Hot Commodity

Leah's P.O.V.

"Ms. Goode?" Madame Dabney asked.

"Fields." I snapped before I could help myself. I mean, seriously? I'd never even met my supposedly dead dad. Last night, my mother had said she'd tell us about our father. Now, she was stone-walling us.

This morning, at breakfast, Headmistress Morgan, aka Granny, announced that one Joseph Solomon had accepted some sort of mission for the better part of the year and wouldn't be joining us for the rest of the fall semester and possibly longer. Apparently, that was heartbreaking to most students. His replacement? My mother.

Last night, Em and I went to the room she's staying in but she wasn't there and this morning, after the announcement, Mo tried talking to her but she was being mobbed by a bunch of Upperclassmen.

Also apparently, my mother, the long-lost daughter of the headmistress and spy (that's right, I said spy) legend, was a hot commodity.

Madame Dabney raised her eyebrows and I blushed. Great. My first day was going perfectly.

"Sorry, Madame Dabney," I muttered.

"My dear, the answer is that you must wait for the seniors to begin the greetings in Chinese culture," Madame Dabney continued to state the various different Chinese greeting styles and I tuned her out. I had a feeling I'd be doing that often here.

Emma's P.O.V.

I wanted to throw something at Leah. But honestly, I think a room full of spies-in-training may notice a stray Culture book fly through the air and hit her in the back of her red head.

She just snapped at the fourth teacher today. By my count, she'd also snapped at twenty-six students, including our new roommates this morning.

Pippy Winters and Alexia Call were both very nice but for some reason, Leah was intent to be mean to every single person she comes across today.

But anyway, first it was the snapping and now it's the snoring. I mean, come on, she can't even pretend to listen?

After class, Pippy caught up to me. "Hey! There you are! Did you have fun with the Freshmeat?"

I scowled. It was bad enough to be one of the new kids but to have to have class with ninth graders? Yikes.

"Hey, it's okay," Pippy noticed my glum expression. "My mom started school here late, too. She had to learn with the seventh graders so consider yourself lucky."

"Was she sixteen?"

"Well," Pippy frowned, "no. She was fifteen." She pondered something. "But, really, how much of a difference can one year really make?"

I thought about last year. Last month. Yesterday.

I knew that one year, even one day, can make all the difference in the world.


Sorry it took so long!

Thanks to my reviewers:)