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States?” he asked.
    Yes!
    “Four,” I said, grinning.
    “I’m sorry. The correct answer is three,” Mr. Barber said.
    My eyes and face burned with humiliation even as my brain protested. It was four. I knew this. I learned this in eighth grade. FDR was my favorite president. I loved the New Deal and all the acronyms. I memorized them all and aced that quiz. He had served four terms.
    “FDR was elected for a fourth term, but he died while in office and therefore did not serve four full terms,” Mr. Barber said.
    My entire team groaned as he erased Constance’s one point. Under my skin my blood boiled.
    “That’s a trick question,” I blurted.
    Mr. Barber froze with his back to us. The students sucked in a breath. My body heat was almost unbearable. What had I just done?
    “Excuse me?” Mr. Barber said, turning around.
    I cleared my throat. “That was a trick question,” I repeated, unwilling to cower. “You didn’t ask how many full terms he served.”
    Mr. Barber was incredulous. He took a few steps forward and crossed his arms over his chest. “I believe the question was fair, Miss Brennan.”
    I opened my mouth to respond, but he cut me off.
    “And why do I believe the question was fair? Because I expect my students to think, Miss Brennan,” he said. “I expect them to take one moment to consider the options before simply blurting out the first response that pops into their heads. This is not the set of Jeopardy! , Miss Brennan; this is your education. You should be more conscientious in the future. Do we understand each other?”
    Well. I was officially beaten down. “Ye-yes,” I said, my mouth dry.
    “I’d like to believe you, Miss Brennan, but perhaps you should see me after class so that we can make sure of that fact,” he said.
    I swallowed hard. Tears of embarrassment stung my eyes. Every single soul in the room was either staring at me or pointedly struggling not to stare at me.
    He wanted to see me after class. My first teacher on my first day at the new school that was supposed to change my life wanted to see me after class. Well, something in my life had changed already. I had never been reprimanded by a teacher before. Ever.
    “Okay,” I said.
    “Good,” Mr. Barber replied. “Now that we’ve wasted several minutes of your classmates’ precious time, perhaps you would allow me to move on.”
    I felt hot and sick and stupid. I nodded stiffly. It was pretty much all I could do.
    Mr. Barber turned to his next victim and Constance clucked her tongue in sympathy.
    Good start, Reed. Really stellar start.

NO EXCEPTIONS
    I hovered next to Mr. Barber’s desk as he scribbled on a piece of white paper. Everyone avoided eye contact as they filed out of the room, like I was some kind of freak not to be associated with. One class and already I had pegged myself.
    “Mr. Barber—“
    “I know you are there, Miss Brennan. Kindly allow me to finish.”
    My jaw snapped shut. I hated him. Even as I wanted to beg him for a second chance. I hadn’t been able to answer a single one of the three questions he had posed to me during his sick little game and I knew he thought I was some little-known breed of moron. But what kind of person did that—put students on the wringer on their first day back from summer break? Plus he had humiliated me in front of everyone when he knew that I was new here.
    Mr. Barber placed his pen down. He took a long, deliberate sip from his coffee cup, then placed that down carefully as well. He was torturing me. He was making me wait here and worry on purpose. Finally, slowly, he tore the top sheet from his pad and held it out to me.
    “Some reading for you,” he said, looking at me over the top of his glasses. “I expect you to catch up by the end of this week. You should know that I don’t take pity on scholarship students. If you do indeed belong here at Easton, you will do the work. No exceptions.”
    I took the paper, which trembled in my hand. On it was a list