Chapters (43)
- Title Page
- Dedication
- Contents
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Epilogue
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Books by Ben Philippe
- Back Ad
- Copyright
- About the Publisher
At the time, he had failed to mention that the debate team’s current iteration is the prized child of Greg Polan, the team captain who insists on three practices every week. We placed third in the state last year, behind The Chapin School, and Greg sees it as his mission to get us the gold trophy before the end of his tenure in another year and a half. Sophomore students can afford to have these lofty goals—we seniors can’t think about much beyond the C word these days.
This explains why I’m now rushing back to FATE for yet another practice, late again due to a rush-hour train delay at Times Square. On the way in, I spot Corinne Troy, already sitting pretzel style on the bench outside the classroom. Mass of curly hair, stuffed under a pink beanie, and thick horn-rimmed glasses; it would be very easy for a boardwalk artist to turn her into a cartoon. She has the room booked right after us on Wednesdays.
“You’re late,” she notes without looking up from the chemistry book she is currently reading. “Again.”
“Happy New Year to you too, Troy,” I say, jumping over her backpack. I throw her a wink, which lands like she just smelled a fart.
“How vile,” I hear behind me as I sneak into Room 402-B, twenty-seven minutes late.
I can’t help it. Corinne Troy is one of those hyperfocused FATE students you just kind of have to shake your head at sometimes.
Also: she lives in my building. She and her mother moved in a few years ago. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve seen her in slippers and a fuzzy purple bathrobe with lime-green flower petals after she locked herself out of her apartment and needed Dad to go let her in one Sunday morning, but I simply can’t be afraid of her after that. Dark-skinned Black people don’t tend to blush easily, but she was ten shades of red that morning—a stark contrast from the terrifying Type-A-with-extra-assignments-and-perfect-attendance-on-the-side Corinne Troy who stomps around FATE Academy.
And one last fun fact. That interview for a new dog I mentioned earlier? It’s with her mom, Chantale Troy. I can’t wait to see the look on Corinne’s face when she finds out I’m going to be walking her adorable new pup.