We were invited (or, I should say, Jason and Mel were invited) to a so-called gathering right before school began. Mel had a lot of friends; I'd met a few of them over the summer months, and they'd been predictably the sort of rich, clueless kids I'd assumed she'd be friends with. That's not to say that I didn't like them--at first, I'd tried to hang out with Mel and them doing simple things like shopping or going for ice cream, but then Mel had taken mercy on me and said she didn't mind me staying home. Or she'd not call her friends and just go out the two of us. It wasn't as if I disliked the others, but I didn't fit with them, and I couldn't ever, even if I tried. There was too much separating me from them, and the only reason I'd been able to relate to Mel was that she knew about me. The others didn't, never would, and it took too much effort on my part to pretend to be someone I wasn't. I was grateful when Mel realized that.

But this gathering, well, I felt I had to go. Mel was so excited about it, and if even her brother were going, I didn't see how I'd be able to just stay home alone. Jason had become something of a recluse those summer months. Maybe he'd always been one, but he pretty much never did anything with other people. He did a lot of reading and a lot of video gaming, and he ran every single day, rain or shine, no fail, at five-thirty AM. I'd seen him leaving several times, as I was almost always awake early (if I'd slept at all).

I wished I could be more like Jason, more able to keep to myself, but Mel cared about me, and I knew her attempts to help me socialize came from a good place.

"Even my brother's coming!" she'd insisted. "I know it's hard for you, so I'll make sure not to leave you the entire time, okay?"

I laughed a little. "Really, don't promise me that. I don't need you to babysit me. I'll come, okay? I'll be fine."

And that's how we ended up at some other girl's giant house for a pool party late August.

If I'd thought the Hineses' house was big, this one was no doubt bigger. I didn't know how people managed to fill such big houses, but this one was impeccably decorated, with walls and furniture and decor that boggled my mind. The entryway itself was like that of some big castle, with a wide staircase ascending toward an upper floor lined by balconies and alcoves leading into whatever other rooms were up there. We didn't head up, though, and instead were directed through the foyer into some other beautiful rooms and at length to a sort of changing area where boys and girls parted ways and went to dress in their suits.

At that point, I pulled Mel aside, and the girl who'd been leading us waited politely.

"You didn't say it was a pool party."

"I did," she replied. "But you didn't hear me."

"I don't have a suit."

"Yes you do. I brought it." She retrieved it from her pool bag and held it out to me.

I glanced at the girl waiting for us (I knew her name was Clare, and I knew that this was her house, but I really didn't care) and then back to Mel. "I don't want to swim."

Mel tried to smile at me sympathetically, but I could see frustration tightening her smile. "Mirah, you swim at my house every day. This isn't any different."

"Except there are probably a hundred people out there! It's entirely different!"

"Don't be so ashamed of yourself! You have a great body!"

It had been the wrong thing to say, but I couldn't argue with her. I wouldn't argue with her. Not after all she'd done and was still doing to help me. I snatched my suit from her hand and went into a changing room as Clare directed me to it, shutting the door behind me none too quietly.

But I didn't change. I sat down on the cushioned stool inside that little room, slumped over, staring blindly at the door across from me with its floor-length mirror embedded in it. The longer I stared, the more angry I became. I just couldn't go out there, and not because I cared about my body. I seriously did not want to talk to those people, and swimming involved interaction with others; it wasn't like I could just blend in. Everyone called attention to themselves when they wore swimsuits. I just wasn't going to do it.

"You ready, Mirah?" Came Mel's chirp beyond my door. "Clare went to greet more people--you ready to head out?"

I bit my lower lip, so hard it hurt a bit. "No. Uh, go ahead without me. I'm right behind you."

"Oh, no worries. I'll wait."

"Seriously, Mel. Go. I'm fine. I just need to use the bathroom first is all. Ok?"

She hesitated, probably trying to gauge my honesty. But to my relief, she assented. "I'll be right outside, ok? So just come and find me."

