Before first class, Reid was outside. He stood on the front step and breathed in, hands tucked under his arms and his hair down to keep his neck warm. The air was cold. The leaves were mostly gone from the trees. Snow was falling, soft and damp. He closed his eyes, marveling at the absolute silence that being in such an isolated place provided. At night, when the sky was clear, he could see every star in the sky. But he had to leave that, hurrying to his classroom before eight and meeting his class. The talk he and the other teachers were to have with them was in his mind, and as they settled down, he called them to attention.

"This seems to be a bad year for many students." He said, growing serious as he sat on his desk and folded his legs under him. "Rumors spreading about other students and teachers alike. Serious rumors. Implications that could mean that some lose their job and others get expelled entirely. You might not realize the implications in the midst of your conversations, but you don't know who can overhear what you're saying. You might hurt someone very much. You might send someone to jail on nothing more than some stupid implications. Now, I don't want to see anyone hurt someone else, and I certainly don't want anyone to hurt themselves because of terrible things said by others. From now on, if any teacher or well-doing student overhears anyone speaking terribly of a student or a teacher, that student will be turned in, and so will the students that are listening in on that conversation. Is this understood?"

The students nodded and spoke their agreement, each and every one looking so sincere it almost surprised Reid. But he smiled brightly, jumping up. "Well okay then! I'm glad we cleared that up. I don't like being so serious. Let's get our desks out of the way and bring out our easels, we're starting some serious painting today!"

The day was rather uneventful. His walks through the art classes gave no whispers to negativity, only small conversations about each others' paintings. The subject today was more still-life, then it would move on to living things. The writing classes were to use a series of difficult set words in a short story two pages long, then work on their novels for the rest of the hour. When his last class came in, Reid was surprised not to see Terry. He seemed to love art. He grew worried, though, halfway through, and made a mental note to check up on him in his dorm room after class.