It was Master Wayne Scott's first day of school.

It felt like every other day. The sun, still sleepy, shed its few rays clearly through his wide, multi-paned window. His comfortable white-and-gold bedspread, looking rather greyer than usual due to the early hour, pulled at him to stay in bed, just for a few more minutes. The slightly septic smell of an impeccably clean home was relaxing, confirming that everything was normal and orderly and safe.

Wayne reluctantly wriggled to the side of his bed and rose, the sheets and heavy comforter sliding off onto the floor. It was earlier than he was used to getting up. Usually, he slept in until about ten, then had a nice breakfast in bed. Today, there was not enough time for that - it was almost six-thirty and he needed to be at school by seven forty.

After he had his usual strengthening vitamins, he put on his regular white shirt, khakis, and a purple sweater tied around his neck. For some reason, this private school did not have uniforms. Strange.

At breakfast, Master Wayne began to relax. True, it was no breakfast in bed, but at least it was served by the butler himself, instead of one of the two young footmen. He always managed to get Cooper to tell him something about what he was writing, even though he wasn't really supposed to talk to the help. In his spare time, Cooper authored mild adventure stories, which grabbed at Wayne's imagination. This book was featuring Wayne himself executing covert operations using his ability to fly.

Unfortunately, just when Cooper was in the middle of telling how The Wayne Brain flew into the crook's second floor window, Lady Scott walked in. To deflect her suspicion, Cooper smoothly offered Master Wayne another lemonade, which he declined politely.

The neat deception was unnecessary. Lady Scott was so distracted that she did not notice their excitement.

"You must leave now, Wayne, school starts at seven forty," she said in her usual melodious way. Whereupon she walked over, slid her hand into Wayne much-smaller one, and pulled him away from his breakfast!

True, he could have prevented it - even as a baby, he had been able to pick her up with ease. In those days, he would have ignored her and done what he wanted. However, when he was a mere three years old, Wayne had accidentally injured his mother's arm by disobeying her. It had been in a cast for months. He still had nightmares about seeing his mother's bloody arm bone sticking out of her wrist. Now, he let her pull him anywhere without resistance.

Looking back at his unfinished Belgian waffles and kipper, Wayne reluctantly allowed his mother to drag him to the limousine.

Wayne was confused. It was not that it was unusual for his mother to tell him what to do; on the contrary, she always did. What confused Wayne was that His Mother had, for some reason, decided to take him to the limousine herself. She never did that. It was always, "Wayne, don't forget your lunch, you have a playdate with the Borderlais at 2" or "Wayne, do be a dear to Ms. Ketterly, she is not feeling well. Take yourself outside and play a bit of croquet with the children. Mind that you do not bother her. Have fun, darling!" And no matter what she said, she would wave her hand, smile, then continue picking out the new dining room set.

It confused him even more when his mother gave him a peck on the cheek at the car. And was that worry in her eyes?

She opened her mouth. Ah, here it comes, he thought.

And then it didn't. She opened and closed her mouth a few times like she was going to say her usual comments, then sniffed and turned away.

He stared at Lady Scott's back as she hurried away, wondering what was wrong with his mother. He almost went after her, but the chauffeur, Hughes, smiled his indulgent smile and swept his arm toward the car. Wayne knew the rules. He could almost hear his mother's instructive voice. "It is important that when you go down to the car, you be ready to leave. If you go back inside, it shows that you are a young foolhardy that is not... aware."

He entered the white limousine, not without gazing hesitantly back at his mother's retreating form.

It was a dull ride to the school, and surprisingly long. It appeared that the school was actually in downtown! Wayne was not so sure about this. Bad people lived around here, even the prison was near there. And, he was getting bored.

For a while, he played with the windows, but even that highly entertaining pastime began to pall after five minutes. He could not look outside, it was far too grungy and common in the deep city. When the limo finally rolled to a stop, Wayne sighed in relief. At least he would be able to move in a minute.

While the young master waited for Hughes to open his door, he gazed out the window in interest at his new school.

When he saw the poky little red building, Wayne was disgusted. The place was about as big as his dog kennel - well, if he had had a dog. It looked like a kennel, too, what with the red and the white trim. The only thing that made him think otherwise was a small inscription over the door - "Li'l Gifted School for Li'l Gifted Kids." Even that was highly insulting. He was hardly 'li'l,' and that was incorrect spelling, anyway. His tutor would be horrified!

