The Cavendish Home for Boys and Girls

But it's hard to leave a place when you're tied to it by fear, when it's broken you with fear, when it's all you've ever known.

He lived in a dreamer's world of ivory keys and messy shirts, unconcerned with the people around him.

I am going to die, her brain recited calmly. I am going to be stabbed until I am died. How infuriating. I have so much left to do.

Being nothing felt quite the same as being something. Maybe she had never been something at all.

But how can she change a person like that? said Victoria. She just can. I'd never have thought before, ever, that I could hate music and want to leave it behind, but now-- Lawrence Prewitt, said Victoria. Her voice was shaking, but she stood up and put on such a fierce dazzle that even Donovan seemed to wake up. Don't you dare ever start talking like that again, or when I get out of here, I'll leave you behind with the gofers. Lawrence smiled. I've missed your threats, Vicky.

This marking, said Victoria, running her finger over a knot in the bark. What does it look like to you? It looks like a heart, said Lawrence. He put his fingers on the knot too. They brushed Victoria's, and he drew back. I mean, not that I think about things like that, or--well, you know.

I’m not like her. I don’t steal people.” Mr. Tibbalt watched her, saying nothing. The silence made Victoria bristle. “Well, I don’t.

If you weren't, well, you--I'd want to kiss you right now. It was fortunate that the room was so dark. Victoria's cheeks turned bright red.

Victoria hated messes. She hated distractions. Friends were the worst distraction of all.

But you’re supposed to play music, obviously,” said Victoria. Lawrence looked at her in surprise. “You mean it? I thought you hated it.” “I do mean it,” said Victoria. She felt pretty shocked herself. “It’s annoying sometimes—well, a lot of the time, really—but it’s obviously the thing you’re best at, so why shouldn’t you do it?” Embarrassed at how happy Lawrence looked, she tried to smooth the wrinkles out of her dirty pajamas. “I mean, it’s only logical, isn’t it?” “If you weren’t, well, you—I’d want to kiss you right now.” It was fortunate that the room was so dark. Victoria’s cheeks turned bright red. “Well,” she said. “Well.

They headed back into the maze of gardens. The shrubberies seemed to crawl. Victoria ignored them, pushing past thorns and brambles and suspiciously roachlike leaves, concentrating not on them but on the pinching grip of Lawrence's fingers. Hmm, she thought. I suppose this is actually somewhat useful. She didn't so much mind holding his hand from that moment on.

You were looking for me? Victoria wondered if she would be red for the rest of her life. Yes. Isn't that something. Perfect ice queen Victoria looking for skunkish old me.

…and so what I really mean is,” finished Lawrence, his face turning quite red, “sometimes, the counselors or professors or Mom and Dad say ‘Don’t you care that you don’t have many friends?’ And I say, ‘Not really. Because I have Vicky.’” Then Lawrence had folded up the letter and shoved it in his pocket. “So…you know. I mean, I really like that we’re friends is what I’m saying. Happy birthday.” Victoria had been so embarrassed that she had said, “Well…you…I…that’s very nice,” and then ignored him for the rest of the week.

Victoria pushed it open the rest of the way and stepped inside. She left it open in case she needed to make a quick exit. The fact that she had to think about things like quick exits infuriated her.

Wh-wh—“ Victoria tried to say, “What are you doing?” but the words would not come. Fear had seized her and would not let go. I am going to die, her brain recited calmly. I am going to be stabbed until I am dead. How infuriating. I have so much left to do.