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good enough. You’re not worthy
. The words came out hot and muggy through their masks.
You will never be a dancer
.
    They’re right
, Vanessa thought, searching their hollow faces. The candlelight bounced off the masks, making it look like they were smiling.
    Vanessa gripped the knife. Now she would know how Margaret had once felt. Whispering her sister’s name, Vanessa raised her toe to her knee in a graceful passé, and slashed the ball of her foot.
    A flash of red. A quick, sharp pain. And then a lull as she walked across the room and placed her foot on the unvarnished floorboards but accidentally slid it over an old mark.
    The chanting grew louder, louder, until the words pounded through Vanessa’s head.
    S’enfuir. Fuir pour sauver votre vie. Sauver votre âme
.
    “What?” Vanessa said, whipping around. But the voice wasn’t coming from the upperclassmen.
    It grew louder, the voice murmuring the deep, thick French words. Vanessa pressed her palms to her temples. Her long hair cascaded over her face. “Stop!” she screamed. “Stop!”
    The boy in the gray mask pushed her foot away from the streaks on the floorboard and wiped up the blood that shehad smeared over the old mark. “Come on, clumsy,” he muttered.
    Immediately, the voices stopped.
    Vanessa paused, trying to understand what had just happened. Regaining her balance, she pointed the ball of her foot at a clean space on the wood and drew a shaky line.
    Just as she turned to go back to her place, a boy called out to her. “Wait.”
    Vanessa froze as the boy in the white mask approached and knelt down beside her. Zep? She searched the dark holes of his eyes but couldn’t see anything.
    “Are you okay?” His fingers grazed the back of her thigh. “Lift.”
    Vanessa swallowed and nodded, her skin tightening beneath his touch as he took her foot in his palm and began to wrap it with gauze. He was so close that she could smell his aftershave.
Look at me again
, her mind begged while she watched his shoulders shift beneath his shirt.
    As if he heard her, he tilted his head up. “Thank you,” she said, so softly that she wasn’t even sure he had heard her.
    Taking her place in line, she turned to Steffie while the next boy was called forth. “What was the French they screamed?”
    “What are you talking about?” Steffie said, raising an eyebrow. “No one was speaking French.”
    “Yes they were,” Vanessa insisted. “They kept saying
S—S’enfoor
?”
    “S’enfuir?”
Steffie said in perfect French. Vanessa raised an eyebrow. “My mom speaks French,” Steffie said. “Don’t judge. What else did you hear?”
    Vanessa thought for a moment. “
Fuir pour sa—sa—sauver votre vie. Sauver votre aim?”
    “Votre âme?”
Steffie repeated.
    When Vanessa nodded again, Steffie gave her a scrutinizing look. “Are you playing with me?”
    Vanessa shook her head, confused. “No. I don’t even speak French.”
    Steffie’s eyes darted to the upperclassmen. They were huddled around another freshman, chanting. She lowered her voice. “I’m pretty sure that means:
Run away. Flee for your life. Save your soul
.”

Chapter Four
    Someone wanted Vanessa to leave. Or at least that was Steffie’s theory.
    “But why?” Elly asked. “Classes haven’t even started yet. No one knows you.”
    The four of them were sprawled out in Steffie and Elly’s room, half of which was decorated in muted shades of tan and black, while the other half looked like a frosted cupcake, draped in ruffles and bows. Elly’s comforter and pillows were pink, and she’d replaced the curtains that had come with the dorm room with pink ones from Bed Bath & Beyond. The only thing that wasn’t pink was the carpet.
    “I don’t know,” Vanessa said, picking up a shag pillow. “Maybe they think I’m somebody I’m not.”
    “Speaking of somebody I’m not, I feel like freakin’Strawberry Shortcake in here,” TJ said to Elly. “What’s the matter with blue? Or