placed in front of the desk. The principal looks her steadily in the eyes, but suddenly she is distracted.
‘Excuse me,’ she says, and reaches for a strand of hair caught on Rebecka’s knitted sweater.
Rebecka doesn’t know what to say.
‘You’re probably wondering why I wanted to speak to you,’ the principal says, and drops the hair into the wastepaper basket.
‘I think I know why.’
The principal has dark, intelligent eyes.
‘Yes?’
The weight is still pressing on her chest. Rebecka has to force herself to speak. ‘Who’s been talking to you?’
‘Talking to me?’
‘Was it Julia or Felicia? Ida? Or was it the school nurse? Is she allowed to talk about that kind of thing? Was it Minoo?’
She regrets adding Minoo’s name. She wants to trust her – she has to if they’re going to be friends. But why did she look so guilty?
‘What would they have said about you?’ the principal asks.
She’ll start crying if she doesn’t close her eyes. She squeezes her eyelids together.
Suddenly Rebecka knows what a relief it would be to let go. To let herself fall and see if they catch her. Let go of the fear that her secret will be exposed. Expose it herself instead.
‘We’d better start at the beginning,’ the principal says.
Rebecka opens her eyes. The bewilderment on the principal’s face seems genuine and Rebecka realises she may have been mistaken. Perhaps this really is a routine chat?
‘Rebecka, what did you think this meeting was about?’
Now she feels incapable of telling her anything. The secret has regained its hold over her. She gets up and grabs her bag.
‘Excuse me, I have to go,’ she says.
‘Wait!’ she hears the principal say as she shuts the door behind her.
She runs down the corridor to the main staircase. Gustaf is waiting for her at the front entrance. Waiting to make everything good again. But she can’t see him now. Not with the panic still throbbing inside her. She needs to be alone.
Rebecka continues up the main stairs and down a corridor. Then it’s as if her strength gives out. She leans against a wall and glides down on to her haunches.
Only now does she become aware of how fast her heart is beating.
Only now does she realise where she is.
She’s sitting opposite the door leading to the toilet where Elias died.
Ever since he was found it’s been locked and blocked off. It’s covered with notes and inscribed messages.
R.I.P.
We miss you!!!!!
It’s better 2 burn out than 2 fade away
Sorry
Live fast, die young & leave a good-looking corpse
Sorry for everything, Elias
Forgive me
And, scratched deeply into the wall, clearly legible despite someone’s attempts to cross it out:
The only good faggot is a dead faggot
Rebecka reads the messages one after another. Down by the floor, something is written in beautiful black lettering:
The good die young
The fluorescent ceiling lights flicker with a tinny electrical sound. Then they go out.
That’s how it is.
It’s a voice that isn’t really a voice, more like one of her thoughts, and yet not. It sounds nothing like the voice that had filled her head that first night, when she was given the task of leader. That voice had been a guest. This voice has forced its way into her consciousnesse.
What’s written there is true, it continues. The good can’t survive in this world. You’re too good, Rebecka.
She recognises the fear that takes hold of her. It’s the same as the fear she felt when she was being stalked on the morning after Elias’s death. The same fear as she felt yesterday when she knew she was being watched.
It’s you, she thinks. Her pulse is throbbing in her ears. Who are you?
Get up.
Rebecka’s body stands up immediately, as if she herself had issued the command. Open the door to the attic and go up the steps.
Her feet start moving automatically. The attic door is ajar. She tries to focus her powers on closing it. But suddenly there is resistance: something is blocking her with a power much stronger than her own.
Her vision blackens and she feels a trickle of blood run from her nose to her upper lip and into her mouth. It tastes of metal, earth and sweetness.
Don’t fight it, the voice says gently. There’s no point.
She mounts the narrow stairway leading to the attic.
What do you want? she asks, but she knows the answer all too well. This was how Elias died.
She’s reached the top of the steps. There are two doors: a rickety wooden one leading to the attic storage room, and a metal one leading outside. On