Despite the chorus of groans, this came as no surprise. Ethan Tsao and his 98 average had transferred to St. Mark’s during the spring. The freckle-jowled Teddy Boudreaux leapt out of his seat, beaming at his first-place status.

“With a ninety-six point five, we have Mr. O’Donnell. Please step up.”

This was a bit of a shock. Sticky was a stealth ace when it came to tests and papers, and he had won the Game by poisoning himself with Blaireric. The call of his name was met with impressed and envious chimp faces from the sophomores.

“Let’s see here . . .” Oglesby stuck Carraway under his armpit and ruled his finger across the grade book. “Mr. Gilchrist has a ninety-five point seven average; come up to the front.”

Dan stared down at the remarks in his journal. It was Oglesby’s way of telling him he hadn’t made the cut.

“Now, Mr. Gilchrist has the third-highest average, but he was also out with mono for four weeks. It also looks like I haven’t added all the extra credit in correctly. Mr. Malone . . .”

Dan’s heart started to hammer in his chest. Why are you torturing me? Oglesby scrutinized him with pale, loveless eyes.

“You have no absences and the best journal marks in the class. You’re at ninety-five point four plus extra credit for writing out one thousand and one things to do with a white elephant. So I’m adding you as a fourth candidate for the rites of the rat. Step up here.”

Dan waded past the rows of desks as Oglesby read out the rest of the averages, ranking the class from first to hypnagogic Jay Blaylock, dead last. Dan couldn’t believe he was in the running—The trial to get to the trial was a trial. Oglesby pulled his copy of Ficciones and three brown rubber rats from his backpack, aligning them on the teacher’s desk like they were ready to assume their places on an Olympic medal podium. Dan was so short of breath he was practically panting. Pull it together, idiot.

Oglesby put away his grade book and, with a tap of the golf club on both shoulders, anointed each of the candidates.

“Repeat after me: ‘To think, analyze and invent are not anomalous acts, but the normal respiration of the intelligence . . . ’”

Dan mouthed along, wondering what Oglesby’s questions would be. He entered a weird hyper zone where he tried to think of everything at once and couldn’t focus on anything.

“‘Every man should be capable of all ideas, and I believe that in the future I will be.’”

Oglesby then saluted the four candidates, each of whom stood up a little straighter, throwing his shoulders back in his Jesuit blue blazer.