, but that'd mean talking about mine.

"Alright, enough about that," Alec says. "Camille says you found something interesting in your drawer the other day."

"I found a lot of things." I pause. "You mean the case? The silver case? None of you got one?"

Their blank looks tell me they didn't.

"You . . . never said anything about a case." Carson sounds unsure. Suspicious.

"I was going to bring it up," I say, which isn't a total lie. I was waiting for them to say something, to make sure I wasn't the only one who got one. Because who knows if I'm supposed to mention it to anyone?

I look down at my fingers clutching the edge of the table. Sam's getting to me. He's making me question my purpose and my relationship with these people—or at least, any hope of a relationship. And judging by the disappointed looks Willow and Carson are giving me, it doesn't look like that's going to happen any time soon.

I get up in a hurry. "I need to use the bathroom."

Alec follows behind as I cross the cafeteria. I make it to the hallway before I decide to address him now rather than later. "I'd like to be alone right now."

"Sometimes we need company the most when we say we want solitude."

"Not in this case." I'm being unreasonably rude, but I don't dial back the hostility. Otherwise I'll have to give in to my embarrassment. He did witness my absolute incompetence with the only people who might've become my friends.

Smiling, he shrugs his wide shoulders. "Actually, he sent me. To check on you."

Alec doesn't have to clarify who this he is. I glance back to where Marcus sits. He reclines in his seat like it's a throne instead of an uncomfortable metal chair.

His eyes are trained on us.

"Are you one of his lapdogs now?" I ask, more disappointed than I have any right to be.

"On the contrary, I volunteered. His first choice would have been Eli."

Rudolph gets on Marcus's nerves, but Eli seems like a trusted confidante. I dislike them both, but I hate Eli more each time I catch him looking at Willow across the room. There's something not right about that guy.

"I think Willow is the one who should be worried about him," I say.

Alec's eyes narrow. "What do you mean by that?"

"He seems . . . obsessed with her. I don't know. Maybe I'm overreacting."

"Hmm. I'll keep an eye on him."

Nodding, I lean against one of the white walls. It's quieter here; I can think moderately better. "What does Marcus want?"

"He sent me to ask about the case."

"I'm surprised he didn't just take it."

"He doesn't want to touch it until he finds out why they gave it to you. Could be a biological weapon for all he knows."

"There's a thought." I run my hand over the grainy surface of the wall, collecting white flakes under my fingernails. "I don't know anything about the case. You can pass that message on to him."

Sighing, I turn back for the cafeteria. I'm tempted to hide out in the bathroom and pretend I didn't hurt Willow's and Carson's feelings, but I can't ignore this. I've never experienced the nuances of friendship before. The need for disclosure and honesty, the trust that comes from shared thoughts and experiences. It's easier to run away and hide. It's always been easier. But now . . . I feel like I'm letting them down, and I have to do something to fix that.

I don't know at which point Alec stops following me but when I look back, he's cutting across the cafeteria, rejoining his pack. I continue to Willow and Carson. She sees me first and watches me settle into my chair, her deep-black eyes cautious.

"I'm sorry," I blurt out when neither says a word. "I wasn't trying to hide the case from you. I just didn't know what to do with it."

It's as close to the truth as I can get. Admitting that I was thinking like Marcus, thinking only of my best interests, would shed light on a side of me I never want them to discover.

Carson's eyebrows form perfect half circles as they go up. "You think we're mad at you or something?"

"Well, yeah."

"April," Willow begins gently, "even if you were hiding something, I'm sure you had your reasons. I don't think they have anything to do with hurting us, right?"

"No, of course not! Look—the case is long and narrow." I hold my index fingers apart about six inches to demonstrate. "Like a necklace case. It's locked. It doesn't have a keyhole. Something rattles around inside it when you shake it."

"What kind of something?" Carson asks.

"It doesn't weigh much. It makes a dull sound when it hits the edges of the case. I don't know. It could be anything."

"Or it could be the key to understanding why we're in here," Willow says. "There has to be a way to open it. Why else would they—?"

She stops talking as a group walks into the cafeteria. Rudolph is holding a smaller dark-haired boy by the back of his collar, hauling him up every time he stumbles. The kid's face is a mess. Blood stains his mouth and nose. One of his cheeks has doubled in size. I don't recall ever seeing him before, but I doubt even his block mates would recognize him at this point.

Rudolph shoves him and sends him sprawling to the floor. His knuckles are red with the boy's blood. He cracks them while wearing a hideous grin, and there's no doubt in anyone's mind that his victim's suffering is far from over.