It’s the Lilies. The beginning of their initiation. This is my first glimpse of it.

  I rise to my feet and scurry after them. I know they’ll take me to Charlotte if I can keep up. Then I’ll find the right moment—the perfect window of opportunity—to pounce. To make things right.

  I run as fast as I can, but that’s not very fast. I’ve walked the mile for the Presidential Fitness Test every year, no matter how much shit gym teachers give me. Now I’m wishing I’d at least jogged a bit. It would’ve better prepared me for this.

  By the time I’ve rounded the fourth corner of bookshelves, the Lilies and their captive are gone.

  I freeze. Do I wander deeper into the stacks and try to find them? What if they see me and the memory resets before I can intervene? Or do I retrace my steps and look for more of their kind? The girl they took looked nothing like Charlotte, but I can only imagine they will do the same thing to her. If I can find a way to time it right, I might be able to disrupt the moment the Lilies take her away. With any luck, that’ll launch us out of the time loop once and for all.

  My breathing slows and so do my thoughts. I consider whether I’m getting ahead of myself here, like I always do. I’m quick, but I don’t always think first. It’s Papi’s favorite and least favorite thing about me.

  The first time I got kicked out of school, he came to pick me up from Forrest Gable himself. I was still young, barely done with the first quarter of seventh grade. He didn’t talk to me for most of the drive home from NorCal, so I just stared out the window and took in the cliff views from Highway One, spotting swirling patterns in the clouds above and the waves below.

  Papi broke his silence somewhere between Las Cruces and Santa Barbara. “I know you believe in justice, mija. That’s a wonderful thing. But sometimes you have to take a step back to see the whole picture.” He was quiet for a moment as we came to a traffic slowdown. “Getting expelled for fighting . . . it’s just not you.”

  “I didn’t start it,” I insisted again. “Andy Corcoran has been bullying Teresa online all year and none of the teachers did anything about it. He deserved to get punched in the jaw.”

  “You inserted yourself,” Papi said sternly. “And then when you blew up at Principal Foster you made it all about you and how he was being unfair to you specifically.”

  “It was unfair,” I pressed.

  “Where’s your friend Teresa in all of this?” he countered. “Did she get justice because you got hotheaded? No. And now she has one less friend at school and you have an obvious smudge on your permanent record.”

  I crossed my arms and looked back out the window. Traffic had come to a standstill.

  “Promise me you won’t fight at school anymore, Veró. At least not with your fists.”

  “Fine,” I huffed. Papi had a point. I had rushed into things. I hadn’t asked Teresa before I confronted Andy. I hadn’t asked Gabe before I made the installation. Now I was going out on my own to save the day . . . but did it make sense to go it alone?

  You’re losing time, the ghost of Malcriada whispers to me. You can’t wait around forever. You have to act.

  Maybe so, but it’s probably better to work in solidarity with people I trust.

  I turn back toward the main atrium to find Drew. We’re more likely to uncover clues together. Plus, I’m better hidden in plain sight. The crowd is down to a skeleton crew, but the music is still as loud as ever. Whoever is controlling the playlist is obviously trying to clear the room. They’re back to playing old songs.

  Time is on my side. Yes it is. Time is on my side. Yes it is.

  I emerge from behind the shelves and float to the silky-haired girl’s table, now empty. Her half-full glass is still there. There’s a partially eaten mini quiche on a napkin with a trace of lip gloss at its corner. The girl is gone, but somehow, I feel her here still. Maybe it’s the loop, or maybe it’s just in my mind. But if I’m being really honest with myself, I can feel all of them: the girl with the silky hair, Ms. Katz, Charlotte, even Lillian Archwell. Here one moment and then gone the next.

  No, not gone, Malcriada’s ghost breathes. They’re all always here. So are you. Memory is forever.

  I shiver the voice out of my head and back away from the table. My shoulder brushes against someone else’s.

  “’Scuse me,” the girl says as I turn to face her.

  Oh no.

