“New boy, you bore me,” he said. “Remove yourself from my presence.

“Huh?” Luke said.

“Go to bed!”

Meekly, Luke slipped beneath his covers. He was still wearing his clothes — even his shoes — but he didn’t dare get back up to take them off The unfamiliar pants bunched up around his waist, and he silently smoothed them out. Touching his pocket reminded him: He still hadn’t read the note from Jen’s dad.

Tomorrow, Luke thought. He felt a little bit of hope return. Tomorrow he would read the note, and then he would know how to find out what classes to go to, how to deal with boys like Rolly and his roommates, how to get by. No — not just to get by. Luke remembered what he’d hoped for, leaving home — was it only that morning? It seemed so long ago. He’d been thinking about making a difference in the world, finding some way to help other third children who had to hide. Luke didn’t expect the note from Jen’s dad to tell him how to do that, but it would give him a start. It would make that possible.

All he had to do was go to sleep and then it would be tomorrow and he could read the note.

But Luke couldn’t sleep. The room was filled with unfamiliar sounds: first the other boys whispering, then breathing deeply, in sleep. The beds creaking when someone turned over. Some vent somewhere blowing air on them all.

Luke ached, missing his room at home, his family, Jen.

And his own name. He felt his lips draw together.

“Luke,” he whispered soundlessly, in the dark. “My name is Luke.”

He waited silently, his heart pounding, but nothing happened. No alarm bells went off, no Population Police swooped in to carry him away. His feeling of hope surged, even more than the fear. His name was Luke. He was nobody’s servant. He was not the lowest of the low. He was Dad and Mother’s son. He was Matthew and Mark’s brother. He was Jen’s friend.