I lied and told her I would.

For a moment I continued to just sit there. But when I heard voices, I realized that I couldn't do that forever; the hostess was obviously going to keep bringing people in to change, and no doubt she'd wonder who was still behind my locked door. So before the voices got too close, I opened it and slipped out.

Sliding glass doors led to the patio and the pool, but I wasn't heading that way. Instead, I slipped out a side door into what looked like a den of some sort and hid there until the voices came and went. Then I sneaked back into the changing rooms and the way we'd come through the house. I got a little lost, and I had to avoid a few more encounters with guided party guests, but at length, I found myself isolated in the main hallway. I couldn't stay there, either. Truth was, I didn't know where to go. I wanted to leave, but I couldn't go without Mel, and I certainly wasn't going into the pool. I supposed I'd have to eventually go outside, whether I swam or not, but I didn't feel like doing it just then.

As I stood there pondering, the door rang, and I knew Clare would be coming to open it any second. So I bolted up the stairs, not knowing where else to go, and slipped into an open room. It was another den of some sort, or a sitting room--whatever it might be called. There were lovely, comfortable chairs and sofas, but there wasn't a television or anything. Instead, the walls were filled with books. So perhaps it was more a library or study. But I didn't really stop to look, because there was another opening in the opposite wall, and I saw plants beyond it. Lots and lots of plants. My curiosity led me toward that opening and then into the greenhouse there. It was really, really cool. The entire room was glass, and it overlooked the patio, where I saw tons of young people talking and swimming and eating. Plants were everywhere, and they were beautiful. Orchids, vines, spidery-looking hanging baskets, huge potted flowers, entire rows of violets. A stream trickled through it, fed by an indoor waterfall, and fat goldfish swam around inside.

I felt as if I were in another world watching the one I'd left below. It was peaceful there, quiet, and it smelled amazing.

How long could I pull this off? I tried to find Mel among the crowd below, and after a while I did, mostly because her suit was neon pink. She looked entirely occupied, not as if she missed me, so I was reassured.

I turned and found a strange hanging chair, almost like a rope basket, like a bird perch for a human, and I briefly considered curling up in it, but somehow that felt wrong. Too comfortable. This wasn't my house, after all; these people weren't my friends. So I just stayed put, standing, watching, trying to read the laughing and smiling faces of the people below. I envied them. I wanted to be there with them, and yet I couldn't be. I wasn't this, this Amirah. This person Mel thought I could be. I was empty. I was nothing. I had no place with them or with anyone.

The only person I'd ever felt somewhat comfortable with was Henry.

Oh, Henry. I wished he were with me.

I missed Henry. Every second. I wondered what he was doing at the exact moment I was thinking about him. I worried that he was dead, or alive and doing awful things, or being hurt, or forgetting about me and finding new people to care about. And I wasn't sure which picture was worst—they were all awful. I wished I could get him out of my head and let it all be, because something told me that whoever had gone to so much trouble to get him back was not going to let him go easily.

Why did I care so much about him? I couldn't answer that question, though I asked it a million times a day. He had saved me from Oliphant. He had helped me figure out a little about my past. He had been kind to me. He was like a lost soul needing my help—and who would try to help him if I didn't? These were all the reasons I'd considered, but there was something more to it. Something that connected me to Henry . . . something that was internalized in my sleeping memories. We had felt it before, months ago—I didn't think I'd imagined it. Or, at least, I hoped I hadn't imagined it. Every day that passed made me wonder whether I wasn't projecting my hopes onto reality. Had I really felt that electricity from his touch? Had I really remembered a conversation with him in a dim, starlit space? Were these just dreams I wished were true? Oh, I wasn't sure anymore. But being alone always moved my mind, my heart toward him. Like there was some compass inside me that pointed to him. Even my body hadn't felt the same being so far from him; I walked around with the constant dull ache of something missing, some absence, and I knew that absence was Henry.

I only wished my heart would, at some point, actually tell me where he was, because what I feared more than anything else was that I'd never see him again.

