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Chapters (72)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright
  3. Epigraph
  4. FOREWORD
  5. INTRODUCTION
  6. Harding-Pencroft Academy
  7. The Freshman Class of Harding-Pencroft
  8. Chapter One
  9. Chapter Two
  10. Chapter Three
  11. Chapter Four
  12. Chapter Five
  13. Chapter Six
  14. Chapter Seven
  15. Chapter Eight
  16. Chapter Nine
  17. Chapter Ten
  18. Chapter Eleven
  19. Chapter Twelve
  20. Chapter Thirteen
  21. Chapter Fourteen
  22. Chapter Fifteen
  23. Chapter Sixteen
  24. Chapter Seventeen
  25. Chapter Eighteen
  26. Chapter Nineteen
  27. Chapter Twenty
  28. Chapter Twenty-One
  29. Chapter Twenty-Two
  30. Chapter Twenty-Three
  31. Chapter Twenty-Four
  32. Chapter Twenty-Five
  33. Chapter Twenty-Six
  34. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  35. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  36. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  37. Chapter Thirty
  38. Chapter Thirty-One
  39. Chapter Thirty-Two
  40. Chapter Thirty-Three
  41. Chapter Thirty-Four
  42. Chapter Thirty-Five
  43. Chapter Thirty-Six
  44. Chapter Thirty-Seven
  45. Chapter Thirty-Eight
  46. Chapter Thirty-Nine
  47. Chapter Forty
  48. Chapter Forty-One
  49. Chapter Forty-Two
  50. Chapter Forty-Three
  51. Chapter Forty-Four
  52. Chapter Forty-Five
  53. Chapter Forty-Six
  54. Chapter Forty-Seven
  55. Chapter Forty-Eight
  56. Chapter Forty-Nine
  57. Chapter Fifty
  58. Chapter Fifty-One
  59. Chapter Fifty-Two
  60. Chapter Fifty-Three
  61. Chapter Fifty-Four
  62. Chapter Fifty-Five
  63. Chapter Fifty-Six
  64. Chapter Fifty-Seven
  65. Chapter Fifty-Eight
  66. Chapter Fifty-Nine
  67. Chapter Sixty
  68. Chapter Sixty-One
  69. Chapter Sixty-Two
  70. Chapter Sixty-Three
  71. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  72. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

The rest of us stand there uneasily, looking at one another like, Well, here we are. Now what?

“Make yourself at home!” Nelinha says, mimicking Luca Barsanti. Then she switches to Ophelia’s voice: “But touch nothing!”

Robbie Barr sneezes. “Well, she didn’t say we couldn’t look. I’m going to check out those game consoles.”

“Me, too,” Kay Ramsay says. “Whoa, is that a Nintendo 64?”

Gem gestures at his fellow Sharks. They fan out to examine the room. Nelinha and Meadow Newman conduct a purely visual inspection of the disassembled gadgets on the nearest table.

Halimah sidles up to me. “Cad a cheapann tú?”

The other Dolphins gather around.

“I’m not sure,” I answer, also in Irish, though I doubt any language is safe, given the level of coding we had to do just to get in the front door. “They seem friendly enough. If they were with Land Institute…”

I let that thought drift away unanchored. How would we know if we had walked into a trap? I’m starting to wonder if I’ve made a terrible mistake bringing us here….

Then Robbie Barr does the unthinkable. He stops the video playing on the TV.

I guess he assumed the touch nothing order didn’t apply to entertainment options. As he rummages through the Blu-rays, an outraged howl erupts from one of the side corridors. A humanoid creature waddles into the room, flailing his furry orange arms. My god. It’s an orangutan. And he’s wearing a cooking apron decorated with smiley-face daisies.

The orangutan bares his fangs at Robbie, then says in perfectly clear American Sign Language, NO TURN OFF MARY BERRY.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The Sharks reach for their guns.

“Stand down!” I yell.

Thankfully, they listen.

“Robbie,” I say, my heart pounding, “put down the remote control and back away.”

Not being an idiot, Robbie does so. I gesture at my friends to give the orange newcomer some space.

The orangutan snatches up the remote control. He returns us to our regularly scheduled program, which appears to be a bunch of British people sweating over the creation of bread puddings.

I approach the orangutan slowly. My hands are out to show they’re empty. The orangutan seems unconcerned about being surrounded by armed humans. He’s no more than five feet tall, but he’s still an impressive and scary-looking guy. He probably weighs as much as I do. He’s definitely got bigger teeth. His face—flat and round with a wispy orange beard—reminds me of picture-book illustrations of the Man in the Moon. Fur cascades off of his limbs like orange fringe curtains. The name JUPITER is stitched onto his smiley-face daisy apron.

When he notices me, I sign, We are sorry about the TV. I see you speak sign language.