“Half as much,” she agreed, showing her teeth. “And yet, I’m right behind you. If you don’t get the highest score on the Final Exam—you can bet, I won.”

I turned my head so Covington could see me roll my eyes. She was talking to her usual cohort, East Keep, and didn’t acknowledge me. Something hot bubbled in my gut.

In truth, she was right. I was on top, but the race was tight. I could stomach losing if we were only competing for valedictorian. After all, even the last in our class—the West Keep twins—would move on to Hasting House, home to all the Record Keepers. However, we weren’t just competing for top marks at the Schoolhouse—more was at stake. The governing body of America, the American Assembly, was in flux.

Two days ago, the Assembly politicians had successfully voted to remove a Kongo representative. This meant one Senatorial seat that, by law, had to be filled by a Record Keeper, was up for grabs. On that same day, the Director had ordained by special decree that the senior who scored the highest on the Final Exam, the entrance exam to Hasting, would replace the ousted Senator and infuse the Assembly with fresh ideas.

Disobedient students could be sent back to the field. Ordinary Record Keepers were vulnerable too. At the whim of a vindictive Teacher or Dana Kumar, the Director of the Kongo, we could all be reclassified as workers. Senators, however, were above reclassification.

None of my peers knew of the open seat. I’d learned of it directly from Teacher Saxon, who favored me. More, only I knew that Rebels were meeting in Cobane. With Voltaire’s Army gaining traction, the safest place in the Kongo would be in the Assembly. If I was going to land that seat, I had to beat Covington.

Just then she laughed, throatily. My eyes skewered her. Beside her, East Keep smirked at the drops of ink on my desk. Lifting my chin, I turned my back on them. I ripped out a sheet of paper and began sopping the spilled ink. A student’s desk should be neat and tidy. I scrubbed vigorously until the desk was warm and polished beneath my hand. Cleanliness reflects the ideals of the Niagara Compromise. I opened my notebook to a fresh page. I chose a quill, and kept busy, writing the preamble to the Niagara Compromise from memory.

We, the human remnant, in order to form a more perfect species…

I was bent over my desk when Jones arrived. I set my quill down and began checking my page for errors. It wasn’t until Jones’ words penetrated my studious fog that I realized something was amiss.

“Class, say hello and welcome to a new student, Hosea Khan Vine.”

Stunned, I looked up.

Teacher Jones, a big woman, cleared her throat. Ahem.