Martin stared at the blood on his hand, the metallic tang now sharp in his mouth. The world seemed to slow down, crystallizing around this one, undeniable fact. This wasn't just an illness. It was erosion. It was happening now.

  In the darkened janitor's closet, Jennifer’s shoulders ached, her voice was hoarse from yelling. Despair was starting to win. With a final, guttural cry of frustration, she backed up and threw her whole weight against the door—once, twice—and on the third impact, the old bolt splintered from the frame. She tumbled out into the hallway, landing hard on her knees.

  Gasping, she looked toward the main hall. The music had stopped. People were streaming out the doors, the dance over. Jeremy. Martin. Panic surged. She ran, her dress torn at the knee.

  She burst into the now half-empty hall and saw him immediately. Martin was emerging from the boys' bathroom, his clothes soaked with dark punch, his face pale and streaked with ruined mascara. He looked shattered.

  “Martin!” she cried, rushing to him. She reached out, wanting to touch his face, to check for injuries he’d hidden.

  He slapped her hand away, the movement sharp and violent. “Don’t touch me.”

  “What happened? Are you hurt?” She tried again to grasp his arm.

  He shoved her back, harder. “I said don’t touch me! Are you deaf?” His voice was low, venomous, trembling with a rage she’d never heard. “You left me. You kept me waiting the entire night. What, was your ‘girl problem’ more important? Or was it just not what you expected?”

  “Martin, I can explain, I was—”

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  “Explain what?” he cut her off, his words a torrent now. “That you feel sorry for me? That’s it, isn’t it? That’s why you asked me. That’s why anyone does anything for me anymore. Pity. Just… leave me alone.”

  “MARTIN! JENNIFER!”

  Loria’s voice echoed down the hallway. She hurried toward them, Sadie trailing behind with wide, confused eyes. “I’m so sorry I’m late, the line at the mall was—” She stopped, taking in the scene: Martin, looking wrecked and furious; Jennifer, on the verge of tears; the palpable toxicity in the air. “What is going on?”

  Martin let out a cold, brittle laugh. He looked past Loria to Sadie. “Look who’s here. It’s Loria. Right, Sadie?” He emphasized the name, a cruel dig at his sister’s refusal to call her ‘Ma.’

  Then he turned his scorching gaze back to Loria. “Guess what? I know. I know what’s wrong with me. I know I’m going to die. Too bad for you, the secret’s out.”

  Sadie gasped softly. “What is he talking about?”

  “Oh,” Martin said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “Seems I wasn’t the only one kept in the dark. Surprise, Sadie. Your brother’s a dead man.”

  “Martin, stop it!” Jennifer pleaded.

  “Stop it? Stop what?” he roared, the spiked punch and his own agony stripping away all restraint. “I haven’t…. haven't even started! You all lied! You looked me in the face and lied every day!” He wheeled on Loria. “And you… you said you didn’t tell me because you cared? You were scared?”

  His next words were designed to wound, to make someone else feel the raw, tearing pain inside him. “You’re not even my real mum! How could you possibly care that much?!”

  Loria flinched as if struck. Tears welled in her eyes instantly, but her voice, when it came, was fierce through the tremble. “It’s true. I’m not your mother. And I was wrong… so wrong… not to tell you. But don’t you ever tell me I don’t care about you. Don’t you dare.”

  Something in her tears, in the raw hurt on her face, finally cut through Martin’s rage. The fire in him guttered, replaced by a wave of crushing guilt and self-loathing so profound it stole his breath. He couldn’t be here. He couldn’t look at them.

  Without another word, he turned and shoved open the door to an empty classroom next to them. He slipped inside, and before anyone could react, he threw his weight against the door, sliding down to sit with his back against it, barricading himself in.

  From the other side, they heard a muffled thump as his head fell back against the wood.

  Loria’s composure shattered. A choked sob escaped her as her legs gave way, and she sank to the floor, covering her mouth with both hands. Sadie stood frozen, her world tilting on its axis. Jennifer rushed to the classroom door, pounding on it.

  “Martin! Open this door! Get out here right now!”

  She threw her shoulder against it, but it was solid, and she was exhausted from breaking out of the janitor’s closet. The door didn’t budge.

  Inside, Martin sat in the dark, the only sound his own ragged breathing and the desperate pounding from the hallway—a frantic rhythm against the tomb-like silence he had chosen.