JIN HAD A piece of paper with his schedule printed on it, a half-empty notebook he’d started to fill at Dover in his Advanced European History class last year, two number two pencils, his favorite eraser, and the sudden bad feeling that Jimin might have been right about the classes at Sword & Cross.

The teacher had yet to materialize, the flimsy desks were arranged in haphazard rows, and the supply closet was barricaded with stacks of dusty boxes piled in front of it.

What was worse, none of the other kids seemed to notice the disarray. In fact, none of the other kids seemed to notice that they were in a classroom at all. They all stood clustered near the windows, taking one last drag of a cigarette here, repositioning the extra-large safety pins on their T-shirts there. Only Jung Hwan was seated at an actual desk, carving something intricate onto its surface with his pen. But the other new students seemed to have already found their places among the crowd. Jungkook had the preppy Dover-looking guys in a tight cluster around him. They must have been friends when he was enrolled at Sword & Cross the first time. Hoseok was shaking hands with the tongue-pierced boy who’d been making out with the tongue-pierced girl outside. Jin felt stupidly envious that he wasn’t daring enough to do anything but take a seat closer to the unthreatening Jung Hwan.

Jimin flitted about the others, whispering things Jin couldn’t make out, like some sort of goth prince. When he passed Jungkook, he tousled his newly chopped hair.

“Nice mop, Jimin.” He smirked, tugging on a strand at the back of his neck. “My compliments to your stylist.”

Jimin swatted him away. “Hands off, Jungkook. Which is to say: In your dreams.” He jerked his head in Jin’s direction. “And you can give your compliments to my new pet, right over there.”

Jungkook’s eyes sparkled at Jin, who stiffened. “I believe I will,” he said, and started walking toward him.

He smiled at Jin, who was sitting with his ankles crossed under his chair and his hands folded neatly on his heavily graffitied desk.

“Us new kids have to stick together,” he said. “Know what I mean?”

“But I thought you’d been here before.”

“Don’t believe everything Jimin says.”

He glanced back at Jimin, who was standing at the window, eyeing them suspiciously.

“Oh no, he didn’t say anything about you,” Jin said quickly, trying to remember whether or not that was actually true. It was clear Jungkook and Jimin didn’t like each other, and even though Jin was grateful to Jimin for taking him around this morning, he wasn’t ready to pick any sides yet.

“I remember when I was a new kid here … the first time.” He laughed to himself. “My band had just broken up and I was lost. I didn’t know anyone. I could have used someone without”—he glanced at Jimin—“an agenda to show me the ropes.”

“What, and you have no agenda?” Jin said, surprised to hear a flirting lilt in his voice.

An easy smile spread across Jungkook’s face. He raised one eyebrow at him. “And to think I didn’t want to come back here.”

Jin blushed. He didn’t usually get involved with rocker guys—but then again, none of them had ever pulled the desk next to him even closer, plopped down beside him, and stared at him with eyes quite so brown. Jungkook reached into his pocket and pulled out a green guitar pick with the number 44 printed on it.

“This is my room number. Come by anytime.”

Jin wondered how and when he’d had these printed up, but before he could answer—and who knew what he would have answered—Jimin clamped a hard hand down on Jungkook’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, did I not make myself clear? I’ve already called dibs on this one.”

Jungkook snorted. He looked straight at Jin as he said, “See, I thought there was still such a thing as free will. Maybe your pet has a path of his own in mind.”

Jin opened his mouth to claim that of course he had a path, it was just his first day here and he was still figuring out the ropes. But by the time he was able to get the words straight in his head, the minute-warning bell rang, and the little gathering over Jin’s desk dissolved.

The other kids filed into desks around him, and soon it stopped being so noteworthy that Jin was sitting prim and proper at his desk, keeping his eye on the door. Keeping a lookout for Taehyung.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could feel Jungkook sneaking peeks at him. He felt flattered—and nervous, then frustrated with himself. Taehyung? Jungkook? He’d been at this school for what, forty-five minutes?—and his mind was already juggling two different guys. The whole reason he was at this school at all was because the last time he’d been interested in a guy, things had gone horribly, horribly wrong. He should not be allowing himself to get all smitten (twice!) on his very first day of school.

