I told him I had no idea.

“If you’re still with him, as your attorney, that’s something I should know.”

“Mr. Kipling,” I said, “Win has a new girlfriend, though I do think he has the tragically misguided idea that we should still be friends.” I told him about Alison Wheeler and how they had rekindled a romance while working on Charles Delacroix’s campaign.

“I am sorry, Anya, but I can’t pretend to be anything but relieved.”

I had wrapped the phone cord around my wrist. My hand was starting to turn white for lack of blood.

“Onward! Let’s talk schools,” Mr. Kipling said brightly. “Did you find something?”

“No, but I had an idea I wanted to run by you. What would you think of homeschooling?” “Homeschooling?” I repeated.

“Yes, you’d finish up your senior year at home. We’d hire a tutor or tutors even. You’d still take your college entrance exams…” Mr. Kipling rambled on about homeschooling, but I had stopped listening. Wasn’t homeschooling for the socially maladjusted? The outcasts? But then, I suppose I was well on my way to being both. “So?” Mr. Kipling said.

“Kind of feels like giving up,” I replied after a pause.

“Not giving up. Just a little retreat until we can come up with something better.” “Well, on a positive note, I guess I’d graduate top of my class.”

“That’s the spirit, Annie.”

Mr. Kipling and I said goodbye and then I hung up the phone. It was only ten in the morning, and I had nothing to do for the rest of the day except to wait for Natty to come home. I couldn’t help but think of Leo after he’d lost his job last year. Was this how he had felt? Forgotten, discarded, outcast?

I missed my brother.

Natty and I hadn’t made it to church on Sunday, so, lacking other plans, I decided to go.

If I haven’t mentioned it before, the church Natty and I went to was St. Patrick’s Cathedral. I loved the place even if it was falling apart. I’d seen pictures of it from one hundred years ago, back when it still had turrets and there hadn’t been a hole in the ceiling. But I was fond of that hole actually. I liked to be able to see the sky when I was praying.

I put some money in the basket for the campaign to restore St. Patrick’s and went into the nave. The kind of people in a church in a decaying city in the middle of a Monday morning were a pretty sad lot—aged, homeless. I was the only teenage girl there.

I sat down in a pew and crossed myself.

I said my usual prayers for my mother and father in Heaven. I asked God to watch over Leo in Japan. I thanked Him that I had been able to keep us safe to this point.

And then I asked for something for myself. “Please,” I whispered, “let me figure out a way to graduate on time.” I knew it was kind of a silly thing to want, considering the more complex problems in my life and in the world in general. For the record, I also thought it was cheap to use prayer in this way—God wasn’t Santa Claus. But I had sacrificed a lot and well, the heart wanted what it wanted, and sometimes what the heart wanted was to walk down the aisle at its high school graduation.

When I got back from church, the phone was ringing.

“This is Mr. Rose. I’m the school secretary at Holy Trinity. I’d like to talk to Anya Balanchine.” So Trinity had finally hired a new school secretary. That had only taken two years. “This is she.” “The headmaster requests an audience with you tomorrow morning at nine. Are you free?”

“What is this about?” I asked. It could, for instance, have been something to do with my little sister.

“Headmaster prefers to discuss the details in person.”

I did not tell Natty or Scarlet about my meeting nor did I wear my Trinity uniform. I did not want to presume what I so desperately hoped—that somehow, somehow, the administrative board at Holy Trinity had revised their decision, that they were taking pity on me and were allowing me to return for my senior year.

Mr. Kipling offered to come to the meeting, but I thought it was better that I go alone. I didn’t want to remind Headmaster that I was the kind of girl who had a lawyer where a proper parent should have been.

Since the last time I had been at school in May, metal detectors had been installed at the main entrance. I could only assume that had had something to do with me. Way to leave a mark on the place, Anya.

I went straight to Headmaster’s office, where I was greeted by Mr. Rose. “Nice to meet you,” Mr. Rose said to me. “Headmaster will be with you in a moment.”

The familiarity of that office was almost unbearable. It was where I had found out my brother had shot Yuri Balanchine. It was where I had been accused of poisoning Gable Arsley. It was where I had met Win.

Headmaster poked her head out the door. “Come in, Anya.”

I followed her into the room, and she closed the door behind me.

“I was glad to hear you weren’t injured in that bus accident,” Headmaster began. “And I must compliment you. You did acquit yourself very nicely in the short interview I saw on the news.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“We’ve known each other a long time, Anya, so I’m not going to beat around the bush here. An anonymous donor has made a significant financial contribution to Holy Trinity. The only stipulation is that Anya Balanchine be allowed to continue her education.”

“I … That’s news to me.”

The headmaster looked me in the eye. “Is it?” I returned her gaze. “Yes.”

“The donor, if I am to believe that it isn’t you or someone from your family, claims he or she saw your interview on the news and was impressed with your, I believe the word was grace. The donation is so sizable that the board and I feel we cannot merely ignore or return it without talking to you first. As you know, no one wants you with your guns and your drugs back on this campus.”

I nodded.

“Have you found another school yet?” Headmaster asked me warily.

“No. The places I tried feel the same way about me that you do. Also, I’m a senior, so…”

“Yes, I imagine that does make things more difficult. We don’t admit incoming seniors here either.” Headmaster leaned back in her chair and sighed. “If I was to let you return, your freedom here would have to be seriously curtailed. I have parents to answer to, Anya. Each morning, you would have to stop by my office so that Mr. Rose could search through your bag and frisk you. In addition, you could not participate in after-school activities, social or extracurricular. Do you think you could live with that?”

“Yes.” I would have agreed to almost anything at this point.

“Any violation of rules would result in your immediate suspension.” I told her I understood.

The headmaster furrowed her brow. “It’s a public relations fiasco. If you were me, what would you tell the parents?”

“That Holy Trinity is first and foremost a Catholic school. And that Catholic schools have to practice forgiveness. That you showed me charity when no other schools wanted me.”

Headmaster nodded. “Seems sensible. Don’t mention the donation at all.” “Exactly.”

“Would you even want to come back here?” Headmaster asked me in a kinder voice than the one she’d heretofore been using. “These haven’t exactly been happy years for you, have they?”

I told her the truth. “I’m sorry if I ever made it seem otherwise but I love Holy Trinity, Headmaster. It has, despite everything, been the one good and consistent place in my life.”

“We’ll see you tomorrow, Anya,” Headmaster said after a long pause. “Don’t make me regret this.”

When I got back home, I called Mr. Kipling to find out if he’d made the donation to Holy Trinity. “I don’t know anything about it,” Mr. Kipling said. “I’m putting you on speaker so Simon can hear.”

“How are you feeling?” I asked Simon Green.

“Much better,” Simon answered. “Did your headmaster say how big the donation was?” “Only that it was sizable.”