In the main quad, seniors are lazing on the grass. They’re all done now except for finals and graduation, the lucky bums. Then they’re off to top universities and promising careers. I don’t see Dev, but his girlfriend, Amelia Leahy, my house captain, gives me a wave from across the lawn. She signs, Good luck.

I sign back, Thanks.

I tell myself, I’ll need it.

I shouldn’t be too worried. Our class is already down to twenty people—the max number allowed to advance. We lost ten students during our chum year. Another four so far this year. Theoretically, the rest of us could all survive the cut. Also, my family has attended HP for generations. And I’m the freshman prefect for House Dolphin. I’d have to screw up really badly to get kicked out….

Ester, Nelinha, and I are almost the first ones to the bus. But, of course, Gemini Twain has gotten there before us. He’s standing at the door with his clipboard, ready to take names and kick whatever needs kicking.

The Shark prefect is tall, dark, and lanky. Behind his back, everybody calls him Spider-Man, because he looks like Miles Morales from Into the Spider-Verse. He’s not nearly that cool, though. We’ve come to a truce since last year, but I still don’t like him.

“Nelinha da Silva.” He checks off her name but won’t meet her eyes. “Ester Harding. Prefect Ana Dakkar. Welcome aboard.”

He says this like our shuttle bus is a battleship.

I give him a little bow. “Thank you, Prefect.”

His eye twitches. Everything I do seems to bother him. That’s okay with me. During our chum year, the guy made Nelinha cry. I will never forgive him for that.

Bernie is our driver today. He’s a nice old dude, retired navy. He’s got a coffee-stained smile, silver hair, and gnarled hands like tree roots.

Dr. Hewett sits next to him, going over the day’s schedule. As usual, Hewett is pallid, sweaty, and disheveled. He smells like mothballs. He teaches my least-favorite class, Theoretical Marine Science, or TMS. Most of us call it “too much stuff.” Sometimes we use a different word that begins with s.

Hewett is really strict, so this doesn’t bode well for the trials. My friends and I sit at the back of the bus, as far away from him as possible.

As soon as all twenty freshmen are on board, the bus gets underway.

At the main gate, the heavily armed paramilitary dudes wave and smile as we leave, like, Have a nice day, kids! Don’t die! I guess most high schools don’t have this level of security or the fleet of tiny surveillance drones that constantly circle the campus. It’s weird how quickly you get used to it, though.

As we turn onto Highway 1, I look back at campus—a dazzling collection of sugar-cube buildings perched on the cliff top above the bay.

A familiar feeling washes over me: I can’t believe I go to school here. Then I remember I have no choice but to go to school here. After what happened to our parents, it’s the only home Dev and I have in the world.