He looked over at Jungkook, who winked at him again, then brushed his dark hair away from his eyes. Staggering good looks aside—yeah, right—he really did seem like a useful person to know. Like him, he was still adjusting to the setting, but had clearly been around the Sword & Cross block a few times before. And he was nice to him. He thought about the green guitar pick with his room number, hoping he didn’t give those out freely. They could be … friends. Maybe that was all he needed. Maybe then he would stop feeling quite so obviously out of place at Sword & Cross.

Maybe then he’d be able to forgive the fact that the only window in the classroom was the size of a business envelope, caked with lime, and looked out on a massive mausoleum in the cemetery.

Maybe then he’d be able to forget the nose-tickling odor of peroxide emanating from the bleached-blond punk chick sitting in front of him.

Maybe then he could actually pay attention to the stern, mustached teacher who marched into the room, commanded the class to shapeupandsitdown, and firmly closed the door.

The smallest tweak of disappointment tugged at his heart. It took him a moment to trace where it had come from. Until the teacher shut the door, he’d been holding out a little hope that Taehyung would be in his first class, too.

What did he have next hour, French? He looked down at his schedule to check what room it was in. Just then, a paper airplane skidded across his schedule, overshot his desk, and landed on the floor by his bag. He checked to see who’d noticed, but the teacher was busy tearing through a piece of chalk as he wrote something on the board.

Jin glanced nervously to his left. When Jungkook looked over at him, he gave him a wink and a flirty little wave that caused his whole body to tense up. But he didn’t seem to have seen or been responsible for the paper airplane.

“Psssst,” came the quiet whisper behind him. It was Jimin, who motioned with his chin for Jin to pick up the paper plane. Jin bent down to reach for it and saw his name written in small black letters on the wing. His first note!

Already looking for the exit?

Not a good sign.

We’re in this hellhole until lunch.

That had to be a joke. Jin double-checked his schedule and realized with horror that all three of his morning classes were in this very same room 1—and all three would be taught by the very same Mr. Lee.

He’d detached himself from the blackboard and was sleepily threading his way through the room. There was no introduction for the new kids—and Jin couldn’t decide whether he was glad about that or not. Mr. Lee merely slapped syllabi down on each of the four new students’ desks. When the stapled packet landed in front of Jin, he leaned forward eagerly to take a look. History of the World, it read. Circumventing the Doom of Mankind. Hmmm, history had always been his strongest subject, but circumventing doom?

A closer look at the syllabus was all it took for Jin to see that Jimin had been right about being in a hellhole: an impossible reading load, TEST in big, bold letters every third class period, and a thirty-page paper on— seriously?—the failed tyrant of your choice. Thick black parentheses had been drawn in black Sharpie around the assignments Jin had missed during the first few weeks. In the margins, Mr. Lee had written See me for Makeup Research Assignment. If there was a more effective way of soul-, Jin would be scared to find out.

At least he had Jimin sitting back there in the next row. Jin was glad the precedent had already been set for SOS note-passing. He and Sandeul used to text each other on the sly, but to make it here, Jin was definitely going to need to learn to fold a paper airplane. He tore a sheet from his notebook and tried to use Jimin’s as a model.

After a few origami-challenged minutes, another plane landed on his desk. He glanced back at Jimin, who shook his head and gave him a you-have-so-much-to-learn roll of the eyes.

Jin shrugged an apology and swiveled back around to open the second note:

Oh, and until you’re confident about your aim, you might not want to fly any Taehyung-related messages my way. Dude behind you is famous on the football field for his interceptions.

Good to know. He hadn’t even seen Taehyung’s friend Seo Joon come in behind him. Now he turned very slightly in his seat until he glimpsed his short hair out of the corner of his eye. He dared a glance down at the open notebook on his desk and caught his full name. Park Seo Joon.

“No note-passing,” Mr. Lee said sternly, causing Jin to whip his head back to attention. “No plagiarizing, and no looking at one another’s papers. I didn’t put myself through graduate school only to receive your divided attention.”

Jin nodded in unison with the other dazed kids just as a third paper plane glided to a stop in the middle of his desk.

Only 172 minutes to go!

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A hundred and seventy-three torturous minutes later, Jimin was leading Jin to the cafeteria. “What’d ya think?” he asked.

