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is sure to be nothing but hard work for everyone else.” Then something in him relaxes a little. “But I hope you enjoy it.”
    I fling my remaining things into my bag and stand up. Much as I like the chat, I have places to be. Everyone else has left by now, mostly to catch the bus back to the mainland.
    Mr. Flynn puts a hand on my shoulder. My stomach jumps and I look at him, surprised. Physical contact between us is unprecedented, probably because he knows how it might seem to others.
    â€œJust be careful, OK?” His eyes are gray, cool. “They throw some seriously stupid stunts sometimes. Don’t get overinvolved.”
    Ha, if only you knew what I was doing last night.
    He removes the hand. “All I’m saying is, don’t lose focus. It’s an important couple of years for you, and you need to channel your energy.” The cool grays dart around the studio. “This is where you belong. We’re going to get you into art school, aren’t we?”
    I nod, smile, but inside, my heart is flipping. Blimey. How about putting the pressure on first day you’re back, Flynny? I’ve got two full years before I have to quit this joint and figure out what I’m actually going to do with my actual life. Unlike most people here, I don’t have my every move planned out for me.
    â€œSure.” I nod, tight-lipped, and make a run for the door. I glance back and see him still watching me. Something’s off. Maybe he was late back because of some hideous trauma during summer break? I’d kind of thought it was just a music festival.
    As I jog past the Main House courtyard, I see crowds boarding the two buses bound for the mainland.
    I head toward the clock tower quad, which comprises the library building and the upperclassmen common room. Just off the common room there’s also a long hallway lined with doors leading to the much-envied “study rooms.” Major upperclassmen perk. I’m so stoked to finally have a study. It doesn’t look like much—a basic, teeny-tiny office shared by two students. But my study is central to my life here at Umfraville, it’s where I work, but it’s also my bolt-hole and a place to hang away from the masses.
    A few people are still milling about, but the small study I share with Marcia is empty. I dump my art stuff on my desk and take a glance at my laptop to see if I have any new IMs on the Umfraville intranet.
    Yes, intranet. Umfraville is weird and trying in many ways because it’s on an island and it’s an island that we only get off once every few weeks. What’s even worse, however, is that we are cut off from the real world in a much more significant way. We have no phones, no Internet.
    I know. Can you imagine teenage life without them?
    I’m exaggerating slightly. There is phone reception here—patchy, in the north of the island, almost two miles away from the school buildings—but use of mobiles is strictly forbidden anywhere. We have to hand our phones in when we get here, and we’re only allowed them back for the rare Saturday exeats off-island. There is a coin pay phone in the dorms and one more in a cold porch off the common room.
    Of course, we have computers…and laptops, tablets, e-readers. It’s not the Middle Ages here, and with the kind of special kids we have, it’s not like you can deny people access to the World Wide Web. However, Ezra is completely against ninety-five percent of the Internet. His view is that Umfraville is an academy of excellence, and his prodigies have no business being distracted by the junkyard of the web. We have a school intranet, set up and policed by the technology teacher, Ms. Lasillo. Through this we have instant messaging, the Loathsome Toad newspaper site, and access to timetables and shared files. And once a day during evening study time, you can get online to the rest of the world for a whole sixty minutes—send emails