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at all surprised or disturbed by Gretchen’s appearance. As the dark-haired girl surveyed her face with mysterious black eyes, Gretchen was hit with a sudden, stabbing headache, and she put her fingers to her temples. It subsided as suddenly as it had arrived, and Gretchen raked her fingers through her damp hair, trying to force it into some sort of order.
    “Now I’d like you to take a moment to inventory and explore your equipment,” Ms. Hoover announced. “I’m passing out a list of everything that should be at your station.” She gave a stack of papers to a good-lookingguy in a letterman’s jacket, who handed a list to someone at each table. “Make sure it’s all in working order. Our first lab is on Wednesday, and I don’t want to hear any excuses.”
    Gretchen was fighting a persistent sense of unreality—trying to jam thoughts that didn’t go together into her mind all at once.
    “Who’s your new lab partner, Mafer?” the letterman asked as he handed her an inventory sheet. He had cocoa skin and a brilliant smile, and Gretchen was sure that he was used to having every female in a ten-mile radius sigh over him.
    “Her name’s Gretchen,” Mafer replied.
    Gretchen cocked her head. “How did you know?”
    “Mafer knows all,” the letterman joked. He flashed a killer smile at Gretchen before heading off to his table.
    Gretchen placed her hands on the table, trying to steady herself. “No, seriously, how did you know?”
    “I’m psychic,” Mafer said. “Also, Ms. Hoover called roll. You were the only one who wasn’t here.” Her dark eyes were large and liquid, and her glance was cut with keen intelligence. There was something about Mafer that made her seem ancient. Gretchen shifted in her chair, uncomfortable.
    “Oh. Right.”
    Mafer held up the paper. “Should we run down this list? Want to see if all of the proper tongs are in the proper drawer?”
    “Sure.”
    Mafer read out the list of supplies, and Gretchen checked to make sure they were in the drawer. Everything was in excellent condition; nothing was missing.
    “So, what kind of name is Mafer?” Gretchen asked when her lab partner pulled out the beakers. “Does it have a meaning?”
    “It’s a nickname—short for Maria Fernanda. Maria Fernanda Aguilar Echevarria.”
    “Why would you want to shorten that?” Gretchen joked.
    “Right.” A dry smile. “My grandparents are from Mexico.”
    “Were you born in Walfang?”
    “No, Chicago. But my mom’s on a deployment. My brother and I have been living with my grandmother in Waterbreak. How did you end up here?”
    How
did
I end up here?
It was a good question, one with a complicated answer. “My dad and I have always spent summers out here. He decided we should move out full-time.”
    “You’re close to him.”
    “Yeah.” Gretchen smiled at the thought of Johnny. It was funny to think that he would come in for a parent-teacher conference with buttoned-down Ms. Hoover.
Wonder what she’ll think of him
, Gretchen thought.
    “So—are you feeling better?”
    “Better?”
    “You seemed upset when you came in. Are you okay now?”
    The thought of the howling wind, the journey over the bridge, made Gretchen’s heart pound again.
    Mafer must have read her face, because she said, “Sorry.”
    “No, I—” Gretchen shook her head. “I just don’t like water much.”
    Mafer nodded, sympathetic but unsurprised, and waited a moment, as if inviting her to say more. But Gretchen didn’t want to say more. She just focused on calming her breaths, making them even. Fifteen seconds ticked by, and Mafer handed Gretchen a box of matches and nodded at the Bunsen burner. “Let’s light this thing up.”
    Gretchen checked to make sure that the holes in the burner were closed. Then she lit the match.
    Gretchen pushed the button, then turned on the gas tap and held out the light. The burner lit, then flared unexpectedly, sending up a gout of flame. She shrieked as the edge of her sleeve