Mrs. Weathers's face showed me I had indeed gained ground. "We'd need a signed letter from your parents," she said finally.

Great. That had worked so well in PE.

"What about our brother? He's our legal guardian here." Surely even Keith couldn't drag his feet on this, not with blood on the line.

She considered this. "Yes. That might be acceptable."

"I'm sorry," I told Jill when we walked outside to catch the shuttle. "About the modeling. We're going to have a hard enough time getting you permission to leave for feedings."

Jill nodded, making no effort to hide her disappointment.

"When's the show?" I asked, thinking maybe she could do it when her punishment was over.

"In two weeks."

So much for that idea. "I'm sorry," I repeated.

To my surprise, Jill actually laughed. "You have no reason to be. Not after what I did. I'm the one who's sorry. And I'm sorry about Adrian too - about the interviews."

"That's something you have no reason to be sorry about." It struck me again how easily everyone made excuses for him. She proved this with her next comment.

"He can't help it. It's how he is."

He can help it, I thought. Instead, I said, "Just hang in there, okay? I'll get Keith to sign off on our religious experiences."

She smiled. "Thanks, Sydney."

We usually parted ways when the bus reached Central Campus, but she held back once we got off. I could see again that she wanted to tell me something but was having trouble getting the courage.

"Yes?" I asked.

"I... just wanted to tell you I really am sorry for giving you so much grief. You do a lot for us. Really. And you being upset, it's because... well, I know you care. Which is more than I can say for other people back at Court."

"That's not true," I said. "They care. They went to a lot of trouble to get you here and keep you safe."

"I still feel like it was more for Lissa than for me," she said sadly. "And my mom didn't put up much of a fight when they said they were going to send me away."

"They want you safe," I told her. "That means making hard choices - hard for them too."

Jill nodded, but I don't know if she believed me. I gave Eddie the morning report when I reached history. His face displayed a range of emotions with each new development in the story.

"You think Keith will write the note?" he asked in a low voice.

"He has to. The whole point of us being here is to keep her alive. Starving her to death kind of defeats the purpose."

I didn't bother telling Eddie that I was in trouble with my father and the Alchemists and that in two weeks, there was a good chance I might not even be around. Eddie was clearly upset over Jill's situation already, and I didn't want him to have one more thing to worry about.

When I met up with Ms. Terwilliger at the end of the day, I turned in the last of the notes I'd made for her on the old books. As I was settling myself at a desk, I noticed a folder of articles sitting on a table. Carlton College was printed on the folder in embossed gold letters. I remembered now why I'd thought the name was familiar when Adrian had mentioned it in the dream.

"Ms. Terwilliger... didn't you say you knew people at Carlton College?"

She glanced up from her computer. "Hmm? Oh yes. I should think so. I play poker with half of the history faculty. I even teach there in the summers. History, that is. Not poker."

"I don't suppose you know anybody in admissions, do you?" I asked.

"Not so much. I suppose I know people who know people there." She turned her attention back to the screen. I said nothing, and after several moments, she looked back at me. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason."

"Of course there's a reason. Are you interested in attending? Goodness knows you'd probably get more out of there than here. My class being the exception, of course."

"No, ma'am," I said. "But my brother wants to attend. He heard classes haven't started yet but isn't sure if he can get in on such short notice."

"It's very short notice," agreed Ms. Terwilliger. She scrutinized me carefully. "Would you like me to make some inquiries?"

"Oh. Oh no, ma'am. I was just hoping to get some names I could contact. I'd never ask you to do something like that."

Her eyebrows rose. "Why ever not?"

I was at a loss. She was so difficult to understand sometimes. "Because... you have no reason to."

"I'd do it as a favor to you."

I couldn't muster a response for that and simply stared. She smiled and pushed her glasses up her nose.

"That's impossible for you to believe, isn't it? That someone would do a favor for you."

"I... well, that is..." I trailed off, still unsure what to say. "You're my teacher. Your job is to, well, teach me. That's it."

"And your job," she said, "is to report to this room during last period for whatever mundane tasks I have for you and then turn in a paper at the end of the semester. You are not in any way required to fetch me coffee, show up after hours, organize my life, or completely rearrange your own to meet my ridiculous requests."

"I... I don't mind," I said. "And it all needs doing."

She chuckled. "Yes. And you insist on going above and beyond in your tasks, don't you? No matter how inconvenient for you."

I shrugged. "I like to do a good job, ma'am."

"You do an excellent job. Far better than you need to. And you do it without complaint. Therefore, the least I can do is make a few phone calls on your behalf." She laughed again. "That startles you most of all, doesn't it? Having someone praise you."

"Oh no," I said lamely. "I mean, it happens."

She took off her glasses to look at me more intently. The laughter was gone. "No, I'm thinking it doesn't. I don't know your particular situation, but I have known a lot of students like you - ones whose parents ship them off like this. While I appreciate the concern for higher education, I find that more often than not, a bigger piece of students coming here is that their parents simply don't have the time or inclination to be involved with - or even pay attention to  - their children's lives."

We were dealing with one of those interpersonal areas that made me uncomfortable, particularly because there was an unexpected element of truth in them. "It's more complicated than that, ma'am."

"I'm sure it is," she replied. Her expression turned fierce, making her look far different from the scattered teacher I knew. "But listen to me when I say this. You are an exceptional, talented, and brilliant young woman. Do not ever let anyone make you feel like you're less. Do not ever let anyone make you feel invisible. Do not let anyone - not even a teacher who constantly sends you for coffee - push you around." She put her glasses back on and began randomly lifting up pieces of papers. At last, she found a pen and grinned triumphantly. "Now, then. What is your brother's name?"