  I’m standing there in my Founder’s Night whites, hair loose, mascara smudged.

  I look a bit shocked to see me.

  I can’t quite blame myself.

  I wasn’t expecting it either.

  Bong!

  Time. Time. Time is on my side. Yes it is, the song croons.

  Bong!

  The colors of the room spiral into each other. The library becomes a massive pinwheel.

  Bong!

  All the oxygen concentrates at the spiral’s center point. I can’t breathe.

  Bong!

  15

  Blythe

  After I knew for sure that Charlotte had vanished, I called Salim. I shouldn’t have, but I did. I didn’t tell him about it, obviously. I never mentioned her or Rory. I didn’t tell him about the Lilies and what they’d done to me . . . what I’d become. Salim didn’t know that his baby sister was a monster. He just knew that my voice had taken on a particular pitch to cover the pain. He knew that something wasn’t right.

  “You want me to come get you?” he said.

  “No,” I said. “I’ve got midterms on Monday. I gotta study.”

  “Okay,” he answered. “I know being at Archwell has been hard on you, Blythe. But you’re so close to graduation. I promise it’ll all be worth it. And in the meantime, you got me, aight?”

  Except I didn’t have Salim, not as long as I couldn’t tell him my secrets.

  At Archwell, I don’t have anybody, a fact that is painfully clear in the loop of my memory.

  We’re barely back in the closet for thirty seconds before Veró springs to her feet, throws the door open, grabs me and Drew by the hand, and marches us out into the library. I’m still nauseous from the violence of the reset, my stomach doing somersaults.

  Then I take a deep breath and realize I’m not queasy just from lurching back to the start of my loop again. It’s also the smell. The vaulted ceiling above the library’s main atrium is abuzz with flies. Below, the room is still crowded with girls in off-white, gathering around tables of newly decaying flower arrangements. The aroma of lilies has been replaced by the smell of sludge at the bottom of a vase.

  The music is strange. It’s the same as before but somehow every note sounds flat this time. I can’t forget you. I’ve got these memories of you, the singer pines.

  “I think the loop reset us,” Drew says. “This doesn’t seem like a new memory.”

  “That was me,” Veró explains. “I ran into myself before I had a chance to change anything.”

  “What?”

  “Damn it, Veró.” Rory’s thorny words come from behind. Veró doesn’t stick around to hear more. She leads the way along the mezzanine and down the spiral staircase.

  “Where are you going?” Rory calls after us, but Veró doesn’t stop.

  We pass the two sophomores making out by the emergency exit. They’re still at it. Or, I suppose, they’re just at it again.

  We head toward the crowd: a swirl of bodies, each with a distinct stench, as if each girl has started to decompose in my memory. Or maybe the smell is just my mind starting to go—like Rory said it would—as the loop degrades to dust.

  In the throng of white gowns, I’ve lost sight of Drew and Rory. I want to get out of here, away from the thick of the memory. I yank my hand away from Veró.

  “Let go.”

  “Sorry, Blythe. I’m just trying to get us to the right spot. Where did—”

  “What spot?” I insist, running my hands over my wrist. It almost feels like Veró has left a rug burn.

  “I saw them take someone,” she says. “I wanted us to go find Charlotte together. I wanted us to follow the Lilies before they snatched her. I’m thinking it was close to ten o’clock when it must’ve happened, so we still have some time to get set up with a good hiding place. I need you to show me where to go to put a stop to all this kidnapping shit.”

  “Kidnapping?” It’s hard to focus on what Veró is saying. The party is too loud, a collision of laughter and delighted squeals reaching a fever pitch. I can smell the buffet from here, the odor of singed catering pans and sterno cups. It melds with the rotting flower smell. My stomach roils.

  “You need to show me where the Lilies take their initiates,” Veró says. “It’ll help us find out what happened to Charlotte and put a stop to it. It’ll help us get out of the loop for good.”

