he day continued to be one of firsts. As promised, Von flagged me down at lunchtime as I wandered the ground floor searching for the dining hall. It sounded silly, but I kind of hoped it would look like Hogwarts. Instead, it was a ballroom-sized space of hardwood floors, wood paneling, and French doors leading to a giant patio. Round oak tables seating ten or twelve were positioned throughout, most already filling up with students. From the doors at the far end came the welcome smell of a decidedly American lunch being served, not a whiff of curry or cumin to be had. I’d been too nervous to eat breakfast.

He handed me a blue plastic tray as we walked into the kitchen area. “You can get in line for the grill or the deli, and the sushi bar is over there.” No prison slop for these people. I helped myself to an organic turkey sandwich and marveled over a bottle of spring water imported from Fiji. People in Karachi counted themselves lucky if they got water by turning on the tap.

“Our table is in front by the windows,” he said, as he loaded up on a burger and fries. “The window side is senior territory.” It was easy to see why. The last of September’s waning sunshine filtered in through the open doors. It was the most inviting spot in the room.

“Riley!” Stef waved enthusiastically from a prime table.

“I see you’ve already met my roommate, the mayor of Harrington,” Von said, catching up with me.

“Come on, people, make room for two more!” Stef directed traffic and pulled over chairs. “Right here next to me, Lady Tigris.” He patted the seat. It wasn’t until I sat down that I looked across the table and right into Hayden’s stony face. Quinn had claimed the seat next to her.

“Everyone,” Stef announced, “this is Riley, my goddess and savior. Without her, the Kraken would have claimed another victim. Riley, this is everyone.”

Before I could speak, Quinn jumped down Stef’s throat. “Why do you always have to exaggerate everything?”

“Because if I didn’t, my life would be as dry and dull as yours,” he shot back.

“Better than being daddy’s little accident,” she said with a mocking smile.

Stef guffawed as if it was the wittiest remark he’d ever heard. “Coming from the school’s biggest social climber, that’s a great compliment.”

“Knock it off, both of you,” Hayden scolded.

“But she started it, Mom,” Stef whined good-naturedly.

Quinn flushed at being chastised, but shrugged it off. The other seven or eight students at the table acted as if their bickering were a common occurrence.

A rail-thin guy with tight black curls and acne turned to me. “So you’ve never been to a regular school before?” Word traveled fast.

It was tempting to tell him there was nothing regular about Harrington. “My dad’s a diplomat. This will be the first time I’ll be in the States for longer than two weeks.”

This started a round of stories about the longest time anyone’s parents had hauled him or her off to the ends of the earth. With the focus shifted elsewhere, I started mentally mapping out our surroundings, seeking potential entry and exit points, possible threats, and promising allies. Landing at Hayden’s table was what Benson called smart luck. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to stay close to her after all.

With every table filled, the din in the place was incredible. Maybe people were just catching up after summer vacation, but it was a relief to see so much laughter and happiness filling the room. No one had brought up Rose Winters to my face, though I had overheard her name mentioned several times while passing in the halls. Maybe this would be okay after all.

I was about to rejoin the conversation when a guy strolling through a patio door caught my attention. With thick chestnut hair pushed carelessly off an expressive face, he had a Cupid’s bow mouth twisted into an amicable smile. His deep blue eyes, the same shade as the Arabian Sea at sunset, flashed with humor. He’d shucked the blazer the boys were required to wear in favor of a white oxford hugging his broad shoulders and tapered waist. And he was tall, definitely over six feet.

He was perfection.

“He is dreamy, isn’t he?” Stef stared, just as transfixed.

I grinned at the not-altogether unexpected comment. “What’s his story?”

“His name is Sam Hudson and yes, he’s currently on the market.” He made a face. “And straight. And, oh my god, British. He’s got that posh London accent.” He let out a smitten sigh.

“I’m sure Riley could care less,” Von, seated on my other side, chimed in. “I bet she’s into guys with substance, not just style.”

