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“Can we agree to keep it that way?” he continues when I don’t answer.

I blink. It takes a few seconds for his question to sink in. “Of course,” I reply stiffly. “I’m not exactly eager for anyone to find out either.”

He stares at me as though it hadn’t occurred to him that the truth wouldn’t just be a problem for him. But he’s not the only one with something to lose. If anyone here finds out that I slept with my teacher, my reputation would be ruined. My life at this school would be ruined in my senior year. God, I might not even be allowed to graduate. The thought makes me sick.

“I’m assuming you haven’t told anyone about us either?” I say. It’s really awful, but what else can I do? What else can I say?

Maybe that I couldn’t forget about him for three months, even though I tried very hard to? Part of me would like to do just that, to see how he would react, but I guess that’s the worst thing I could do right now. I have to pull myself together.

“I didn’t.”

It takes a huge effort not to let on how I’m feeling. I should be happy he hasn’t told anyone. I should be just as relieved as he is, but I can’t be. Why not?

“Then let’s agree that neither of us will ever talk about this to anyone.” I’m basically repeating what he just said. It’s silly, but it gives me a feeling of being in control, which is something I desperately need in the state I’m in.

“Sure.” There’s a tone in his voice that I can’t quite interpret. Maybe it’s hesitation that’s barely there.

“Okay, great. We won’t talk to anyone about that night, and preferably not to each other either.” I say it without thinking. I have an unbearable urge to stay in control, even though it’s an illusion. I’ll never be in control when it comes to him.

He tilts his head, a few strands of dark hair falling across his forehead. His gaze burns into mine, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. “Yes, that’s probably for the best,” he replies, but he doesn’t sound like he actually believes it. There are butterflies in my stomach again. It’s silly, but I don’t know exactly what I’m hoping for. Whatever was between us, it’s now irrevocably over.

“Agreed.” My voice isn’t as confident as it should be. It’s trembling, and I’m sure he can hear it. “You can go now.”

His eyebrows go up. “Are you serious? You’re just going to send me away?”

“Yes,” I say through clenched teeth. My fingers are pressed into the ballet barre so hard it hurts. Go away. Just go away, before I say something I shouldn’t. Go away before I do something really stupid.

“But—” He breaks off into a stunned laugh. Then he shakes his head and comes toward me. He stands so close that I can smell his scent. Fresh and minty and far too familiar. Smell stores memories, and this one is burned into my brain forever. I feel warm. He’s so close to me now that I have to look up at him. He’s far too handsome—it’s not fair.

“What?” I whisper, confused. My mouth is dry, and my palms are sweating. Everything is spinning. We should really keep our distance, but I can’t move away because the barre is behind me. I have no space. His gaze wanders to my mouth, lingering on my lips for a fraction of a second too long. He swallows. Heat floods through me. Then his eyes roam lower.

“You have something that belongs to me,” he says hoarsely, and all at once the heat turns to ice as I remember the necklace. For a few minutes, I almost forgot about it. My face can’t decide whether to go pale or turn bright red.

“I . . . I . . .” I stammer helplessly. I should deny it. He can’t see it, so he can’t really know I have it, can he? But my mind has gone completely blank.

He holds out his hand expectantly. “Do you do this often, Ophelia? Just take things that don’t belong to you?”

A shiver goes down my spine. The way he says my name is devastating. But to be honest, so is everything else about him.

“No,” I say. “I don’t.” Just this once.

“Give it back to me.”

“I didn’t even—”

“Don’t lie to me. I know you took the necklace. I’m just wondering why.”

I press my lips together and refuse to answer, because I have no answer for him. At least not one that he would understand. Not one that matters now.

My fingers tremble as I pull the necklace out of my cleavage and open the clasp. I have no other choice. But that doesn’t change the fact that it feels like I’m giving away a part of myself as I place it in his hand, being careful not to touch him as I do so. My eyes burn, and I want to cry.

“Who gave it to you?” I hear myself ask, and I want to take back the question the second I ask it. For three months, I’ve forced myself not to think about it and to ignore the delicate engraving on the back of the compass. You’re my north, you’re my home. But now I can’t help it, because words like that mean something.

Phoenix stiffens and then quickly slips the necklace into his pants pocket before taking a step back. “That’s none of your business.”

“Did you get it from your girlfriend?” I press, because I can’t help it. If we’re going to be seeing each other every day, I need to know.

“It’s really none of your business,” he repeats, but his eyes say yes. His eyes say that there’s someone who means a lot to him. My heart aches, even though none of this matters at all. He’s my teacher, and he’s right. It’s none of my business.