“You were right,” Jin said numbly, still recovering from how painfully bleak his first three hours of class had been. “Why would anyone teach such a depressing subject?”

“Aw, Lee’ll ease up soon. He puts on his no-guff face every time there’s a new student. Anyway,” Jimin said, poking Jin, “it could be worse. You could have gotten stuck with Ms. Kang.”

Jin glanced down at his schedule. “I have her for biology in the afternoon block,” he said with a sinking feeling in his gut.

As Jimin sputtered out a laugh, Jin felt a bump on his shoulder. It was Jungkook, passing them in the hall on his way to lunch. Jin would have gone sprawling if not for his hand reaching back to steady him.

“Easy there.” He shot him a quick smile, and he wondered if he had bumped him intentionally. But he didn’t seem that juvenile. Jin glanced at Jimin to see whether he’d noticed anything. Jimin raised his eyebrows, almost inviting Jin to speak, but neither one of them said a thing.

When they crossed the dusty interior windows separating bleak hall from bleaker cafeteria, Jimin took hold of Jin’s elbow.

“Avoid the chicken-fried steak at all costs,” he coached as they followed the crowd into the din of the lunchroom. “The pizza’s fine, the chili’s okay, and actually the borscht ain’t bad. Do you like meat loaf?”

“I’m a vegetarian,” Jin said. He was glancing around the tables, looking for two people in particular. Taehyung and Jungkook. He’d just feel more at ease if he knew where they were so he could go about having his lunch pretending that he didn’t see either one of them. But so far, no sightings …

“Vegetarian, huh?” Jimin pursed his lips. “Hippie parents or your own meager attempt at rebellion?”

“Uh, neither, I just don’t—”

“Like meat?” Jimin steered Jin’s shoulders ninety degrees so that he was looking directly at Taehyung, sitting at a table across the room. Jin let out a long exhale. There he was. “Now, does that go for all meat?” Jimin sang loudly. “Like you wouldn’t sink your teeth into him?”

Jin slugged Jimin and dragged him toward the lunch line. Jimin was cracking up, but Jin knew he was blushing badly, which would be excruciatingly obvious in this fluorescent lighting.

“Shut up, he totally heard you,” he whispered.

Part of Jin felt glad to be joking about boys with a friend. Assuming Jimin was his friend.

He still felt unglued by what had happened this morning when he’d seen Taehyung. That pull toward him—he still didn’t understand where it came from, and yet here it was again. He made himself tear his eyes away from his blond hair, from the smooth line of his jaw. He refused to be caught staring. He did not want to give him any reason to flip him off a second time.

“Whatever,” Jimin scoffed. “He’s so focused on that hamburger, he wouldn’t hear the call of Satan.” He gestured at Taehyung, who did look intensely focused on chewing his burger. Scratch that, he looked like someone pretending to be intensely focused on chewing his hamburger.

Jin glanced across the table at Taehyung’s friend Seo Joon. He was looking straight at him. When he caught his eye, he waggled his eyebrows in a way that Jin couldn’t make sense of but that still creeped him out a little.

Jin turned back to Jimin. “Why is everyone at this school so weird?”

“I’m going to choose not to take offense at that,” Jimin said, picking up a plastic tray and handing one to Jin. “And I’m going to move on to explaining the fine art of selecting a cafeteria seat. You see, you never want to sit anywhere near the—Jin, look out!”

All Jin did was take one step backward, but as soon as he did, he felt the rough shove of two hands on his shoulders. Immediately, he knew he was going down. He reached out in front of him for support, but all his hands found was someone else’s full lunch tray. The whole thing tumbled down right along with him. He landed with a thud on the cafeteria floor, a full cup of borscht in his face.

When he’d wiped enough mushy beets out of his eyes to see, Jin looked up. Their was a guy with spiky bleached hair standing over him with a death glare. He bared his teeth at Jin and hissed, “If the sight of you hadn’t just ruined my appetite, I’d make you buy me another lunch.”

Jin stammered an apology. He tried to get up, but the guy clamped his black boot down on Jin’s foot. Pain shot up his leg, and he had to bite his lip so he wouldn’t cry out.

“Why don’t I just take a rain check,” the guy said.

“That’s enough, Yoongi,” Jimin said coolly. He reached down to help Jin to his feet.

Jin winced. 