As I stood there, my gaze roaming over the myriad people below while my mind wandered woods in search of Henry, I was recalled to the present when my eyes locked with those of someone down on the patio. It was a boy, maybe my age, maybe older--one of the people at the party, obviously. He was tanned and tall with dark, jet hair falling casually in waves to his chin, bare-chested and athletic--deep eyes that were looking directly into mine. It was as if the world around him were moving but he'd stayed put and spotted me there in the window. I'd been seen.

The moment I realized it, I dropped to the ground and sat there, crouched, breathing as if I'd just been chased and finally found a moment to rest. It was ridiculous, but his seeing me had startled me something awful. Who was he? Would he try to come and find me? Would he tell someone I was there? Should I leave? And then I became irrational, but I couldn't help wondering if he were a spy from the Circuit.

No. Not here. That was stupid, and I wasn't worth the trouble.

"Amirah?"

I practically fell over at hearing my name so close to me. He'd caught me!

But then I was being helped up, and it was just Jason. Relief flooded through me, although it waned when I realized I was standing there alone with him and he was just kind of looking at me, not talking.

"Sorry . . ." was all I could think to say.

He cocked his head a little to the right, gave me the once-over with his black, bottomless eyes. "Why?"

His question unnerved me more than some sarcastic answer would have. I shook my head and half-opened my mouth, trying to think of something to say, but nothing came out. I noticed he still had his hands on my upper arms, though he'd pulled me up over a minute ago. I sort of shook free, and he released me. Something was weird, here, but I couldn't put my finger on what.

"You're like me," he said at length.

I leaned a bit left, looking around him toward the door distractedly. "I don't think so," I replied matter-of-factly, registering what he'd said. I was nothing like Jason. Brooding, moody . . . weird.

"I mean that you don't want to be around other people."

Well, he was right, there. I actually looked at his face again, a bit more at ease. "Why'd you come, then?"

"Why'd you?"

"You didn't have to; you could've stayed home."

"So could've you."

I shook my head. "No. Mel begged me."

He nodded. "Me too. She's a little tough to say no to, isn't she?"

I forced a laugh, but I still didn't really want to sit and talk with him.

"You want to get out of here?"

What exactly was he asking me? I hesitated in answering. "Well . . . I can't leave Mel. She'd be upset."

"She'd find a ride home. I can text her on the way out. Tell her you weren't feeling well and I had to take you back."

"Jason--"

"I just want to talk to you," was what he said, as if following my thoughts. "That's all."

"You never wanted to talk to me before."

"I did. But I don't . . . I don't know how."

I raised an eyebrow. "It's like this: you open your mouth and make words come out. It's not really that difficult."

Jason surveyed me for a moment during which I wondered if I'd been too sarcastic. He still struck me as unpredictable, and though there'd been a night when both of us had relied on the other, I felt no friendship whatsoever with him.

"Look," he finally responded. "I get it if you don't want to talk to me, but it isn't about anything uncomfortable. It's actually--it's something you might want to know about."

"Can't you tell me right here?"

He shrugged, thought, frowned. "You just . . . never know who's listening."

"Ok. I . . . that makes sense, I guess." My curiosity had been stirred, for sure, and as strange as he was, I was at least relieved to know he wasn't trying to be too friendly with me. "Let's just go outside, then."

"Out there?" He motioned to the window. "No way."

"No, outside in the front, maybe? Just kind of away from people?"

Jason nodded then turned, and I followed him out of the greenhouse, down the stairs, and out the front door, where the action had calmed a little. We passed a few people coming in as we were heading out, but they didn't pay us much attention. The front lawn was expansive, and we easily found a more secluded area beyond the crowded circle drive; it was an alcove where bushes rose around a fountain of sorts, and there were some benches there. I was glad that there were two of them so that I wouldn't have to sit next to Jason.

