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HASTINGS SINKS INTO his office chair and drums his fingers on the desk as Fiona calls Byron Blake for the third time in three days. Hastings is sweaty and anxious and furious at everyone.

At the beginning of Emma’s downward spiral, he hoped that this was an expected footnote to her grief, a bump in the road for a girl who had always been flying along in a Mercedes-Benz, and that she would likely recover quickly.

As things escalated, some part of him—he realizes now—wondered if Emma was acting out, creating a scene as an emotional outlet.

But the hollow look in her eyes as she watched campus security toss her room has led Hastings to consider the unthinkable: Emma is serious.

And now he has to convince her father of that.

Fiona signals thumbs-up, and Hastings picks up his phone.

“Hold for Mr. Blake,” says that same smooth British voice, and a split second later the man himself is seething into the headmaster’s ear.

“What is it now ?”

Mr. Hastings clears his throat. “Sir, I wouldn’t keep calling if I weren’t deeply concerned about your daughter.” Believe me, he adds silently, I hate talking to you. “There have been … developments since yesterday—”

Blake cuts him off. “You didn’t let her hurt herself again, did you?”

“ Let? ” Mr. Hastings repeats, incredulous.

He takes a deep breath, reminds himself of the money Blake donates every year, and tries to keep his tone even.

“No one allowed your daughter to harm herself yesterday,” he says.

“I’m not even sure anyone could have stopped her in regard to the Bunsen burner.

” Except herself, he adds silently. Which is why I’m calling. Please, hear me.

“Today I’m calling because she has made another disturbing and specific threat about self-immolation. And she did it in a video that she posted to YouTube. We think that—”

“YouTube?” For the first time, something cracks in Blake’s voice, even if it is only concern for the reputation of his family name. “Make her take it down immediately!”

“I have, ” Mr. Hastings says. He doesn’t mention that others have reposted the video—that once something’s online, it’s almost impossible to take it off again—or that Emma herself could put it back up any minute. He learned long ago that policing the Internet is a never-ending task.

“But I believe we need to take her threats seriously.” He takes a deep breath.

Works up the nerve to say what he needs to say next.

“Mr. Blake, one of the greatest risks for suicide is exposure to suicide. When Emma’s sister killed herself, she put Emma at a much greater risk of doing the same thing.

” His heart pounds as he waits for Blake’s reply.

“Emma,” the man says after several moments, “is not her sister.” His voice is thick, like it’s hard for him to say the words.

“Claire was in therapy ever since she was twelve. She was hospitalized twice when she was at Ridgemont. But she was still the valedictorian, did you know that? No, you wouldn’t; it was before your time.

Her second semester at Harvard, she ended up at McLean in a locked ward.

But she got herself out, and she graduated at the top of her class.

She was incredible. Brilliant and driven and successful. ”

“I’ve heard,” Hastings says quietly. “I’m so sorry.”

It’s not clear that Blake hears him. “But Claire was not stable, and she was not happy.”

Hastings hazards a sentence. “Emma doesn’t seem very happy either.”

“Of course not!” Blake yells. “Her mother and sister are dead! She’s a young girl and she’s grieving.” There’s a moment of near silence, when all Hastings can hear is Blake’s controlled breathing.

“But she is strong,” Blake finally continues. “Unlike Claire, she’s stable. And she is not going to set herself on fire.”

“With all due respect—”

“With all due respect, ” Blake interrupts, “I know my daughter much better than you do. If I believed Emma was actually in danger, I’d be there by lunchtime. Emma is only testing boundaries. She’s dealing with her grief in her own way, and you need to let her do that.”

Hastings mimes smashing the phone into the polished surface of his desk. “Mr. Blake, we cannot have students proclaiming their intention to burn themselves to death! Emma needs to take a break from school and—”

“Emma is just like me, Hastings. Work is what makes her happy. Work is what makes her keep going. Having a purpose, fulfilling a function—that’s why we’re here, all of us.

Maybe the real problem is that you’re not fulfilling your function.

Maybe Ridgemont isn’t giving Emma enough purpose.

Maybe it’s all too easy for her and she’s bored, so she’s finding ways to keep herself busy. ”

Hastings bristles. “Ridgemont remains one of the top schools in the state, sir, and we are handling this situation as best we can. However, it seems clear that Emma needs more support than we can provide for her here.”

Sweat drips down his nose as stress raises his body temperature.

He pulls his tie loose, opening his collar, a heat wave passing over him.

He tries not to think about Emma’s essay, her description of fire consuming human flesh.

“We want to ensure that she’s safe, and that she gets the help she needs.

We can arrange for her to receive all her class assignments while she’s focusing on—”

“Are you threatening to suspend my daughter?” Blake’s voice has gone icy.

“Because that’s what it sounds like. But I’m sure you wouldn’t be so stupid.

For the last time, my daughter is fine. I know what she’s doing.

She knows what she’s doing. Don’t ruin her life by acting like this is something it isn’t. ”

Hastings thinks about all those Marcus Aurelius quotes he’s read, just in case they might help him with Blake. One in particular springs to mind: Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact. Everything we see is a perspective, not the truth.

Blake thinks his perspective is truth.

“Mr. Blake,” Hastings begins. “My intent is not to ruin Emma’s life. I’m trying to save it. If you would consider—” But Blake doesn’t let him get one syllable further.

“Be very careful about any action you’re thinking about taking. It’s one kind of pain to lose a donor. But lawsuits, Mr. Hastings, are a different thing altogether. They are very expensive. And they are very bad publicity.”

Hastings swallows with difficulty. The last thing he wants is a lawsuit.

Actually—take that back.

The last thing he wants is for Emma Blake to die in a wave of flames.

“Sir,” he says, “don’t think of it as a suspension. Think of it as a leave of absence. We may need to insist—”

But Byron Blake has hung up.