Yoongi squared his hips to face Jimin, and Jin got the feeling this was not the first time they’d locked horns.

“Fast friends with the newbie, I see,” Yoongi growled. “This is very bad behavior, J. Aren’t you supposed to be on probation?”

Jin swallowed. Jimin hadn’t mentioned anything about probation, and it didn’t make sense that that would prohibit him from making new friends. But the word was enough to make Jimin clench his fist and throw a fat punch that landed on Yoongi’s right eye.

Yoongi reeled backward, but it was Jimin who caught Jin’s attention. He’d begun convulsing, his arms thrown up and jerking in the air.

It was the wristband, Jin realized with horror. It was sending some sort of shock through Jimin’s body. Unbelievable. This was cruel and unusual punishment, for sure. Jin’s stomach churned as he watched his friend’s entire body quake. He reached out to catch Jimin just as he sank to the floor.

“Jimin,” Jin whispered. “Are you okay?”

“Terrific.” Jimin’s brown eyes flickered open, then shut.

Jin gasped. Then one of Jimin’s eyes popped back open. “Scared ya, did I? Aw, that’s sweet. Don’t worry, the shocks won’t kill me,” he whispered. “They only make me stronger. Anyway, it was worth it to give that cow a black eye, ya know?”

“All right, break it up. Break it up,” a husky voice boomed behind them.

Bo Young stood in the doorway, red-faced and breathing hard. It was a little too late to break anything up, Jin thought, but then Yoongi was lurching toward them. This guy was shameless. Was he really going to kick the crap out of Jimin with Bo Young standing right there?

Luckily, Bo Young’s burly arms closed around him first. Yoongi tried to kick his way out and started screaming.

“Somebody better start talking,” Bo Young barked, squeezing Yoongi until he went limp. “On second thought, all three of you report for detention tomorrow morning. Cemetery. Crack of dawn!” Bo Young looked at Yoongi. “Have you chilled yet?”

Yoongi nodded stiffly, and Bo Young released him. She crouched down to where Jimin still lay in Jin’s lap, his arms crossed over his chest. At first Jin thought Jimin was sulking, like an angry dog with a shock collar, but then Jin felt a small jolt from Jimin’s body and realized that the boy was still at the mercy of the wristband.

“Come on,” Bo Young said, more softly. “Let’s go turn you off.”

She extended her hand to Jimin and helped heave up his tiny, shaking body, turning back only once at the doorway to repeat her orders for Jin and Yoongi.

“Crack of dawn!”

“Looking forward to it,” Yoongi said sweetly, reaching down to pick up the plate of meat loaf that had slipped from his tray.

He dangled it over Jin’s head for a second, then turned the plate upside down and mashed the food into his hair. Jin could hear the squish of his own mortification as all of Sword & Cross got its viewing of the meat-loaf-coated new boy.

“Priceless,” Yoongi said, pulling out the tiniest silver camera from the back pocket of his black jeans. “Say … meat loaf,” he sang, snapping a few close-up shots. “These will be great on my blog.”

“Nice hat,” someone jeered from the other side of the cafeteria. Then, with trepidation, Jin turned his eyes to Taehyung, praying that somehow he had missed this whole scene. But no. He was shaking his head. He looked annoyed.

Until that moment, Jin had thought he had a chance at standing up and just shaking off the incident—literally. But seeing Taehyung’s reaction—well, it finally made him crack.

He would not cry in front of any of these horrible people. He swallowed hard, got to his feet, and took off. He rushed toward the nearest door, eager to feel some cool air on his face.

Instead, the southern September humidity cloaked him, choking him, as soon as he got outside. The sky was that no-color color, a grayish brown so oppressively bland it was difficult even to find the sun. Jin slowed down, but got as far as the edge of the parking lot before he came to a complete stop.

He longed to see his battered old car there, to sink into the fraying cloth seat, rev the engine, crank up the stereo, and peel the hell out of this place. But as he stood on the hot black pavement, reality set in: He was stuck here, and a pair of towering metal gates separated him from the world outside Sword & Cross. Besides, even if he’d had a way out … where was he going to go?

The sick feeling in his gut told him all he needed to know. He was already at the last stop, and things were looking pretty grim.

It was as depressing as it was true: Sword & Cross was all he had.