“Real subtle, dude.” This came from the Chinese girl with a cute fringe of bangs sitting on his right. “I’m Jackie Song, by the way,” she said to me with a smile.

“Oh, he’s got substance, all right,” Stef sighed. “He aces every math test, he’s captain of the MMA club, and even his jokes are funny.”

“There’s a mixed martial arts club?” I blurted, completely astonished.

Mixed martial arts was a sport combining a host of martial art disciplines, such as jiu-jitsu, judo, and tae kwon do, along with kickboxing and wrestling. If there was a club here, it was a good bet most of these people had their butlers spar for them, but I didn’t care. I’d only ever fought with men who worked security at the embassy, guys who took great care not to hit their commanding officer’s favorite too hard. I didn’t want the special treatment, but Benson had probably threatened death by firing squad if anyone inflicted any real damage on me.

How cool would it be to see how I measured up with girls my own age? The fact that Sam was club captain was the big, gorgeous cherry on top.

Stef misinterpreted my question. “Why people want to beat each other up like that is beyond me, but a lot of guys are into it.”

Not just the guys, I smiled to myself.

Boarding school days go on forever. Just because classes are over doesn’t mean there isn’t something else you’re supposed to be doing. How did anyone expect me to keep track of Hayden like this?

According to my afternoon schedule, I had thirty minutes from the last bell to report to the stables dressed to ride. Tromping back to the dorm, I wracked my brains for any excuse I could use to avoid riding.

I wasn’t kidding when I’d told Von horses had it in for me. There’d been a few incidents of horses trying to take a bite out of me, like when I’d strayed too close during an official visit to a sheik’s stables, or when we were honored guests at a military parade featuring a mounted division.

But those were nothing compared to the Sri Lanka Horse Incident.

My dad had been assigned the duty of presenting six white Arabian horses to a military academy in Sri Lanka. There was a great deal of fanfare when we arrived and despite the hot, muggy day, the enlisted men wore their heavy, olive-drab dress uniforms. The higher-ranking officers added red sashes, swooping gold braid, and chests of medals, marking it as a formal occasion. Protocol demanded everything be just so, and I’d broken down and worn a filmy lavender dress that floated about me at the slightest breeze.

My father and I were seated underneath a small, tented pavilion set up just for the occasion. White-gloved waiters served high tea, and like so many things in that part of the world, it was like we’d been sucked into a time warp. It was the 1800s all over again.

The six horses were paraded out to polite applause, each being led by a smartly dressed officer. They were then expected to line up respectfully while the usual windy speeches about friendship and cooperation were delivered. Five of the horses were with the program, but the sixth displayed a foul temper right out of the gate. He tossed his head, stamped his hooves, and squealed in frustration. About halfway through the ceremony, he’d had enough.

Seizing on a moment of his handler’s inattention, he bolted loose. He galloped toward our pavilion, causing all of us tea drinkers to leap to our feet. Stopping in the center of the parade grounds, he snorted in satisfaction and surveyed his domain. A gust of wind fluttered his mane before his eyes locked on mine. And then he charged.

Tables overturned and silver teapots went flying as everyone scrambled for safety. I dashed across open ground, making for the tree line, when the drumbeat of hooves came up from behind. Without slowing to risk a glance behind me I pivoted, but the horse changed direction, too. From somewhere behind me my father yelled, “Riley! Toward the kitchens!” I instinctively obeyed.

Two or three of our waiters bravely ran toward me, silver trays in one hand and matching ladles in the other. They pounded wildly on the trays and uttered piercing war cries, but I could sense the horse bearing down. I was only a second or two from my would-be saviors when suddenly, with a horrible ripping of my dress, I lost my footing. Momentum carried me several yards before I slid face down along the grass.

Dazed and panting, I laid there wondering which body part I would have to learn to live without when my dad came rushing over.

“Riley! Are you alright?” He was frightened, but not as panicked as I would have expected with his only child bleeding out all over the freshly mowed grass. “Can you sit up?”

To my complete surprise, I easily rolled over and sat upright. The small team of waiters had captured the horse, and they were all absurdly pleased to have done so while in the company of a platoon of trained soldiers. The horse itself contentedly stood by, chewing on a piece of lavender fabric.

