An hour later, Jones paused to retrieve a new box of chalk from her desk. I set down my quill to massage my palm. She moved back, front and center, to write a question on the board. I glanced at it and recited the answer in my head. I was about to signal for her attention when she called on Jetson for the third time in a row. He stuttered a reply. I winced—wrong again! I glanced covertly at the new kid then sat back, revealing the top page of my notes:

* Return Library book.

* Finish model crystalight assignment for Teacher Saxon.

Hastily, I added a third task to my daily to do list: Reconsider friendship with Jetson. He was nice enough, but how useful would nice be when I was a Senator at Hasting? When he failed, for the fourth time, to answer correctly, Jones picked up her ruler and strode to his desk.

“What chapter are we on, Mr Cobane?”

“Chapter five,” Jetson guessed.

Obi, wrong again! I froze, forgetting to hide my notes from the new kid. It made no difference. His eyes were glued to the steel edge of Jones’ ruler. I followed his gaze. Nearly everyone boasted marks from it, dark lines along their forearms and wrists. No one but Jetson had these scars on their face.

The ruler flashed, opening a gash on Jetson’s cheek. “Arika!”

I dropped my quill. “Yes, Teacher?”

She glared at Jetson as she barked at me, “What chapter are we on?”

My eyes flew, like magnets, to Jetson’s bright green gaze. His full mouth was pressed thin. I didn’t like his study habits—but I did not wish him pain. In the corner of my eye, Covington passed a note to East Keep, who snickered and passed it somewhere behind me—no doubt to the West Keep twins. Jetson’s cheek oozed. The twins put their heads together and chippered.

My chest throbbed. Jones wanted an answer and I was running out of time.

Just then, she turned slightly, showing me her profile. Time was up.

I opened my mouth to answer. Then, for some reason, I glanced at the new kid. His hand was fisted on our joined desks, veins popping. Jones tapped the ruler on her thigh, snap snap—snap! There was a reason that ruler had never marked me.

I cleared my throat. “We’re technically covering chapter thirty-one, the last in our reader,” I said. “But, when Hannibal questioned our use of the Joust as a deterrent to Kongo aggression, you introduced the current segment. We’re to move back on track this afternoon.”

“Excellent, Arika. Mister Cobane can learn from your example.” She turned and brought the ruler down—snap—on Jetson’s face. Satisfied, she returned to her lecture.