“Of course,” Jaya said, reciting the response she’d practiced with Amma a dozen times before they left. “It’s essential that we attend an Ivy League university in the US, and our parents feel St. Rosetta’s will best prepare us to do so.”

“And after we graduate, we can sit on the same charity boards as our mother and drink chai with the same boring ladies every afternoon,” Isha muttered under her breath. When Jaya darted a warning glance at her, her face was smooth and impassive. She even batted her eyes for good measure. It was exactly this kind of attitude that had gotten them into the situation they were in in the first place.

“I’d say your parents chose wisely, but I am, of course, quite biased.” Dr. Waverly laughed quietly and led them to what a gold-lettered sign proclaimed to be the SOPHOMORE WING.

“Thank you,” Jaya said as Isha poked around. “I think Isha and I will be okay from here.”

“I could show you your room in the senior wing, if you wish…”

“No, that’s all right.” Jaya smiled. “I can find it myself. It’ll help me get a feel for things, if you don’t mind.”

Dr. Waverly studied her for a moment before smiling back. “Independence. I do respect that.” She handed Jaya two keys. “Those are printed with your suite numbers. Classes begin at eight a.m. Thursday, which gives you a day and a half to settle in. The office has notified me that your uniforms are ready for pickup and they’re finalizing your schedules now. That should be everything you need for your first days. Please let me know if I can be of service.”

Once Dr. Waverly disappeared down the stairs, Jaya turned to survey the sophomore wing. Isha was already perusing a bookcase to their left. The wall nearest Jaya was lined with photographs in gilt frames. A sign informed her that these were just a few of the notable people who’d graduated from St. Rosetta’s International Academy. There were kings and queens, prime ministers, presidents, famous novelists, musicians, artists, and a few A-list Hollywood actors and actresses.

Jaya wandered into the common area where a couple of students lounged, talking or texting on their phones. More than a century of students’ feet had worn silk-smooth grooves into the wood. The floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall overlooked the rolling greens of the campus with the purple-black mountains beyond. Green velvet sofas and gold armchairs were arranged strategically in front of a fireplace.

Isha was pawing through the books when a girl with curly dark hair looked up at her from a plush maroon settee and said, “Hey.”

Isha turned, her smile instantaneous and warm. “Hi.”

“I’m Raina. Are you new here?”