"Well yes. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because people usually just say that to be rid of someone. They don't really mean it."

She's right, and I blush. It is something to say, and how many times did I have to endure people saying the same thing about my own situation? In the fog, I trip over a thick tree root sticking up from the trail and let loose with my father's favorite curse.

"Blast!"

Ann's head shoots up at this. No doubt she's the prudish sort who'll run off to Mrs. Nightwing every time I glance cross-eyed at her.

"Forgive me, I don't know how I could have been so rude."

I say, trying to undo the damage. I certainly don't want to be lectured my first day.

"Don't worry," Ann says, looking around for eavesdroppers. As we're at the back of the pack, there are none. "Things around here aren't quite as proper as Mrs. Nightwing makes them out to be." This is certainly intriguing news. "Really? What do you mean?"

"I really shouldn't say," she answers.

The peal of the bell drifts over the fog along with hushed voices. Other than that, it's very still. The fog is really something. "This would be a fine place for a midnight walk," I say, trying to seem jovial. I've heard that people like jovial girls. "Perhaps the werewolves will come out to play later."

"Except for vespers, we're not allowed to go out after dark," Ann answers, matter-of-factly.

So much for joviality. "Why not?"

"It's against the rules. I don't like it at night much." She pauses, wipes at her runny nose. "Sometimes, there are Gypsies in the woods."

I think of the old woman at my carriage earlier. "Yes, I believe I met one. Called herself Mother something"

"Mother Elena?"

"Yes, that's it."

"She's stark raving mad. You want to steer clear of her. She might have a knife and stab you in your sleep," Ann says, breathlessly.

"She seemed harmless enough"

"You never really know, do you?"

I don't know if it's the fog or the bells or Ann's creepiness but I'm walking a bit faster now. A girl who sees visions paired with one who's a walking tour guide of things that go bump in the night. Perhaps this is Spence's little way of matchmaking.

"You're in first class with me."

"Yes," I say, "Who are the others?"

She ticks off the names one by one. "And Felicity and Pippa." Ann stops, suddenly on edge.

"Felicity and Pippa. Those are lovely names," I say cheerfully. It's such an insipid comment that I should be shot for it, but I'm dying to know more about these two girls who are going to be in our class.

Ann lowers her voice. "They're not lovely. Not at all."

The bell finally stops ringing, leaving a strange, hollow hush in its absence. "No? Part girl, part wolf? Do they lick their butter knives?" Ann not only doesn't find me amusing, but her eyes take on a cold, hard look. "Be careful around them. Don't trust"

From behind us, a husky voice cuts her off. "Talking too much again, Ann?"

We whip around to see two faces emerging from the mist. The blonde and the beauty. They must have lagged behind and sneaked up on us. The smoky voice belongs to the blonde. "Don't you know that's a most unbecoming trait?"

Ann's jaw hangs open, but she doesn't answer.

The brunette laughs and whispers something in the blonde's ear, which makes her launch into that full, ripe smile again. She points to me. "You're the new girl, aren't you?"

I don't like the way she says this. New girl. As if I might be some sort of insect that hasn't been given a classification yet. Hideous corpus , female. "Gemma Doyle," I say, trying not to flinch or look away first. It's a trick my father used when he haggled over a price. Now I'm haggling over something undefined but more importantmy place in the pecking order at Spence.

There is a second's pause before she turns away from me and holds Ann with a chilly gaze. "Gossip is a very bad habit. We don't indulge bad habits here at Spence, Mademoiselle Scholarship," she says, giving the last two words a nasty emphasis. A reminder that Ann isn't of the same class and shouldn't expect the same treatment. "You have been warned."

"Nice to meet you, Miss Doily," she says, linking arms with the brunette, who bumps my shoulder hard as they pass us.

"Terribly sorry," she says, and bursts out laughing. If I were a man, I'd flatten her. But I'm not a man. I'm here to be a lady. No matter how much I loathe it already.