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locker?”
    â€œI get people fake IDs. Run the business out of an emptylocker. I change its location periodically, but they usually find it. And then I get a week’s detention.”
    â€œYou know how to make fake IDs?”
    â€œMy dad’s in the CIA. He taught me everything he knows.”
    â€œWow,” I said. I didn’t know anyone at Clarendon who had a fake ID.
    She took in a deep breath. “It’s a living. Most of my clients are the rich kids here.” She finally lifted her head up from her desk and looked at me. “You in the market? Three hundred.” Then she looked closer at my outfit. “Or I could give you a discount.”
    â€œI barely have three hundred cents, let alone three hundred dollars.” Actually I had a few thousand dollars in savings, but I wouldn’t waste any of it on a fake ID that could lead to real criminal charges. “Why aren’t your clients in detention?”
    She raised her eyebrows. “’Cause they’re rich.” I was about to ask if she was on scholarship too, but she seemed to anticipate me. “I have a wealthy aunt. Gives me tuition money and nothing else. Not the same as a rich parent. I’m in a weird no-man’s-land in this school.”
    That was the second time today I’d heard that the difference between detention and freedom at Chiswick Academy was a powerful parent.
    â€œI’m Piper Baird,” I said.
    â€œYeah, I heard. Mack Ripley.”
    I stared at her for a moment. “That’s, like, the best name ever.”
    She sighed. “Lemme guess. You’re an Aliens fan.”
    â€œYes! Favorite movie. Hands down.”
    â€œI hear that a lot. Mostly from older people.” She shrugged and went back to carving her initials into the desk.
    I spent the rest of detention making a list of possible story ideas that could win me the Bennington. If I had any hope of beating out people like Jesse, I would have to come up with brilliant stories, preferably not the kind that dealt with dates and times of water shutdowns.
    I started to write down ideas that could put me over the edge—maybe human trafficking at the school? OxyContin-selling ring? Could Chiswick be a front for raising superspies?—but that was the thing about stories. It was hard to find them without some sort of inspiration, and inspiration was in short supply in the Potomac Room.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” Mack said.
    â€œTrying to come up with stories. I want to win that Bennington Scholarship.”
    She kept her eyes on her desk. “Good luck with that.” She didn’t sound very optimistic.
    â€œYou don’t think there’s a chance?”
    She shrugged. “I’ve never seen someone who wasn’t here all four years win it. But there’s a first time for everything, right?”
    We were quiet for a moment. A month ago, I would’ve thought getting into Chiswick was impossible. Now wasn’t the time to start believing the odds.
    I leaned toward her. “So what’s it like to be a have-not among all these haves?”
    She looked up from her carving. “This school has train tracks running right through the middle, and either you’re on the right side or the wrong side.”
    â€œHow do you know which side you’re on?”
    She shrugged. “As if the blinged-out lockers aren’t enough of a sign, every week, the people on the right side of the tracks get a text with a secret password and location for an exclusive party. They treat their parties like knowledge of the specific whereabouts is a matter of national security. You’ll know you’ve made it if you get one of the texts.”
    â€œHave you ever gotten a text?”
    â€œNope.” She sighed. “We go to the same classes. Have the same homework. Walk the same halls. And yet we live on different planets.”
    I thought back to my encounter with Raf, and how he’d