I took a breath big enough that it hurt, then let it go. “She asked me how long I’ve been seeing them,” I said. “Opened with that. No warm-up.”

  His brows went up. “The monsters, them?”

  “Yeah. The creatures.”

  “In front of your mom?”

  “Ah, no, she sent her on a tour of the school first, waited for us to be alone.” I told him, stumbling at first, then faster: how Ms. Cho had called me out for watching the jewel-lizard on Patrick’s shoulder, the way she’d pulled out the police’s Unusual Incident reports. How there were systems for flagging kids who saw “weird” things. How those reports ended up with her, or other people like her.

  “She called me a foundling,” I said, the word tasted weird in my mouth. “One of their lost kids. Said my mom’s normal, so it’s probably my dad. Said there are places like Northbridge all over the world. That they look for people like me.”

  He listened like he always did—pen limp in his hand, body still, eyes tracking every word. When I flailed, he’d nudge: “And then?” or “What did she say exactly?” and the occasional “Wow.” When I got too jokey, he’d just raise an eyebrow until I dropped back into the real.

  I told him about puberty-as-switch, about sight and “other abilities,” about how Ms. Cho had assumed I was suddenly more likeable and how I’d laughed in her face. How she’d been surprised that I wasn’t.

  “I told her no one’s ever called me compelling,” I said. “She said that meant they’d have to test me to figure out what my actual…thing is.”

  He made a quiet, awed noise. “You’re literally a mystery power set. That’s…okay, that’s very cool and also kind of terrifying.”

  “Mostly terrifying, although she implied that not everyone has something beyond ‘the sight’, so maybe no other cool powers.” I said. “She also said if I stay at Patterson Ridge and pretend nothing’s changed, it’s…dangerous. That I’m different now and that could attract attention.”

  His jaw tightened. “That’s not good.”

  “Yeah.” I thought of the shield-head, the way it had zeroed in on the jogger. “Anyway, she laid it out: stay and try to white-knuckle it with no help, or go there and learn what I am and how not to die of it. And that they don’t tell parents everything, but they’ll tell me.”

  “And you said yes,” he said.

  “Mom said yes,” I corrected. “I agreed. There’s a difference.”

  He huffed a wary laugh. “And you’re…not supposed to be telling me any of this.”

  “Nope.” I stared at my hands. “She was very clear. Don’t tell anyone. Don’t panic civilians. Don’t widen the target. All that.” I looked up at him. “But you already know there’s something. I’ve told you about slime trails and the scrubbed alley and the way people don’t react. You have a freaking sketchbook full of impossible crap. If anyone’s in this, it’s you.”

  He was quiet for a long beat, chewing his lower lip. “I should tell you not to,” he said finally. “I should say, ‘keep yourself safe, don’t drag me into your secret war.’”

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  “You’re very bad at saying things you should say,” I pointed out.

  “I am,” he agreed. “Also, too late.” He gestured at the sketchbook between us. “We passed ‘civilian with plausible deniability’ five weirdos ago.”

  I laughed, the sound bubbling up painfully. “So you’re…okay? With me telling you?”

  “Okay is a strong word.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m…in awe? Terrified? Mildly jealous? Really glad someone competent noticed you before something worse did. And also very, very aware that this is dangerous. For you, especially. For me by splash damage.”

  “Anime reference in five,” I said, because I could feel it coming.

  He smirked. “It’s very…‘main character gets invited to the elite academy that secretly trains monster hunters.’ With a side of ‘best friend stays in the normal world and becomes the guy in the chair.’”

  “I am not the main character in anything,” I said. “I can’t even do my makeup without stabbing myself in the eye.”

  He looked at me, and his face did that rare serious thing. “You kind of are, though,” he said. “At least in this story.”

  Silence settled for a moment. Mom coughed in her sleep down the hall. A car rolled past outside.

  “So,” he said quietly. “What do we do?”

  “You,” I said, “keep your head down. Don’t show your sketchbook to anyone. Pretend none of this exists when other people are around. Maybe…I don’t know. Find some normal thing to care about. A club. A girl who isn’t doomed.”

  “A tall order,” he said lightly, but his eyes were steady. “And you?”

  “I go to monster school on Monday,” I said. “Try not to die. Try not to flunk. Try not to explode anything I’m not supposed to.”

  “And we keep talking,” he said. “Carefully. You tell me what you can. I take notes. We try to find the seams.”

  “Cho said I shouldn’t,” I reminded him. “That I should keep this to myself.”

  “Cho doesn’t know everything,” he said. “She doesn’t know what it’s like to be you with…me. You need someone who remembers who you were before Northbridge. Before all this. I can be that. If you’ll let me.”

  My throat went tight. “Yeah,” I said. “I’d like that.”

  Sketch left with a light punch on my shoulder and a, “Text me the second you know your schedule.”

  I was on my way to the kitchen when Mom called, “Di?”

  She was at the table with her laptop open, glasses on, reading an email like it might bite. The light from the screen made her look extra tired.

  “I checked my email,” she said. “There was a message from the community service office.”

  My stomach did a small, guilty lurch. “What’d they say? Did I mess something up at the park?”

  She shook her head, still scanning. “No. It says you are not to appear at Patterson Park or the library next week. Placements cancelled. Northbridge will be arranging ‘alternative service opportunities consistent with our expectations.’” Her mouth twisted. “Their expectations. Like the city doesn’t have any.”

  “Wow.” I pulled out a chair. “Ms. Cho moves fast.”

  “You’re telling me.” Mom clicked back to the inbox. “They cc’d her office. She’s already responded, thanking them for their flexibility.” She snorted softly. “Flexibility. That’s one word for it.”

  “Am I…off the hook?” I asked carefully.

  “For those shifts,” she said. “Not for the work. She was very clear they have their own service requirements. You’re still going to be cleaning something, believe me. It might just be a different kind of bench.”

  “Or a dungeon,” I muttered.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  She closed the laptop with a careful little click and checked the time. “I have to head to the bar. There’s leftover stew in the fridge. Don’t stay up past midnight. You start at a fancy school on Monday; you might as well start studying.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She hesitated in the doorway, then came back just long enough to kiss the top of my head. “I’m proud of you,” she said, straightening. “Even if I have no idea what we’re doing.”

  “Same,” I said.

  She laughed once, grabbed her coat, and was gone.