Looking down in horror, I was met with the sight of my lacey white panties on display for the world. Grass stains covered what little remained of my tattered dress, and blood oozed from my knees. Later my dad promised we would learn to laugh about it, but he also made it a point to say that in the future, I should remain behind whenever horses were present.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option today. I dragged my feet the whole way but eventually arrived at the stables. There were eight other students, including Von, whose face lit up when he spotted me.

“You’re late,” the instructor snapped. His name was Mr. Diaz, and it was impossible to tell if he was forty or seventy. Deep lines earned from years in the sun crisscrossed his leathery skin, but his hair was that unique shade of black so dark it glinted blue in the light.

“Sorry,” I sulked.

“Ah, you’re the one. Mrs. McKenna said there was a girl in the senior class who did not ride,” he said with an accent straight from the polo fields of South America. “We have a special horse just for you.”

If that meant it was half dead and semi-comatose, bring it on.

The other students moved confidently toward numbered stalls, obviously having been assigned their mounts prior to my arrival. I scrambled out of the way as each one emerged leading a prancing horse by a rope and making their way to an area of the barn where bridles and saddles awaited.

“Your turn,” Mr. Diaz said, inclining his head to the last stall in the farthest reaches of the barn. Several horses popped their heads out to see what all the fuss was about, and I would have to pass by every single one of them. It was like a dozen Hannibal Lecters all waiting to pounce as I skittered by.

“Me?” I squeaked. “I’ve never walked a dog on a leash, let alone a horse!”

He let out a string of invectives in Spanish. “It is a halter and lead, not a leash.”

When you are about to meet an early and painful death at the hooves of a giant beast, proper terminology is the least of your worries.

“Hector!” At the summons, a groom emerged from one of the open stalls. “Please bring Brutus out for saddling.” The groom immediately sprinted to do the boss’s bidding.

I started to back away but with a glare that could peel paint, Mr. Diaz latched onto the lapel of my riding jacket, forcing me to watch as my doom emerged from the shadows.

Admittedly, Brutus didn’t look any more threatening than any of the other horses. Average in size, he had a shiny chestnut coat deepening into shades of chocolate brown from knee to hoof. His mane and tail were black, and he had enormous brown eyes fringed with thick lashes. His ears perked up when he saw me, as if he couldn’t believe his luck that the most reviled girl in the entire animal kingdom had stumbled into his barnyard. Once he’d killed me, his hero status in the horse world would be assured.

I screwed my eyes shut as the horse drew near, the steady clip-clop of hooves not stopping until his breath was hot on my face. Suddenly a large object hit me in the chest, and I squealed in terror, but Mr. Diaz’s iron grip held me prisoner. A terrible groan rent the air, and I opened my eyes to Brutus lowering his head against my chest again, rubbing his face delightedly against the coarse wool of my jacket. The horse expelled another satisfied grunt when he shifted angles, reaching a particularly itchy spot.

Daring a peek at the long-suffering instructor, I whispered, “What is he doing?”

Mr. Diaz let go of my jacket and sighed. “He is warming up to do the tango. What does it look like he’s doing?” He thrust the rope at me. “Now take his lead, and let’s begin.”

Mr. Diaz sent everyone else to warm up in the adjacent arena, but Von stayed behind to show me the proper way to equip a horse. He sidled up with a nod of encouragement. “Just walk toward the tack room, and he’ll be right behind you, you’ll see.” That’s what I was afraid of.

Von selected a saddle and fitted it over the horse’s back. “Many horses will hold their breath while you tighten the cinch, and then you’ll be in danger of having your saddle slip, but not Brutus.” When it came time for the bridle, the horse complacently allowed Von to slide the bit into his tender mouth.

Then came the moment of truth.

“Up you go,” he coaxed. My usual athletic ease deserted me as I gracelessly scrambled halfway over the saddle and flailed about. Gritting my teeth, I finally managed to get upright and shove my feet into the stirrups. Handing up the reins, Von informed Brutus it was time to go. I clutched at the horse’s mane and held on for dear life as we strolled into the arena.

