“Yes, I know they found a dead body in the library,” Sara told the person she felt creeping besides her, not even sure they were going to say anything regarding such, but it seemed to be the talk of campus. While she spoke, she collected her things, knowing she had dance practice in an hour. It wasn’t out of the norm for her to get to things early; it was just a habit of being sure. “And no,” she continued, not making eye contact, “I don’t care.” In that moment, her pointe shoe fell from her bag and she bent down to retrieve it with an exasperated sigh. Sara lied -- about not caring. She lied about many things and this was one of them. Of course she cared. How could she not when that dead body they found might as well be her when they initiate her into that damned secret society?