“Three times ten to—” Abby began.

“C!” yelled Regina from the back. She rarely spoke up. Good to see her coming out of her shell.

“Sneaky, but correct!” I chucked her a beanbag.

“I was answering first!” Abby complained.

“But she finished her answer first,” I said. “What’s the nearest star to Earth?”

“Alpha Centauri!” Abby said quickly.

“Wrong!” I said.

“No, I’m not!”

“Yes, you are. Anyone else?”

“Oh!” Larry said. “It’s the sun!”

“Right!” I said. “Larry gets the beanbag! Careful with your assumptions, Abby.”

She folded her arms in a huff.

“Who can tell me the radius of Earth?”

Trang raised his hand. “Three thousand, nine hundre—”

“Trang!” Abby said. “The answer is Trang.”

Trang froze in confusion.

“What?” I asked.

Abby preened. “You asked who could tell you the radius of Earth. Trang can tell you. I answered correctly.”

Outsmarted by a thirteen-year-old. Wasn’t the first time. I dropped a beanbag on her desk just as the bell rang.

The kids leapt from their chairs and collected their books and backpacks. Abby, flush with victory, took a little more time than the others.

“Remember to cash in your beanbags at the end of the week for toys and other prizes!” I said to their retreating backs.

Soon, the classroom was empty, and only the echoing sounds of children in the hallway suggested any evidence of life. I collected their homework assignments from my desk and slipped them into my valise. Sixth period was over.

Time to hit the teachers’ lounge for a cup of coffee. Maybe I’d correct some papers before I headed home. Anything to avoid the parking lot. A fleet of helicopter moms would be descending on the school to pick up their children. And if one of them saw me, they always had some complaint or suggestion. I can’t fault someone for loving their kids, and God knows we could do with more parents being engaged in their kids’ educations, but there’s a limit.

“Ryland Grace?” said a woman’s voice.

I looked up with a start. I hadn’t heard her come in.

She looked to be in her mid-forties, wearing a well-tailored business suit. She carried a briefcase.

“Uh, yeah,” I said. “Can I help you with something?”

“I think you can,” she said. She had a slight accent. Something European—I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. “My name is Eva Stratt. I’m with the Petrova Taskforce.”

“The what?”

“The Petrova Taskforce. It’s an international body set up to deal with the Petrova-line situation. I’ve been tasked with finding a solution. They’ve given me a certain amount of authority to get things done.”

“They? Who’s they?”

“Every member nation of the UN.”

“Wait, what? How did—”

“Unanimous secret vote. It’s complicated. I’d like to talk to you about a scientific paper you wrote.”

“Secret vote? Never mind.” I shook my head. “My paper-writing days are over. Academia didn’t work well for me.”

“You’re a teacher. You’re still in academia.”

“Well, yeah,” I said. “But I mean, you know, academia. With scientists and peer review and—”