He dropped his face into his hands, knowing he had to go back. But when he lifted his head, the residue on his palm reminded him that he was still coated in Yoongi’s meat loaf. Ugh. First stop, the nearest bathroom.

Back inside, Jin ducked into the boys’ room just as the door was swinging open. Hoseok, who appeared even more blond and flawless now that Jin looked like he’d just gone Dumpster diving, squeezed past.

“Whoops, ’scuse me, honey,” he said. His southern-accented voice was sweet, but his face crumpled up at the sight of Jin. “Oh God, you look terrible. What happened?”

What happened? As if the whole school didn’t already know. This guy was probably playing dumb so Jin would relive the whole mortifying scene.

“Wait five minutes,” Jin replied, with more of an edge in his voice than he meant. “I’m sure gossip spreads like the plague around here.”

“You want any help? You haven’t seen yourself yet, but you’re going to—”

“Thanks, but no.” Jin cut him off, pushing into the bathroom. Without looking at himself in the mirror, he the faucet. He splashed cold water on his face and finally let it all out. Tears streaming, he pumped the soap dispenser and tried to use some of the cheap pink powdered hand soap to scrub off the meat loaf. But there was still the matter of his hair. And his clothes had definitely looked and smelled better. Not that he needed to worry about making a good first impression anymore.

The bathroom door cracked open and Jin scrambled against the wall like a trapped animal. When a stranger walked in, Jin stiffened and waited for the worst.

The guy had a squat build, accentuated by an abnormal amount of layered clothing. He had a thin face with brown hair, and his bright purple glasses wobbled when he sniffed. He looked fairly unassuming, but then, looks could be deceiving. Both his hands were tucked behind his back in a way that, after the day Jin had had, he just couldn’t trust.

“You know, you’re not supposed to be in here without a pass,” the guy said. His even tone seemed to mean business.

“I know.” The look in the guy’s eyes confirmed Jin’s suspicion that it was absolutely impossible to catch a break at this place. He started to sigh in surrender. “I just—”

“I’m kidding.” The guy laughed, rolling his eyes and relaxing his posture. “I snagged some shampoo from the locker room for you,” he said, bringing his hands around to display two innocent-looking plastic bottles of shampoo and conditioner. “Come on,” he said, pulling over a beat-up folding chair. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Sit here.”

A half-whimpering, half-laughing noise he’d never made before escaped from Jin’s lips. It sounded, he guessed, like relief. The guy was actually being nice to him—not just reform school nice, but regular-person nice! For no apparent reason. The shock of it was almost too great for Jin to stand. “Thanks?” Jin managed to say, still feeling a little bit guarded.

“Oh, and you probably need a change of clothes,” the guy said, looking down at his black sweater and pulling it over his head to expose an identical black sweater underneath.

When he saw the surprised look on Jin’s face, he said, “What? I have a hostile immune system. I have to wear a lot of layers.”

“Oh, well, will you be okay without this one?” Jin made himself ask, even though he would have done just about anything right then to get out of the meat cloak he was wearing.

“Of course,” the guy said, waving him off. “I’ve got three more on under this. And a couple more in my locker. Be my guest. It pains me to see a vegetarian covered in meat. I’m very empathetic.”

Jin wondered how this stranger knew about his dietary preferences, but more than that, he had to ask: “Um, why are you being so nice?”

The guy laughed, sighed, then shook his head. “Not everyone at Sword & Cross is a or a jock.”

“Huh?” Jin said.

“Sword & Cross … and Jocks. Lame nickname in town for this school. Obviously there aren’t really any jocks here. I won’t oppress your ears with some of the cruder nicknames they’ve come up with.”

Jin laughed.

“All I meant was, not everyone here is a complete jerk.”

“Just the majority?” Jin asked, hating it that he already sounded so negative. But it had been such a long morning, and he’d already been through so much, and maybe this guy wouldn’t judge him for being a little bit gruff.

To his surprise, the guy smiled. “Exactly. And they sure give the rest of us a bad name.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Lee Jae-hwan. You can call me Ken.”

“Got it,” Jin said. There was something trustworthy about a guy with a name like that who could manage to introduce himself with a straight face. “I’m Kim Seokjin.”

“And everybody calls you Jin,” Ken said. “And you transferred from Dover Prep in New Hampshire.”