The voices of everyone enjoying themselves at the pool party filtered through the bushes and encircled us in a sort of buzzing, almost like cicadas were droning in the trees. The music was loud, too, but not so much that we couldn't hear one another over it.

"So?" I asked, annoyed that he seemed to be waiting for me to talk.

Jason sat hunched over, his elbows on his knees, his fingers laced at the knuckles. "So, everything that happened."

More waiting. My irritation grew. "Yes? What about it?"

"I've . . . I've had a lot of time to think about all of it. To . . . to process." He sighed, remembering something I couldn't guess. "I know that I have a lot to thank you for."

"You've thanked me a ton already. No need--"

"You don't know what I do, though," he cut me off abruptly.

My growing frustration vanished. He wasn't wasting my time. He'd turned quite serious, almost icy, and I understood that he was just trying to figure out how to say what he had to say to me.

"Here's the thing. You might have forgotten about my father's murder. It might have been easy for you to do, because you got what you wanted, and that was clearing your friend's name. But his killer hasn't been found, and it's the only thing I've been thinking about for these months. It's like . . . like an obsession for me. I can't stop."

I believed him. He looked a little scary, and I believed he could become obsessive. "But it was the Circuit that did it, Jason."

"They actually did it, but they were hired. Who hired them? That's what I've wanted to know."

"Jason--"

"No, just listen to me. I already think I know who it was."

My eyes widened. Did he?

"I have a hard time saying this . . . but Amirah, I think it was my mother."

A solid moment passed before that registered. "What?"

"I don't want to explain everything now, but believe me, it's taken me a while to admit this to myself. It makes sense. She never fought my arrest. She let them put me in Oliphant. She never contested any of it. Even since I've been back, she's been . . . strange toward me. Cold."

I, too, was trying to make sense of it. Long ago, when I'd first arrived at the Hineses' house with a boy called Mac, he'd left when he realized Mrs. Hines hadn't been there. He'd been working for the Circuit; he'd felt something was wrong because she hadn't been there. Had he been working with her? Oh, my brain didn't want to go back to all of that! I thought it was all done with!

"I don't know if I'm right, exactly, but I don't know who else I can tell. Mel and Ella definitely wouldn't believe me. But being in Oliphant . . . that trial . . . it changed me. I don't trust anyone."

Neither did I. Perhaps we were a little more alike than I'd thought we were.

"What I know for sure is that you can't rely on us, Amirah. That's not a threat--not that I think you're in danger. I just don't know that you're actually as safe as you might think you are. There are pieces of this puzzle . . . pieces moving, and I don't know how they fit or who's putting this puzzle together, but I feel that there's too much going on in my own family that you'll get lost in the chaos if push comes to shove."

That would explain why I'd always felt Mrs. Hines disliked me (or, at the least, was uncomfortable around me). If she'd hired the Circuit to kill her husband, that would explain her distance, as I was somehow linked to them. Maybe she was afraid of implication if I recalled something.

"I'm glad you told me," I said at last. "I wish . . . I wish I could help you." Truthfully, I didn't know what to say to him.

"You've already done so much," he said quietly. "I just wanted you to know. We can't keep you safe."

I chewed the inside of my cheek, replied, "I sort of felt that already, to be honest."

"Good," he said, getting to his feet. "Then it shouldn't come as too much of a shock." He made like he was going to leave but then turned around and looked at me still sitting on the bench. "I almost forgot. This--" he retrieved a very stained and wrinkled envelope from his shorts pocket. "This came in the mail addressed to The Lost Soul. I almost threw it away, thought it was some sick person being an ass. Looked inside and was even more confused. Took me a while to realize it probably wasn't for me." He tossed it to me, and I barely caught it. "Maybe it will mean something to you." And he left.

I watched him go, then slowly opened the unsealed envelope. What could anyone possibly send me? Who would send me something, in the first place? I was unprepared for what fell out, and some slipped through my fingers and onto my knees and the ground: little blue flowers. Dried, of course. A whole envelope full of small, blue, yellow-cored flowers--forget-me-nots.