“I see we’re trying out a new hairstyle to start the school year, Vail.” The teacher behind the big wooden desk smiles at the girl next to me. “Shall we expect new colors weekly?”

Vail shrugs and goes back to her drawings.

As Mrs. Deckler enlists Miranda’s help to hand out some paperwork, I lean slightly to my left and say, “I’m Grace Whitfield.”

The only indication that she hears me is a momentary pause in the motion of her pencil. A hesitation over the next eye socket in a sea of skulls and crossbones. Then, as Miranda passes between us and accidentally drops my paper onto the floor, my neighbor mutters, “Suck a lemon, Sanders.”

“Couldn’t afford to dye all your hair, Vail?” Miranda pretends to carefully set a paper on Vail’s desk before sending it sailing into the aisle. “Next time I’ll lend you the fifty cents.”

“Save it for your implants fund.”

Vail flashes a sympathetic look at Miranda’s less-than-overflowing chest. A giggle escapes before I can help it. I smack a hand over my mouth when Miranda spears me with a death look. Then, apparently deciding to pretend to take the high road, she stalks off. Vail goes back to her doodling. I swallow my laughter.

“I wish I could do that.” I sigh.

“What?”

“Tell off girls like that,” I explain, leaning down to grab both our papers off the floor. “My mind always freezes.”

For several long moments I think she’s not going to respond. Her attention is fully focused on filling in the spaces between her skulls and crossbones with smiley faces. As I set her paper on the edge of her desk, I notice that the smiley faces have fangs.

I shrug and start reading over my paper, a pretty standard set of classroom rules.

Mrs. Deckler gets up and clears her throat like she’s going to start reading the rules or something, and Vail finally says, “Standing up to Miranda is easy.” She pulls the rules sheet on top of her notebook and turns her doodling attention to the pink handout. “You just have to stop caring what she thinks.”

As Mrs. Deckler starts droning on about attendance policies and how to ask for a library or study pass, I sink farther into my desk. That’s my problem. I can’t stop caring what the Mirandas of the world think of me.

Unless something dramatic happens, San Francisco Grace is going to have pretty much the same experience as Orangevale Grace. Guess I’ll have to get used to doormat status.

CHAPTER 3

GRACE

My head bounces against the window as the city bus hits a pothole. At this point, accidentally getting knocked unconscious would give me a welcome excuse for forgetting my first day at Alpha. Is a little amnesia too much to ask for?