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hard rap on the door. Dean Marcus stood up and walked slowly down the aisle. He stood, regal and wise, in front of the double doors.
    “Who requests entrance to this sacred place?”
    I might have laughed if I wasn’t in such awe. And if everyone else wasn’t so rapt with attention.
    “Eager minds in search of knowledge,” came the answer. Missy mockingly mouthed the words along with the hidden speaker. Lorna gave her a stern look. Missy rolled her eyes.
    “Then you are welcome,” the dean said.
    “They don’t do this every day,” Diana whispered to me. “Only at the first service.”
    The doors swung open and in walked Noelle, chin held high. Next to her was her boyfriend, Dash. His blond hair was slickedback from his face and he wore a serious expression. He and Noelle both carried large, antiquated volumes in their arms and kept their eyes trained directly ahead as they walked down the aisle to the lectern.
    Noelle looked almost regal and certainly in control. Even though hundreds of people were staring straight at her, she didn’t blush or waver or even blink. She was confident, gorgeous, composed.
    The pair placed their books on a table at the front of the chapel.
    “Tradition, honor, excellence,” they said in unison.
    Then they turned to the room and everyone echoed them. “Tradition, honor, excellence.”
    Chills rushed over me at the sound of all those voices in unison. Noelle and Dash turned and bowed together toward the teachers, then each took a seat on opposite sides of the altar, Noelle in front of the girls, Dash in front of the guys.
    I had no idea what all this ritual meant, exactly, but I loved it. It was totally different from anything I had ever known before. I was so enraptured that it took me longer than most to notice the slight commotion and laughter at the back of the chapel. When I turned around, Thomas Pearson was just slipping in as the dean closed the doors. He took a seat in the back pew, where one of his friends gave him a fist bump and laughed. Sunglasses hid his eyes. The dean shot him a look of death, but then walked briskly back to the front of the room. I waited for Thomas to remove the glasses, hoping he might search me out as well, but instead he grew serious and trained his attention on the stage.
    I turned and did the same, biting down on my lip and trying hard not to laugh. There was something about boys being boys that always made me giddy.
    The dean stepped up to the lectern and tilted the microphone toward him. “Welcome, students, to Easton Academy.”

SADIST
    “Good morning, class! I trust you are all tickled pink to see me.”
    The teacher banged the door closed behind him and those who weren’t already in their seats scrambled. Constance sat down next to me just as the teacher placed his beaten leather briefcase and a tall silver Thermos on his desk. He had the straightest posture I have ever seen and seemed to fill up the entire room. Gray hairs peppered the tight black curls on his head and he wore a blue sport coat and striped tie over tan pants. He clapped his hands together and rubbed them, surveying the room. I could tell by the expressions on my classmates’ faces that none of them were actually pleased to see him. From the sarcastic gleam in his eye, it was clear that he was also aware of this fact.
    “For those of you who haven’t already heard all the nasty rumors about me, my name is Mr. Barber and I am a by-the-book type of man,” he said, his voice booming from somewhere in the vicinity of his navel. As he spoke, he twisted off the top of his Thermos and poured himself a cup of steaming liquid. The pungent scent of blackcoffee filled the room. “This class is American History. In history we have what are known as facts. I teach the facts. We will not be reading opinion or propaganda in this class. We will not be discussing the whining woes of every Tom, Dick, and Harry in every socioeconomic strata of every country around the world. I’ll let