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My stomach rumbles and I glance at the donut. Fuck it. I deserve it after that the last few days. I’ve just taken a bite of the sweet, sticky donut when I get an alert from my school messaging system.

Grayson:I don’t know if you’ll get this but it’s worth a shot.

Reagan:I’m here.

The message sits for a moment, the icon blinking waiting for a response. Tiny bubbles appear.

Grayson:I didn’t hear from you yesterday. Where are you?

I look down at the bed and then over to the couch to the pillow and balled up blanket. How do I answer this?

I’m in Miller’s bedroom.

In was in his bed.

Wearing his clothes.

Now, I’m eating the donut he left me.

Reagan:I’m fine. Yesterday was just busy. You know, getting all my hair shaved off.

That’s right. I’m still pissed he didn’t save me from that.

Grayson:I’m sorry about that. It wasn’t big enough to get the council to notice. Minor infraction at best. Are you okay?

Reagan:Define okay.

There’s a pause, then the little gray circles flicker at the bottom of the screen.

Grayson:I really am sorry. You’re strong R. It’s worth it. We’ll bring them down.

I look over at the note Miller left, the warning at the bottom. I’m not so sure Grayson is right. I’m not even sure if I’ll survive another day in this place. What would have happened if they’d forced me into that shower and seen that I’m not who I say I am? Every minute, it feels harder to breathe in here. Harder to survive without them knowing the truth. Every day that passes will make it more of a betrayal. Not just to Royer. To Knox, Rat, and all the other goats. I’m scared of what will happen when they find out.

I type out a response.

Reagan:I hope so.

I finish the donut and get back to work. I’m halfway through the second one when a notification pops up in the corner of the screen. An assignment for Cal 103. I click on it, and pop into the website. Somehow, in the span of three days, Miller has gotten behind on his math. Curiosity, and the love of numbers (and a deep dislike for foreign language) draws me in. I scribble down the work, answering each question in succession, too lost in the science of it all to notice that the door swings open behind me.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

I freeze, pencil paused, then slowly turn around. Knox stands in the doorway, Wittmore Rowing T-shirt straining across his chest. His eyebrow is raised in question.

“D-d-doing homework,” I stammer.

His long legs make his walk across the room short and a moment later, he’s towering over me. My heart pounds. It happens any time any of them get too close. Can they sense it? Or am I really just another goat in the herd? Knox shifts the screen so he can see it better, then snorts. “He’s got you doing his calculus?”

I shrug and make a neat pile with the papers.

“Fucking bastard.”

“Is that wrong?” I ask, pushing the words over the lump in my throat.

“No, it’s freaking genius.” He shakes his head. “I knew he had something going on—some kind of scam. He had way too much interest in you.” He taps the computer. “This makes sense.”

I try not to shift, to show any anxiety, but it’s hard. Knox is imposing, oozing confidence and security. Everything I’m not—at least not in this body.

His big hand comes down on my head, and he rubs my shaved scalp. “The shuttle for campus leaves in ten minutes. You probably need to be on it.”