I'll have to ask her.

Detouring from the path, I decide to see if she's home. Maybe she can shed some light on the anonymous e-mail.

Her room is at the end of the first floor, with a great view out over the quad. Even if I didn't know which one was hers, I'd be able to guess-it's the only one with a sign that says KNOCK AT YOUR OWN PERIL just below a skull and crossbones. Braving the warning-but making sure to knock on the door itself, and notthe sign-I rap my knuckles on the smooth wood surface.

No response. If she were here, I'd at least get a threatening "Who is it?"

I'm not ready to go home and I don't want to be alone. Classes should be out for the day. Maybe Troy is in his room.

I head back out and toward the boys' dorm and climb the front steps and the two flights of stairs to his third-floor room. My quads cry out a little at the climb, reminding me that recovery time is a good thing. When I reach the room with a giant foam guitar on the door, I knock. Three seconds later, Troy pulls it open.

"Phoebe," he says with huge smile. "What are you doing here?"

"Camp just ended," I say. "I was heading home and thought I'd stop by."

"Get your butt in here, Castro," Nicole barks.

Troy swings the door wide so I can see Nic lounging on the bean-bag in the corner. She's just sliding a big leather book into her messenger bag.

She waves me in. "We've been waiting for you to show up."

"What's up?" I ask

"I don't know what Nic's doing here," he teases. When she casts a scowl his way, he grabs the guitar off his bed and sets it on the stand next to his desk. "I was just about to play for some stress relief. My brain was not made for organic chemistry."

"I don't want to interrupt." I do, actually, but it seems way rude to say that. Even if I'm desperate for some reprieve from my own troubles.

"No worries." He drops into his dorm-issue desk chair and motions me to the bed. "You're stress relief, too."

"Thanks," I say, sinking onto his black-and-white-checkered comforter. "I don't feel much like stress relief today."

"Hard day at camp?" Nicole asks, pulling a bag of butterscotch candies out of her bag. She thrusts the bag in my direction.

Troy growls a little and frowns at the candy.

I lean over and take one. "Yes. No. I don't know." I twist open the cellophane wrapper. "It's more than camp, I guess."

Popping the butterscotch between my lips, I let the smoothly sweet taste melt over my tongue.

"Like what?" Nic asks.

Oh, everything. It's that I can only control my powers when I'm not trying to. It's that I'm afraid my boyfriend is getting back with his ex-or that I'm having an overreaction of jealousy. It's that I'm stuck at home with Stella, with her taking me on as her pet project. It's that I'm suddenly doubting what I learned about my dad's death, my boyfriend's loyalty, and my own sanity. It's a million things and nothing.

Not that I say any of that. Don't need to expose my friends to the insane ramblings of my brain. They might never recover.

"Like this." I lift one hip and pull two pieces of paper from my back pocket.

Nicole snatches them from my hand.

After unfolding them, she says, "They're blank."

"I know," I slide the butterscotch against my cheek so I can talk. They're not supposedto be blank. They're supposedto be e-mail printouts. I slip the butterscotch back onto my tongue and mutter, "Thtupid, curthed e-mails."

"They wouldn't print?" Troy asks.

I shake my head. When I received the second e-mail last night,almost identical to the first, I wanted a printout so I could I analyze them. Maybe find a clue to who sent them.

Forty-seven attempts later, all I had was blank paper.

"Huh." Troy's brows scrunch together. "Who were they from?"

"The same person who sent the note," Nicole suggests.

"Probably." Unable to resist, I crunch the butterscotch. Someday my teeth will be dust. "The sender's address was blocked."

"Blocked?" Troy's eyes get all wide. This was to your Academy e-mail?" When I nod., he shakes his head. "The Academy e-mail system doesn't allow blocked senders."

I shrug. As if I can change what happened.

"Show me." He leaps up from his desk chair and waves me over. "Log on to your e-mail."

With a heavy sigh, I push off the bed. It's not that I don't want to find out who sent the message, and how they managed to block the sender andkeep it from printing. I am just running low on motivation.

When I'm slow to move, Troy takes my shoulders, urges me into the chair, and shoves me closer to the desk. Grabbing the mouse, I click the Academy e-mail logo and enter my user name and password.

"See." I point at the blocked messages, still at the top of my inbox.

Troy leans over my shoulder, squinting at the screen. "I can't believe it. Academy e-mail is impenetrable. No one can bypass the security system without major repercussions."

"What about last year," I ask. "when Griffin messed with my e-mail? Every time I deleted his message a new one popped up."

"That's different." Troy rubs a hand back and forth over his shorthair. "Anyone can create a simple hack on their own computer to automatically resend a message. But this messes with the Academy server. It's impossible."

"Maybe," I say, thinking. Clearly not."But that doesn't change the fact that-"

"Let's take this to Urian," Nic says, "He'll figure it out."

"She's right. The kid's a genius." Troy jerks the desk chair back, with me in it. "Let's go."

He hurries out into the hall. Nicole shrugs, like we both knowhe's overreacting, but follows him through the door. When I getinto the hall. I see Troy knocking on a door three rooms down.When there's no answer, he rolls his eyes and knocks again, thistime with a knock-knock… knock knock-knock-knockpattern.

"Password?" a muffled voice says through the door.

"Chimera."

No answer.

"Shoot," Troy whispers. "That was yesterday's password." To the door, he says. "Scylla's strait."

Nicole rolls her eyes.

The door swings open silently.

"Don't," Troy whispers through clenched teeth, "laugh."

We walk into a room straight out of Star Wars.Complete with crossed lightsabers over the desk, black curtains blocking out the window, and a life-size Han Solo cutout in the comer.

A giggle bubbles its way to the surface. Troy cuts me a harsh look and I stifle my humor. But seriously, a life-size Han Solo?

"State your purpose?"

Turning toward the voice, I see a short, dark-haired buy pushing the door closed. I can't tell for sure-like I said, the window is blacked out and the only light in the room is coming from the glow of a computer monitor-but I don't think I know him.

"Academy e-mail," Troy says.

"Familiar," the dark-haired boy says, leaving his post at the door and sliding into the chair in front of his computer. "Situation?"

"Blocked sender." Troy moves farther into the room and sits on the unmade bed, on the edge nearest the desk.

"Impossible." Dark-haired boy clicks rapidly on his keyboard.

"Not-impossible." 'Troy says, leaning forward so he can see the monitor. "I've seen it."

Nicole leans close to my ear and whispers, "Urian's a little psycho, but he knows computers better than anyone."

Dark-haired boy stops typing. "Additional inconsistencies?"

"The message won't print."

Dark-haired boy grunts and starts typing faster than ever. Images flash across the monitor at warp speed.

I feel like I've entered nerd-ville.

I stick to my spot just inside the door. From what I can see in the flickering light, the rest of the room looks like a hurricane, tornado.,andtsunami took turns messing with the contents. I'm suddenly very glad I had to wear pants and closed-toe shoes for camp today. Who knows what's living in those piles.

"Access codes?" dark-haired boy finally asks.

"Phoebe," Troy says, "tell Urian your user name and password."

"No way," I say. I don't know this guy. I've read about those identity thieves who hijack your e-mail and use it to send spam about discount prescription drugs and pirated computer programs.

"Urian's all right," Nicole says.