entered the great hall’s soaring foyer and looked about in hopes there’d be some sign pointing the way to admissions. Standing like a rock in the middle of a stream, students flowed past me, their excited chatter only slightly muffled by the banners hanging overhead. Made up in the school colors of navy and white, each banner proclaimed one of Harrington’s lofty ideals: Honor, Achievement, Character, and so on. I noticed none of them said anything that might be remotely helpful, like Run For Your Life.

I stood there open-mouthed long enough for someone to notice. The guy who stopped had a boy-next-door quality. Not the kind to make you forget how to string a sentence together, but cute enough. His wiry frame and mop of floppy brown hair reinforced the impression of friendliness.

“You must be new here,” he said. “Need some help?”

I couldn’t help returning his smile. “It’s that obvious, huh? Can you tell me which way to Mrs. McKenna’s office?”

“It’s on the second floor.” He gestured toward the wide, hardwood stairs anchoring the center of the great hall. “C’mon, I’ll show you. It’s easy to get turned around if you don’t know where you’re going. I’m Von, by the way. Fredric Von Alder the Fifth, but everyone calls me Von.”

“I can see why you need a nickname.” I grinned. “I’m Riley Collins.”

He glanced around, curious. “You’re all by yourself?”

“Yep,” I said, hoping that wasn’t too weird. “My dad lives overseas and couldn’t get away.” It was a small fib, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d lied. I didn’t always tell Dad or Benson everything, but rarely did I ever make stuff up.

He didn’t find my solo status unusual. “Are you a junior?”

He matched my slower pace as I concentrated on climbing the stairs in heels without falling on my face.

“No, a senior.”

“Really?” That got a reaction. “Harrington doesn’t admit seniors.”

“Oh, um, I guess they made an exception,” I said, mentally cursing Karen. What else had she neglected to tell me?

At the top of the stairs he turned down a wide hallway. Numerous opaque glass doors with names and department titles stenciled across them in gold lined the path leading to Gretchen McKenna’s office, centered at the end.

“You can go on in,” he volunteered. “Her assistant is usually there.”

“Thanks a million,” I said, taking a moment to pull it together. I was no stranger to hostility. Whenever I left the embassy with a bunch of uniformed Marines, we were often on the receiving end of suspicious glares, but I never took it personally. They weren’t judging me, but rather a symbol.

McKenna’s outright disapproval toward me was different. She had presumably seen my transcripts but still found fault. It was harder to shrug off the rejection this time, but hopefully I could just grab my schedule and run. If I was really lucky, maybe I could avoid her until she handed me my diploma next spring.

Von still hovered behind me. “Are you okay? Do you want me to show you around? I can come find you later.”

I’d learned early on in my dad’s postings each embassy had more than its fair share of backstabbers, connivers, and users. Before you got friendly, it was best to figure out who was trustworthy versus who would sell you to a camel trader if it would advance his career. I had a feeling high school was no different. It would be safer to check the place out on my own.

“I’ve already taken enough of your time,” I said, with some regret. “Thanks, though.”

Entering the office was like walking into a command center. Phones rang, a couple of printers hummed industriously as they spewed out pages, and calmly chatting into a phone while furiously typing away was a woman who was an explosion of color. Between her unnaturally red hair, a blazing orange blouse, and turquoise glasses hanging from a string of purple beads, I barely knew where to look first. A brass nameplate on her desk identified her as Ms. Portman.

“May I help you?” she asked sweetly, the phone still cradled against her cheek.

“Um, hi, I’m Riley Collins. I’m here to pick up my schedule?” I hated sounding so unsure.

She intercepted another phone call and clacked out a dozen more rapid-fire words before saying, “Mrs. McKenna is expecting you. You can go on in.” She nodded toward the closed door at the other end of the office.

My feet froze to the floor. I glanced around for a camera, wondering how the head of school knew I’d arrived. This wasn’t part of the plan. What if there’d been a mistake, and they weren’t admitting me after all? Fear, along with a kind of desperate hope, flashed through me.

“Dear, are you going in?” Ms. Portman regarded me curiously.

I gave her a smile that came out as more of a grimace and trudged forward. Should I knock or just walk in? Start as you mean to finish, Benson often said. I grasped the doorknob, took a deep breath, and pretended a confidence I didn’t feel.

The spindly woman who rose from her desk was a career politician; I’d met her kind before. Armed with a professional smile that welcomed me without a hint of warmth, she wore a well-chosen, sky blue skirt suit that said, “I may be female, but I can still kick your ass.”

“Riley, what a pleasure to meet you,” Mrs. McKenna said insincerely, extending a boney hand. “I’m sure we’re going to get along well.”

I immediately went on high alert. When my dad negotiated a deal where he had the upper hand, he always opened with the conclusion. He said it made it easier for his opponents to come to the same realization. This woman wanted something from me, and she expected to get it. She gestured for me to take the small chair facing her desk as she reclaimed her own.

Her office was a fortress of antique cherry wood furnishings, the sort that were super expensive because they’d once belonged to someone like Ben Franklin. On the wall behind her, an old man in scholar’s robes scowled down from an oil painting. Beneath it was a credenza displaying several photographs of the administrator posing with the rich and famous-discreetly displayed, of course. It subtly informed visitors she moved in high circles, and you’d best not forget it.

“I was rather surprised to get a call from the chairman of our school board insisting a student, especially a senior, be admitted,” she said, her tone deceptively casual as she took in every detail of my appearance. “It was even more surprising to then be informed she must be roommates with Hayden Frasier.”

At least that explained how I was supposed to keep an eye on Hayden without being served with a restraining order. She hadn’t asked a question, but I still felt compelled to answer. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You and Miss Frasier are close friends, I presume?” Her smug smile told me she already knew the answer.

