I looked up in fear of seeing a teacher or, even worse, Amelia. Instead, my eyes landed on Jasper, the chiseled-out-of-marble-by-Michelangelo-himself lad who was in all my classes and seemed to be friends with Evelyn’s roommate.

He didn’t look in my direction and I doubted he even noticed me as he crossed the room to lean against the stage; after a few days here, I had apparently perfected the art of being invisible.

I briefly wondered what he was doing here alone, but that question was answered when, one after another, about twenty other students filed in after him.

None of them seemed to notice me sitting in the back of the room as they went to sit down in the first row. I was grateful to remain undiscovered because it gave me the chance to really look at Jasper for the first time.

I had always liked watching strangers, to try to see if I could deduce anything about them just by studying their clothes, their expressions, the way they carried themselves. With Jasper, it was especially interesting. There was so much to see, so much worth a second glance.

The first thing that caught my eye—the first thing I had noticed upon seeing him in the Great Hall yesterday—was his bright silver hair. It was styled in a way that seemed effortless, tousled just enough to look like he had just rolled out of bed, a few strands falling onto his forehead. I could tell that his appearance was important to him, but that he didn’t want other people to think it was.

There was something intimidating about his eyes, a piercing blue that intently fixed on the kids sitting in front of him. Or maybe it was his height. I already considered myself quite tall, but Jasper easily had a few inches on me. However, when my eyes drifted down his legs, I realized that this was also owed to the shoes he was wearing; black boots with a tall platform that looked higher than anything I had ever seen my sister wearing.

Those shoes weren’t the only things that broke the school’s dress code: he wasn’t wearing the stupid blue jumper or the tie, only the white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It was infuriating that the blue bowtie and suspenders he had added for some reason didn’t look silly on him. With his perfect appearance and calculating gaze, he was a prime example of the type of unapproachable boarders who surrounded me.

I almost jumped when he spoke. “Salut everyone, welcome to the first rehearsal of the school year. We don’t have much time, the premiere is in two months, that’s only a few rehearsals before everything has to be perfect. I hope all of you have learned your roles over the break because today we are starting off book.”

In class, he had only spoken a few short sentences at a time.

Now, the French accent was unmistakable, with harsh R s, barely there H s , and sentences with a melodic rhythm, like a river flowing over stones.