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made such a big deal out of helping the “less fortunate.” He probably regretted momentarily crossing the train tracks.
    That night at work, I tried to calmly tell Charlotte about my day, but I couldn’t help ranting.
    â€œThere’s marble everywhere, and the lockers look like apartments and cute boys drag strangers into bathrooms and tape cheerleaders to walls and want to make out with you for booze . . .”
    Charlotte tilted her head. “I’m not following.”
    â€œAnd then they give you detention.”
    â€œYou got detention?” Charlotte froze with a spoonful of chocolate chips over a medium vanilla cup.
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œWas it research for a story?”
    â€œNo! It was actual detention.”
    She stayed frozen.
    The customer waiting for the yogurt cleared his throat. She finally dumped the chocolate chips on the yogurt and finished the order.
    â€œSo, any cute guys to report on?” Charlotte said.
    â€œNo. At least none in my price range.”
    â€œSince when do guys have price ranges?” she asked as she rang up the customer.
    â€œSince Chiswick.”
    She gave the customer change, and he pocketed it instead of tipping. At least that meant we didn’t have to sing.

5
    The next day, I experienced my first lunch in the Chiswick cafeteria. And I say “experienced” because that’s what it was. An experience.
    The cafeteria was a swanky affair. Aged gouda and brie with sliced baguettes, crusted tilapia, roasted edamame and shiitake mushrooms, marinated and grilled asparagus topped with shaved Parmesan . . . My scholarship included the meal plan. Otherwise, I never would’ve been able to afford to eat like this.
    The tables and chairs were actually made of wood. Not plastered with faux-wood laminate like at my old school.
    I put some cheese and bread and tilapia on my plate and looked for a place to sit. Rafael Amador was at a large table fullof the shiniest people at the school. Had he already told them about my embarrassing first day? Probably. The girl sitting next to him looked as though she had just walked off the runway. The model kind, not the jet kind. I hadn’t seen her yesterday. I would have remembered.
    The entire group, with their manicures and sleek buns and designer handbags and bodyguards, screamed, Go away.
    Una was sitting with Julia and a few other people who I assumed were also scholarship students. They had the kind of look that would’ve blended in at Clarendon but stuck out at this place, which was filled with designer labels. Not a knock-off in sight. I started toward them, but then I spotted Mack sitting at a small table with a guy I didn’t know. She gave me a kind of nod that I took for an invitation.
    I walked over and put my tray down next to her and tilted my head toward Raf’s table. “This school . . .”
    â€œI know, right?” she said.
    â€œWho’s the girl next to Raf?”
    â€œGiselle Bouchard.”
    I nodded. “So she’s not only gorgeous, she’s also French.”
    â€œYep. If it makes you feel better, she sucks at math.”
    I nodded. “That does make me feel a little better.”
    She raised a celery stick in the air. “Piper, think of this school as a stepping-stone. You have to suffer through it, but it will get you where you want to go. By the way, this is Faroush.” She pointed the celery to the guy next to her. “Faroush, Piper.”
    â€œNice to meet you,” I said.
    He simply nodded.
    â€œFaroush isn’t so much about the talking as he is about the staring off into space in an angsty way.”
    Faroush smiled and softly punched her in the arm.
    â€œAnd he’s my boyfriend,” Mack said.
    â€œAh,” I said.
    We ate for a few minutes in silence.
    â€œSo, where is Chiswick going to get you next year?” I asked.
    â€œMIT,” she said. “I’m kind of a genius.”
    I nodded as if I