  So Veró is playing detective, just like Drew. I suppose she has been this whole time. She’s digging for the truth about what happened . . . except she still doesn’t know that Charlotte was my initiate. Anxiety, refusing to leave me be, squeezes around my lungs.

  “What about the others?” I ask.

  “Rory’s on some other shit. You know that already,” she says. “She’s not gonna try to disrupt the loop. She’s too afraid of what will happen. And she’s definitely not gonna tell me anything about the Lilies. Especially not with Drew around. But you . . . you already know a lot about them. You can expose them. Let people know what they’re really up to. If we can get with Drew and find Charlotte, maybe we can put a stop to all this.”

  The tight sensation in my chest turns into an ache. The memory of Charlotte’s initiation dangles in front of me. But I don’t need to retreat into my mind to return to it. I’m here, about to live it all over again.

  It’s not so much what will happen next in the memory that makes me afraid. It’s what will happen inside my mind: what will happen when the feelings force their way out again, breaking the dam.

  I don’t know if I can bring myself to see Charlotte again, not after what I did to her.

  My eyes meet Veró’s. She might be in my memory but thankfully she’s not in my mind. She doesn’t know that I’m starting to question the notion that saving Charlotte is our only way out of here. She thinks we’re on the same team . . . and I hate to think about it, but Veró is naive. If I’ve learned anything from being a Lily—hell, from just being me—it’s to never assume folks are on your side.

  “Watch yourself around them.” Grandma Rose’s words return to me. “Those girls at that school will make you feel like you lost your mind.”

  “Please, Blythe. You have to help me do this,” Veró pleads. “We have to fix this. I don’t wanna live with this regret. If we can get out of here—stop whatever happens to Charlotte—then I can try to make things right with Gabe again and Charlotte will be back and . . . Please, can you just help me make it right?”

  I take a deep breath and nod. I can empathize with how she feels, even though she’s leading me deeper into a memory that I don’t want to relive. Still, I figure it’s better to go along with her for now, at least until the right moment.

  Relief spreads across her face. “Thank you,” she breathes. “C’mon, I’ll take you to where I last saw them.”

  We cut a path through the party, skirting the wall, approaching the library’s main entrance. As we get closer, Veró picks up her pace. She seems to think that we’re going to somehow make it through this crowd without getting recognized. My stomach lurches and I stop.

  “Hold up,” I say, grabbing her by the hand. “We can’t go that way.”

  “It worked just fine for me before,” she says. “Trust me.”

  I feign a smile at her. Despite her years at Archwell, Veró’s instincts tell on her. She’s basically still a newbie here, someone with no idea how to navigate the school’s unspoken hierarchies. “It might have worked for you before,” I tell her. “But when your face is on the school brochure, you don’t have the luxury of anonymity.”

  Recognition spreads across Veró’s brow. She forgot that I’m an unwilling poster child. “Got you,” she says. “We can go around the other side.”

  We backtrack and make our way around the library in the opposite direction, continuing to hug the outer wall, safely shrouded by a couple of rows of bookshelves.

  “What exactly did you see before?” I manage to ask as we steal along.

  “Two girls in green robes,” Veró answers. “They had flower crowns on. Lilies and sticks . . . I dunno, they looked kinda like antlers? I couldn’t see their faces. They had hoods on. I’m assuming that’s them, yeah?”

  “Mmm,” I say. “That’s them.”

  I stop myself from saying “that’s us.”

  The memory of the flower crown is heavy, its wicker binding pressing into the skin of my forehead. I run my thumb along the spot for a moment, feeling for an impression that’s no longer there.

  “They took a girl and blindfolded her,” Veró explains. “Covered her mouth so she couldn’t say anything. I tried to follow behind but . . .”

  I picture the blindfold, a heavy velvet with an embroidered infinity symbol. Veró must not have noticed the collection of them in the closet. She doesn’t understand what the blindfolds are for . . . doesn’t understand why someone would do such a thing.

  The memory of the blindfold in my hand is so clear. It is a thing of power, suddenly transformed into just another loose strip of fabric the moment I take it off Charlotte’s eyes. Those eyes, excited and scared . . . and then . . .

