The Glass Ballerina Who Danced On Knives

I can explain, I swear!

But can the people on TV see me or am I just paranoid?
When I'm in the shower, I'm afraid to wash my hair
'Cause I might open my eyes and find someone standing there
People say I'm crazy, just a little touched

-Somebody's Watching Me, Rockwell

I'm walking down the hall, when I see Avery standing by her locker, shoulders shaking. Slowly, I walk up to her. "Hey there. Is everything okay?"

Wordlessly, she turns to me and shows me a slip of paper. It's a photo of her face, a target photoshopped over it, like she's caught in the line of a gun.

Pathetic.

That's not even an accurate portrayal of a gun's line.

"Oh, no." I pull her into a hug.

She doesn't cry.

Soon, we're back at Hawthorne House, Oren preaching reassurance to Avery.

"This was almost certainly just a bored teenager pushing boundaries," Oren tells her, when we're all seated on upholstered chairs and seats.

"But the comments..." She swallows, chewing her lower lip nervously. "They're real?"

"And nothing you need to worry about," Oren assures her. "My team keeps tabs on these things. All threats are documented and assessed. Of the hundred or so worst offenders, there are only two or three to date that merit watching."

Her face reels. I can only imagine what she's thinking about. Hundreds? Hundreds of people want to kill this family? "What do you mean, watching?"

"Unless I'm mistaken," a cool, even voice says, "he's referring to the List."

I look up to see Grayson standing a few feet away, wearing a dark suit, his expression barley readable but for a line of tension in his jaw.

Not the List.

"What list?" She asks.

"Do you want to show her?" Grayson asks Oren calmly. "Or should I?"

I stand up. "No, no one should show Avery the list. She's not ready." I almost whisper the last word, like that's going to change anything.

"She may never be ready. But she will be far less prepared if we do not show her now." Grayson straightens his blazer.

"She's been here for less than three weeks!" The pitch of my voice rises, but the volume stays the same.

"If not now, when?" Grayson and his aphorisms.

"Excuse me, I may?" Avery stands up, still in her school uniform.

I whirl on my heel. "Go on."

"I want to see the List."

My hand goes up to my temples. Why do I even bother to help?

The four of us make our way to the surveillance room, with Oren taking the lead.

"Eli." Oren says, and one of the guards who's monitoring the feeds stands. He looks to be in his twenties, with a military-style haircut, several scars, and vibrant blue eyes ringed with amber around the pupil. "Avery," Oren says, "meet Eli. He'll be shadowing you at school, at least until I've completed a full assessment of the locker situation. He's the youngest member of our team, so he'll blend better than the rest of us would."

I want to laugh out loud. This concrete wall excuse for a man did not look like a teenager. Logically, I know he is only twenty-one. Realistically, he looks worn down by violence, at least thirty.

"I thought you weren't concerned about my locker,"Avery tells Oren.

He meets her eyes. "I'm not." But he also wasn't taking any chances.