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when I was in charge? Mom and Dad would kill me.”
    No, don’t worry about the mysterious, awful thing that happened to us in that scenario, Anya. The more important thing is that you would’ve been punished. I made a mental note to thank my parents for keeping me an only child.
    â€œGet in the house!” Anya ordered, then stormed back the way she came.
    The three of us turned to follow her. The fun was over, for now.
    I glanced over my shoulder to wave good-bye to Zane, but he looked uncharacteristically serious.
    â€œFind me at school on Monday,” he said, eyes set intently on me. “I have to tell you something.”

I loved science class. And this term we were studying weather, which — though it wasn’t astronomy — was still pretty cool. But Mr. Mahoney was tough. He’s the Simon Cowell of teachers. You could get every question right and he’d point out that your handwriting could’ve been better. But, even so, I wasn’t expecting the horror that landed on my desk Monday.
    We’d had a quiz the previous week on converting Celsius to Fahrenheit and vice versa. There were only four problems and I’d thought it was pretty easy. As Mr. Mahoney passed the graded quizzes back, I sat at my desk, thinking excitedly about Zane wanting to tell me something, and remembering the crazy night at Maya’s house.
    Darcy, who sat in front of me, got her quiz back first, and I saw a 100 scrawled at the top of hers. When I got mine, though, there was a giant 75 in bold at the top. There was also a note from Mr. Mahoney that said: See me.
    My stomach dropped into my feet. Possibly onto the floor. It probably rolled down the hall and into the bathroom to throw up on its own.
    What could’ve gone wrong? I wondered. To convert Celsius to Fahrenheit, you multiply the temperature by nine, divide that answer by five, and then add thirty-two. I checked out the problem with a big red X next to it. Convert 38 degrees Celsius to Fahrenheit. Okay … 38 times 9 is 342; 342 divided by 5 is 68.4. And that plus 32 is 100.4. And that was the answer I had written down. What the heck? Had Mr. Mahoney made a mistake?
    I had trouble paying attention during the rest of the class. I couldn’t wait for it to be over so I could show Mr. Mahoney that I’d gotten the problem right. Finally the bell rang. I picked up my stuff, told Darcy I’d meet her in the next class, and walked up to Mr. Mahoney’s desk.
    He looked at me from under his big bushy eyebrows. “Norah Burridge, what can I do for you?”
    I held the paper out. “You wrote ‘see me’ on my quiz and you marked an answer wrong that wasn’t really wrong.”
    â€œAh, yes,” he said in his gravelly voice. “Well, Norah, your calculations were correct, but the answer was certainly wrong.”
    Huh?
    Mr. Mahoney stood and walked over to the far left side of the board, where the four quiz questions still remained. “You correctly calculated that 38 degrees Celsius is 100.4 degrees Fahrenheit. However, what was the question?”
    I stepped closer to the board. Oh no. Question number four wasn’t “convert 38 degrees,” it was “convert 30 degrees.” I’d copied the wrong number down from the board. Just like I had done with my math homework last week. What was wrong with me? Was I having trouble focusing? Maybe running Partners in Crime on top of my homework was too much?
    â€œThis note is for your parents.” He handed me a folded-up piece of paper. “I’ve noticed you squinting a lot in class, especially when you try to read the board. And now this mistake as well. I’m recommending that you get your eyes checked.” At my blank look, he added, “You may need glasses.”
    I didn’t know if that was bad news or good news. It would explain why I’d been having those mess-ups lately. But … glasses?! I couldn’t