“How’d you know that?” Jin asked slowly.

“Lucky guess?” Ken shrugged. “I’m kidding, I read your file, duh. It’s a hobby.”

Jin stared at him blankly. Maybe he’d been too hasty with that trustworthy judgment. How could Ken have access to his file?

Ken took over running the water. When it got warm, he motioned for Jin to lower his head into the sink.

“See, the thing is,” he explained, “I’m not actually crazy.” He pulled Jin up by his wet head. “No offense.” Then lowered his back down. “I’m the only kid at this school without a court mandate. And you might not think it, but being legally sane has its advantages. For example, I’m also the only kid they trust to be an office aide. Which is dumb on their part. I have access to a lot of confidential .”

“But if you don’t have to be here—”

“When your father’s the groundskeeper of the school, they kind of have to let you go for free. So …” Ken trailed off.

Ken’s father was the groundskeeper? From the looks of the place, it hadn’t crossed Jin’s mind that they even had a groundskeeper.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Ken said, helping Jin shampoo the last of the gravy from his hair. “That the grounds aren’t exactly well kept?”

“No,” Jin lied. He was eager to stay on this guy’s good side and wanted to put out the be-my-friend vibe way more than he wanted to seem like he actually cared about how often someone mowed the lawn at Sword & Cross. “It’s, um, really nice.”

“Dad died two years ago,” Ken said quietly. “They got as far as sticking me with decaying old Headmaster Udell as my legal guardian, but, uh, they never really got around to hiring a replacement for Dad.”

“I’m sorry,” Jin said, lowering his voice, too. So someone else here knew what it was like to go through a major loss.

“It’s okay,” Ken said, squirting conditioner into his palm. “It’s actually a really good school. I like it here a lot.”

Now Jin’s head shot up, sending a spray of water across the bathroom. “You sure you’re not crazy?” he teased.

“I’m kidding. I hate it here. It totally .”

“But you can’t bring yourself to leave,” Jin said, tilting his head, curious.

Ken bit his lip. “I know it’s morbid, but even if I weren’t stuck with Udell, I couldn’t. My dad’s here.” He gestured toward the cemetery, invisible from here. “He’s all I’ve got.”

“Then I guess you’ve got more than some other people at this school,” Jin said, thinking of Jimin. His mind rolled back to the way Jimin had gripped his hand on the quad today, the eager look in his brown eyes when he made Jin promise he’d swing by his dorm room tonight.

“He’s gonna be okay,” Ken said. “It wouldn’t be Monday if Jimin didn’t get carted off to the nurse after a fit.”

“But it wasn’t a fit,” Jin said. “It was that wristband. I saw it. It was shocking him.”

“We have a very broad definition of what makes for a ‘fit’ here at Sword & Cross. Your new enemy, Yoongi? He’s thrown some legendary fits. They keep saying they’re going to change his meds. Hopefully you’ll have the pleasure of witnessing at least one good freak-out before they do.”

Ken’s intel was pretty remarkable. It crossed Jin’s mind to ask him what the story was with Taehyung, but the complicated intensity of his interest in him was probably best kept to a need-to-know basis. At least until he figured it out himself.

He felt Ken’s hands wringing the water from his hair.

“That’s the last of it,” Ken said. “I think you’re finally meat-free.”

Jin looked in the mirror and ran his hands through his hair. Ken was right. Except for the emotional scarring and the pain in his right foot, there was no evidence of his cafeteria brawl with Yoongi.

“I’m just glad you have short hair,” Ken said. “If it were still medium lengthened as it was in the picture in your file, this would have been a much lengthier operation.”

Jin gawked at him. “I’m going to have to keep an eye on you, aren’t I?”

Ken looped his arm through Jin’s and steered him out of the bathroom. “Just stay on my good side and no one gets hurt.”

Jin shot Ken a worried look, but Ken’s face gave nothing away. “You’re kidding, right?” Jin asked.

Ken smiled, suddenly cheery. “Come on, we gotta get to class. Aren’t you glad we’re in the same afternoon block?”

Jin laughed. “When are you going to stop knowing everything about me?”

“Not in the foreseeable future,” Ken said, tugging him down the hall and back toward the cinder-block classrooms. “You’ll learn to love it soon, I promise. I’m a very powerful friend to have.”