Ms. O’Neil, like the rest of them, basically hated me. I don’t think she wanted to, but all I did was make her job harder, and not in an interesting way like Tam did. With Tam, she could spar, and roll her eyes, and complain—but with me, what could she do? You can’t roll your eyes at the sole survivor of a tragic car accident.

I mean, I guess you could roll your eyes at anything if it got aggravating enough.

I’ll bet I’m aggravating enough, I thought.

The shiny-eyed moment hung in the air half a beat too long, and I had to break the silence.

“Hi,” I said.

Her left eyebrow went up. “You,” she said to me, “are a lucky girl.”

CHAPTER

2

MY ROOM LOOKED out over the driveway, which meant that as I shoved my few possessions into my backpack and a plastic grocery bag, I could look down and see the massive black SUV idling there, waiting for me. The business-suit-clad man who’d arrived in it, Mr. Albright, had told me to take my time, but I didn’t have enough stuff to take my time with.

The door pushed open, and I expected to see Ms. O’Neil. But it was Tam who came in, looking around in a curious, wide-eyed way. She had a duffel with her, and she heaved it onto the bed.

“My room now,” she said, as smug as a house cat.

“Good for you.”

She sighed and sat down on the mattress, arms folded. Then she leaned forward to peer down at the car in the driveway.

“So you’re just getting, like, adopted?”

“No,” I said. “I don’t want to be adopted. I’ll be a ward.”

“They’re probably going to make you their servant or something.” She didn’t sound entirely disappointed by this idea. “Lock you in the cellar and all that. I’m sure you’ll be miserable.”

“You never know.”

She sat back and shook her head. “Ridiculous.”

“Yep.” I finished folding my third and final T-shirt and stacked it in the bag on top of the other clothes.

“If you’re rich now, will you send me stuff?”

“I’m not rich,” I said.

She pointed out the window. “That’s a hundred-thousand-dollar car. You’re rich.”

“It’s not my money,” I said. “I’m the servant, remember?”

She snorted. “Fingers crossed.”

“Make yourself useful,” I said. “Take the sheets off the bed.”

She obeyed without complaint, reaching across to pull the fitted sheet out from under the mattress.

Then, driven by curiosity, I asked, “What kind of stuff would you want me to send?”

“Hmm,” she said. “A pair of sunglasses. Like, really nice ones. And a crossword-puzzle book. And—”

I reached into my backpack, pulled out a crossword-puzzle book, and lobbed it at the bed. She picked it up, studied the cover, quirked her mouth into a smile, and went on.