in the dark classroom around the candle in order to discuss whatever might have come up during the week; and, finally and crucially, never tell a single outsider about any of this. I’ve chosen Tuesdays and Fridays to go to Belzhar. This coming Friday is the next day that I’ll write in my journal. I can’t wait, though I’m also anxious to the point of feeling sick to my stomach when I think about it. My journal sits in my desk drawer, practically throbbing like a little disembodied heart. Whenever I run into one of the other Special Topics people on campus, we behave kind of low-key and no-big-deal on purpose. “Hey,” we say to one another. But truthfully we are all jumping inside, dying, impatiently waiting. DJ is so smart; she seems to know something’s up. Sometimes when we’re both in our room she looks at me funny. “What?” I say one afternoon when she sits watching me, all owl eyed. “You act like you’ve got a secret,”