“No, ma’am,” I said.

“Really? How curious.” Flipping open a file on her desk, she skimmed through it. “Your father is a well-regarded ambassador, though without any remarkable connections or fortune to speak of. Your transcripts are acceptable, but by no means exceptional. You’ve never experienced a traditional school environment, and your file doesn’t contain a single letter of recommendation.” She dismissively flicked the cover shut. “There is nothing in here that qualifies you to be a Harrington girl. Surely there is something I’ve missed?”

She definitely had a talent for stripping it down to the nubs. Sitting back in her chair, she stared me down as she fingered the heavy set of pearls at her throat. “Who are you, Riley Collins?”

I dropped my gaze. Who was I? At home I was a girl who walked the streets of Karachi without fear, who didn’t back down when one of Benson’s team challenged me to spar, who dined with sheiks, played soccer with street kids, and drank endless cups of tea in the local cafes. Who was I, she wanted to know? I raised my eyes to meet her cold, knowing gaze. If I was going down in flames, it wouldn’t be without a fight.

“I’m the girl who learned how to shoot in case we had to fight our way out of Cairo again, the one who smuggled school books to a teacher in Yemen who was forbidden to have them, the one who stood at her father’s side while he draped American flags over the coffins of Marines who were my friends, and the one who deserves to be here just as much as anyone else. That’s who I am.”

I didn’t know how I expected her to react to my speech, but it wasn’t with dead silence. As the seconds ticked by, I began to wonder if anyone had ever died while sitting in this particular chair. I wouldn’t put it past the old witch to have placed it over a trapdoor with a caldron of boiling oil underneath. Even now she was probably reaching for the release button under her desk.

Death would be preferable to showing my face in Pakistan again anyway. This time my dad really would be transferred to someplace punishing, like Siberia. I should probably start working on my Russian.

“For twenty-six years this has been my school,” she said at last, her voice low and threatening. “I decide who is admitted. I decide who has the character and background necessary to prepare them for a future of leading our institutions, our governments, and our world.” Her eyes narrowed. “And I decide who is out of her depth, who has no business in my school, and who will be dismissed the moment I learn she is not who she pretends to be. Am I making myself clear?”

My whole body clenched in anger. It was high-handed people like her who thought they had the right to impose their judgments on everyone else. She didn’t know me. Maybe a little sand and grit would do the bluebloods here some good. Until that moment, I’d had one foot on either side of a dividing line ready to be swept in whichever direction the prevailing winds took me. No more. I was here at Harrington, and I was here to stay.

I leaned forward in my chair and pinned her with a stare. “Not everything that makes a person valuable can be found in some file. I might be different, I might not have a trust fund or a pedigree like some overbred poodle, but I matter.” I flashed briefly on Farida and hoped she was doing better in her new life than I was doing in mine. “So unless you’re planning on hauling me out in the square and having me stoned, I’ll take my school schedule now.”

She glared at me. I did my best to glare back, but she had years more practice, and I started to waver.

“If for one minute you don’t live up to the standards we expect of our students, or you make trouble of any kind, school board or not, I will send you straight back to the middle of nowhere. Do you understand?”

I felt like repeating her words in Arabic and asking if she understood, but I knew when it was time to shut up and run. I nodded curtly.

She turned to gaze out the window as if she’d already put me from her mind. “Go see Ms. Portman out front.”

My ridiculous footwear prevented the graceful exit I would have liked, but at least I didn’t fall flat on my face. My knees shook as I stood in front of Ms. Portman again. She barely took her hands off the computer keys as she rolled her swivel chair over to a nearby cabinet and plucked out an envelope.

“There you are, dear,” she said, the phone still plastered to one ear.

Staggering out to the hallway, Von kicked off the wall where he’d been leaning, obviously waiting for me the whole time. He peered intently at my face. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Merely a dragon, I wanted to tell him. I didn’t miss the irony that here in my own country I was being treated little better than Farida had been in hers. There were no death threats, of course, but this business about deciding who did and didn’t deserve to be educated was frighteningly similar.

“It’s just been a while since I’ve eaten.” My stomach gurgled in agreement.

“There’ll be snacks at the dorm. Have you checked out your schedule yet?” He cast a pointed glance at the sealed envelope I’d forgotten was in my hand.

“Um, no,” I said, not sure how much to share with my new friend. He decided it for me by casually sliding it through my fingers.

“Wow,” he said, as he looked over the first few pages. “Who are you?”

“Excuse me?” I snatched my schedule back.

“No, I mean, not just anyone rooms with Hayden Frasier,” he quickly explained, raising his hands in surrender. “I think they have to be interviewed and go through a background check or something.”

Fabulous. I hoped she didn’t kill me in my sleep.

I turned toward the stairwell, ready to clomp my way to wherever I might be able to find food and a chance to regroup. Von tagged along.

“Hey, I noticed we’re in the same equestrian class, though,” he said cheerfully, as if that was supposed to smooth over our rough patch.

“Equestrian?” I stopped and desperately scanned my schedule, praying he’d made a mistake. “I can’t take an equestrian class. No way.”

He looked pained, realizing he’d said the wrong thing again. “Didn’t you know riding is a requirement? Our founder made it part of the school charter.”

“Was the founder a freakin’ cowboy or something?” My voice rose in panic. “Horses hate me. It’s like the horse underworld got together and marked me for death.”

His jaw clenched as he tried not to smile. “Don’t worry. A lot of kids have never been on horseback when they come here. You’ll be fine.”

I had serious doubts about that, but I was also hungry, unsettled, and missing home. Maybe I’d reached my quota of misery for the day, and everything would be fine from here on out.

“C’mon,” Von said, beckoning me down the stairs. “Let’s find you something to eat.”