PROLOGUE Sam trod carefully on the narrow sidewalk, which, despite constant salting and plowing, would not regain the texture of asphalt until well into springtime. Hemmed in by knee-high snowbanks on either side, he caught up with Raymond and Saunders, his skin tingling with anticipation, his breath rising in plumes of white vapor. The hood of his black sweatshirt hampered any reliable peripheral vision, but the full moon illuminated a clear path ahead. As promised, Gary, their collaborator from Maintenance, had left the padlock to the shed behind the gym hanging loose, and the boys found three cans of blood-red paint waiting in a corner. They each took one before Sam ushered them out and secured the door. The can’s cold metal handle dug into his palm, and its weighty cylinder swung against his thigh. Sam sped in front of the other boys, creating a tight triangular formation. Steering them clear of the security cameras that had recently been installed on various lampposts, he checked that his paintbrush and screwdriver were still in his pocket. Raymond tapped Sam’s shoulder, then split off and headed to the football stadium. A few moments later, with a soccer player’s explosive instinct for the open field, Saunders cut toward the academy building. Silence enveloped the campus as Sam proceeded alone, making his way to Headmaster Williams’s house on a section of path that was better salted than the rest. Despite the care that had been taken around his entryway, the headmaster’s roof was heavily laden with winter. Icicles hung from its eaves, daggers shining silver in the moonlight. No matter the season, Sam’s mother had always trilled about how “lovely” the house was, pointing to the gingerbread detail and scrolled pillars on the porch. Her remarks were usually followed by a question about Williams’s daughter, who happened to be in Sam’s class, and whether they’d become friends. Sam never dignified his mother’s prying with a response, even though he’d witnessed Mary Williams plenty of times over the years, emerging from the back door during the middle of the day with cookies, Diet Cokes, and other homey comforts for her girlfriends. Sam looked up at the large white Victorian, with its black shutters and wraparound porch. It sat on the road that bisected the campus, and its prominence on the main green was emblematic of the headmaster himself. He’d been a fixture at Dunning Academy since the days when teachers used purple ink to mimeograph handouts. Stretching the sleeve of his sweatshirt to muffle the sound of metal on metal, Sam popped the lid off the paint can with the screwdriver. He dipped the brush in the gooey pigment and recalled the summer he’d painted the garage with his father, a man who would have winced at the idea of sloshing a brush into a can that hadn’t been properly mixed. He stepped off the walkway, carefully placing his feet on the crusty top layer of snow. He crouched low as he began painting, having rehearsed the choreography that morning. The cold air quickly stiffened the brush’s bristles and numbed his fingers, but the glossy red design contrasted with the sparkling white canvas in a way that elicited unexpected pleasure in Sam and thawed whatever tension had built up in his shoulders. He had just finished the last stroke when his Converse All Stars broke through the snow with a percussive pop. Cold powder filled his shoes and numbed his ankles. He held his breath and searched the headmaster’s windows for several seconds. They were dark, with the exception of one which glowed amber. Sam bit down on his lower lip, trying to recall whether it had been on when he had arrived. When there was no visible movement from inside, he exhaled, tiptoed back to the path, and admired his work. He knew that early-morning commuters driving past would see a giant number six, but there was no doubt how it would look to Williams when he opened his front door to collect the New York Times. Sam ditched the empty paint can and his tools in a Dumpster behind the dining hall, then made his way to the academy build- ing, where he reunited with Raymond and Saunders. They bumped fists—mission accomplished.