This is exactly why I came here and what I’ve been waiting for. I’m sure she has more than a dozen reasons why I should stay back. I’m sure they are all well within the school’s guidelines, and I’m sure she’s been waiting with great anticipation for the past month to tell me those reasons.

But I have something she doesn’t. Determination.

“Ms. Harper said I could take summer school courses to complete the three I missed last semester,” I remind her, pulling out a crumpled printout of the email from my canvas messenger bag. Headmistress Welchbacher takes it, grabbing it by two fingers only, and looks at it with disgust.

“She’s not wrong, but you understand…”

“I’ll lose my salutatorian status, yes, I know.”

Headmistress Welchbacher pauses, glancing up at me. She doesn’t like being interrupted. That’s 60 percent of why I did it. The other 40 percent is that I don’t like being around her for any longer than I have to be.

I don’t like being held back because of something out of my control.

“That’s correct. You’ll need to take calculus, a history class, and a creative elective.”

“A community college nearby has all those classes.”

“Will you be able to register in time? There are only two months left of summer. I’m worried.”

No you’re not. You’re hoping that I can’t, I think. But Mom and I already talked about this possibility when a transplant was first discussed. Silently, I pull out another piece of paper.

“I’ve already registered for Calc One, History of the Modern World, and a creative writing class. All of these start online next week, and they fulfill the Northeastern collegiate requirements for learning that St. Clements abides by.”

Headmistress Welchbacher’s jaw tightens as she examines the documents, searching for any reason to say that the classes won’t work. But I got up early today when I couldn’t sleep and spent all morning before this meeting double- and triple-checking them. These classes are perfect. And considering that St. Clements has an agreement with the community college that allows juniors and seniors to take part-time classes there, this should be easy.

“I suppose these will work,” she concedes.

“Excellent.”

I put the document back in my bag, swinging it over my shoulder.

“Andre,” she says when I reach the door. “Our standards here at St. Clements are high. Higher than a public school. You’ll need to earn a minimum of an eighty-eight in each of your classes for them to count.”

“They only do letter grades there.”

“A B plus then.”

“And if they don’t do pluses and minuses?”

“An A.”

Of course.