When Hughes opened the door, Wayne was sorely tempted to order him to drive him back home. Two thoughts stopped him - his certainty that Hughes would argue with him in front of his new school, and what his mother would say when he came home far too early.

He slid out of the car.

It was just as small inside as it had appeared outside. The colors were gaudy, disgraceful. A mat with enormous, garish letters and numbers coated the floor. One wall was coated with windows, letting a decent amount of light in. Shelves as high as his chin supported books, although not nearly enough to call a decent library. Why, his father had thousands of books on a dozen bookcases twice as tall as these.

A group of children sat in yellow chairs, lower classed by their looks. At least, they were not on the same level as he was. That, of course, meant that they were not a Scott; but they were not a Borderlais or a Ketterly either.

They were all sitting in a group, facing a desk, a green wall with white marks on it, and an adult he presumed was the teacher. She looked to be the same class as the students. She had short hair, a red sweater, and a skirt with shiny black heels. She wore that look that the commoners had when they thought they knew more than everyone else. His father dealt with her kind all the time at business meetings. She should be easy enough to deal with.

The question was, why did he have to deal with her and the children at all? Why did his parents want him to go to a commoner's school?

"Good! That's everybody. Wayne, would you sit down please, and let's get started." Without waiting for a response, the teacher turned to the other children, expecting him to do what he was told.

Wayne bristled. The only people that called him Wayne were his parents and other children; to adults, he was Master Wayne, and this foolish teacher should know that. After all, wasn't his name on her roll?

And for another thing, did she just order him around?! Did she not understand who he was?

Master Wayne stood there, glaring at this inept teacher.

She continued talking, completely ignoring him. "For those of you who don't know, I'm Ms. Resser. Now, the first thing we need to do, class, is get to know each other. I put together a little game I think everyone will enjoy. Here, Ozzie, would you help me pass out the game board?"

A faintly brown-tinted boy in khaki shorts and green shirt stood up and started handing them out. About half the other children were looking at Wayne, the other half at the teacher. Their stares were making him feel uneasy. He was always the head of his normal group, so he didn't mind being looked at, but these children were really making him feel... nervous. Maybe he should sit down and discuss the teacher's oversight with his father when he got home.

He sat.

The other children watched him for another moment, then turned back to the teacher. Apparently, he was only interesting if he was a distraction. The boy - Oz? - gave him his copy of the paper.

Wayne looked at it. For some reason, the thing had 8 very inaccurate pictures of eyes, children, adults, buildings, and animals. "Now, class, the game is to try to find somebody who fits the pictures. If you have blue eyes on your paper, find someone who has blue eyes and write down their name. I don't want anybody to have the same name down twice. Just find a match, write down their name, and find someone else. Okay, let's get going!" The teacher smiled.

Everyone else stood up, so Wayne got up too. He had not understood the sketchy instructions, but lots of the others seemed to know. Maybe if he did what they did, the rules of the game would become obvious. Whatever the case, he must look like he knew what he was doing - appearance was half the battle, as his father said. More importantly, he didn't want the other children to stare at him again. A girl with eyes that were wide apart came over.

"Hi."

"Hi," the boy answered hesitantly.

"You have blue eyes," she said. Something was wrong with her voice. It was... slow. "What's your name?"

"I'm Wayne Scott," he bragged.

"Okay, I'm Melody." She didn't seem impressed at all, just wrote his name on her paper - wrong, he noticed, annoyed. "I have a dog."

You look like a dog, he thought, but he didn't say it. Wayne looked down at his paper. There was a brown dog with huge eyes and floppy ears. He looked back up at her. The girl was just standing there, stupidly, waiting for him to do something. Wayne looked back at the dog and made a guess, writing "Melody" underneath it. The weird-looking girl went away.

Everyone treated him like he was like them - common and uncultured. For the whole game, no one was impressed by his name, though he gave his last name each time. They just wrote his name as "WAN," "Wane," or "Wain" and moved on to someone else.

Through snack - which was so light that he could hardly deem it to be worthy of the term 'snack' - calendar, storytime, recess, and letters and numbers, it was the same. The other children had no concept that someone better was there. What was going on?

This entire day was turning into a nightmare far out of his comfort zone. Where was the deference to his station? Where were the plentiful snacks and drinks with ice? Why did he have to do this work? It was so easy. Wasn't this place for gifted children?

When would he be treated like a Scott?