  I run my hand along the wall, trying to steady myself. Gravity feels like it’s shifting underneath me. The forces of nature are telling me to turn back. My head aches and I worry that my mind is turning to dust.

  “It’s just up here,” Veró says.

  But my feet won’t carry me forward anymore. I can’t do it again. Not with Veró watching. I can’t let the memory carry me away.

  All at once, I notice that my breath is ragged. My hand is leaving sweaty fingerprints on the polished wooden paneling. I slide my palm forward, willing myself to keep going. Instead, my fingers collide with something cool and metallic.

  I gasp but I can’t get any more air into my lungs.

  I can’t have another panic attack. Not right now.

  I try not to think of Charlotte.

  I try not to think of the Lilies.

  I try not to think of the white bear.

  Don’t think about it, Blythe. Don’t think about it.

  I don’t want panic to carry me away, but it does, and I wind up back on the tear gas flooded streets of DC. My face mask is soaked with tears. My legs won’t move any farther. I’m thirteen again and I know that I’m dying.

  I remember thinking it was just as well, since I assumed my brothers were already dead. They were certainly gone. And in a swarm of riot cops literally fighting with masked protesters, who could blame me for assuming the worst?

  I barely felt it when Salim grabbed me by the waist, picked me up, and carried me.

  He and Sean had found me. They weren’t lost anymore, and neither was I. But I was numb to it all. The damage had been done.

  You’re in your body, Blythe, I call to myself from far away. Ground yourself.

  Shaking still, overtaken by my panic, I turn to the library wall and come face-to-face with my savior: a little red box with white lettering.

  Fire Alarm.

  “You okay, Blythe?” Veró asks.

  Maybe it’ll reroute the memory. Maybe it’ll change what happened. Maybe it’ll just land us back where we started, but I have to try.

  I have to get out of the loop before it can consume me.

  I don’t consult with Veró about my strategy.

  Instead, I clamp my fingers around the handle marked Pull Down.

  I do.

  BAHNK! BAHNK! BAHNK! . . . BAHNK! BAHNK! BAHNK!

  A moment after the alarm goes off, the hiss of the overhead sprinklers springs down to meet us.

  Bong!

  The room washes away.

  Bong!

  Books disintegrate into pulp.

  Bong!

  We’re sucked out of the library and our bodies stretch between dimensions. The fibers of my muscles threaten to tear. A scream gathers in my throat—

  Then we’re back in the closet.

  The passage doesn’t get easier, just more familiar.

  “Ucckk . . .” someone groans. “That felt bad.”

  “One of you reset us again,” someone else growls. Probably Rory. It’s always Rory.

  “How can you be sure?” the first voice mutters. “Getting reset hurts just as much as an end to someone’s memory.”

  “What the hell, Blythe?” This time it’s definitely Veró. “What was that about?”

  The tears are back, hot and determined. I can’t hide them from her now. Maybe I was kidding myself that I ever hid them before.

  The light clicks on and Drew is standing over me, steadying the swing of the bulb’s little metal cord. “You okay?” they ask me.

  “No! Obviously, I’m not okay!” The words come out louder and angrier than I intend. I’m so used to holding them down, so used to the lump in my throat. The sound startles even me.

  I am a puddle of fury on the floor. I never let folks see me this way, not Rory, not even Salim. The tension in my body reminds me of why. I can’t fall apart like this because it’s not safe. Because I can’t trust anyone at Archwell. Because I’m all I’ve got here.

  I wipe the tears away with the back of my hand and try to get up.

  “Whoa, hold on,” Drew says. “We don’t have to go right back out there. Just sit and catch your breath for a second.”

  But it’s too late. I feel it. Something has broken inside of me. My reason? My sense of self? My grip on reality? It doesn’t matter what has come unhinged because now that whatever it is has broken free, it’s revealed a new truth: a way to bring all of this to a stop.