I bit my lip. It was true that we could take some observations back with us when this was all done, but as I tracked Reg’s gaze to where Poe sat at the table, wiping a smudge off his glasses with the sleeve of his shirt, I was pretty sure my brother had ulterior motives.

Next to Poe, Dexter leaned back in his seat, constantly shaking a disobedient lock of hair out of his eyes. It was hard to blame my brother for wanting to sample the local flavors.

“Interacting with our peers also demonstrates acceptance of our punishment. That shows maturity.” Reg tapped his head just above his temple. “Something the Elders think we lack, with our forever-adolescent brains.”

The injustice of the Elders’ opinions washed over me in a bitter wave, and I threw my shoulders back. “Let’s prove them wrong.”

Then I marched through the happy yellow doorway, partly because I wanted to make a point to the Elders but mostly because I just could not keep myself from the intoxicating scent of coffee for one more second.

The coffeehouse was as eclectic inside as it was outside, with an odd collection of mismatched tables and chairs, and coffee mugs in every color. Exposed-brick walls were plastered floor to ceiling with framed photos—some as small as a postcard, others big enough to fit over a fireplace—each one a capture of breathtaking scenery from across the world.

“Cool, right?”

I didn’t realize I had stopped right next to the table of our new classmates until I looked down and saw Dexter smiling up at me.

He gestured at the walls. “The owner took all of them. She’s been everywhere.”

And she really had—more places than even Reg and I had been. Here, a cluster of photos taken on beaches in Indonesia, Tahiti, and the Caribbean. There, a poster-sized shot of Mount Kilimanjaro. Mostly, the pictures were empty of humans, save for a woman who appeared in a dozen or so shots. A photo behind the cash register showed her perched on an elephant in what I believed was Thailand, and in a large frame near the front door, she stood beaming in the arms of a man before the Great Pyramids of Giza.

I leaned toward the picture, drawn to the woman’s long mane of blond hair blowing wild in the wind and the tall, dark-haired man with the strong arm looped around her waist. A bright sun beat down on them, so they almost seemed to glow.

“That one’s my favorite.” Dexter was next to me now, hands in his pockets, eyes on the pyramids. “Egypt is definitely on my someday list.”

“I’ve never . . .” Seen it in the daylight, I nearly said. Instead, I finished, “Never been there.”

“But you’ve traveled?”

“A little.” Keep it vague. “Europe, mostly.”