Everyone else had spaced out their mounts and was putting them through their paces. Two girls even had their horses cantering daintily around the ring.

“Please don’t kill me,” I quietly begged the horse, somewhat assured when his ears swiveled in my direction as if he were considering my request.

We plodded slowly around the ring for a few minutes, Brutus not altering his pace no matter how fast another rider sped by. Von soon trotted up next to me. “See? You’re a natural.” He was completely at ease on his gleaming black mount. His mother probably gave birth to him on horseback.

“Obviously,” I ground out. My teeth were in danger of cracking under the pressure.

The rest of the session miraculously passed without any fatalities. Von stayed close at hand to help me dismount and show me how to remove the horse’s tack. Then he handed me a brush. “If you really want to make friends with Brutus, here’s the secret.”

I cautiously approached the horse and tentatively stroked the brush across his withers. He sighed and leaned closer, so I did it again. Within minutes I was vigorously brushing him from head to tail while he moaned and groaned. By the time he’d had enough, only Von remained, perched nearby on a bale of hay. I’d been hesitant to encourage his interest, but with friendly faces in short supply I was glad he’d stuck around.

I carefully handed Brutus off to Hector before taking Von up on his offer to walk with me to the dorms. It had grown late, and the setting sun had turned the clouds into vivid slashes of color, so different from the typically cloudless skies we had back home.

“I need a shower in the worst way,” I said, wrinkling my nose at the overpowering stench of horse emanating off the both of us.

He eyed my stiff-legged gait and grinned. “What you really need is a massage. I’m very good with my hands, you know.”

“In your dreams,” I said, snorting with amusement. “But A for effort. It’s really decent of you to keep me company.”

“I’ve only been here a year and still have painful memories of my first few days,” he said ruefully. “It’s got to be a big change for you, huh?”

“It’s the smell,” I mused.

“Yeah, I know, horses reek.”

“No, I mean, that’s one of the biggest changes. Everything smells so…” I breathed deeply, trying to pinpoint the scents that made Connecticut so different from Pakistan. “It smells so earthy, but not in a bad way. I can smell the river, and the wet grass, and the rotting leaves…”

He took a big sniff. “Humph, I guess you’re right. I’d never really thought about it. What did it smell like where you came from?”

Karachi was not known for its cleanliness, but somebody had the bright idea to plant Arabian jasmine all over the embassy grounds. The sweet fragrance helped mask the odor of the streets. “Let me put it this way: the smell of Arabian jasmine will always remind me of home.”

The path from the stables wound by Hale Hall, the upper boys’ dorm. Von paused by the front doors. “You want to come over for study hall later?”

What I needed to do was find out where Hayden studied. “Where does everybody usually go?”

“The library and the common rooms are the most popular.”

“Cool,” I responded noncommittally before setting off for my own dorm.

If I hadn’t been admiring the rapidly changing sky I would have missed it. A chill swept through me at the sight of a black drone stealthily skimming the treetops near Watson Hall. I ran the rest of the way to the dorms, cursing my stiff riding boots, but the drone zipped away at top speed at my approach.

Bolting through the front doors and past a wide-eyed Mrs. Stanton, I took the stairs two at a time, not willing to wait for the elevator. Throwing open the door, I stood panting on the threshold to find Hayden sitting on her bed, painting her toenails a stunning shade of blue.

She glanced up. “What’s your problem?”

“Um, bathroom,” I mumbled.

Closing the bathroom door behind me, I perched on the edge of the tub to catch my breath. Peeling off the boots, I rubbed my bruised shins while considering this new development. Was it just an accident a drone had been outside our dorm, perhaps right at window level? Had some skanky guy been using it to spy into girls’ rooms, or had a hobbyist mistakenly flown it off course? Could it be part of the new security measures?

Of course, it might be none of those things. It might be someone had come looking for Hayden–and found her.

It was time to look up Major Grace Taylor.