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Authors: Mercedes Lackey, Rosemary Edghill
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Witch), and from eavesdropping, Spirit found out she’d been in the pool being drilled by Madison Lane-Rider until almost one this morning.
Spirit felt a spark of jealousy that Addie was talking to Maddie about her horrible night instead of to her, but she knew it was unfair. Addie could talk to Maddie without risking having her vanish. Or worse.
She got her tray and walked to her table. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Loch at his new table. He looked as if he’d dressed in as much haste as she had. He was talking to a dark-haired boy Spirit knew slightly. Both of them seemed intent on their conversation, and Spirit felt a pang of … not jealousy this time, but worry. Oakhurst didn’t like it if you made friends; Breakthrough positively loathed it.
She’d just picked up her fork—she had no appetite this morning, but if she didn’t eat she knew she’d regret it—when Ms. Corby came in with her clipboard. Ah, it’s the morning announcements, Spirit thought wryly. She took as much pleasure as she could from Ms. Corby’s sour expression. She’d always acted as if dealing with a building full of teenagers gave her about the same level of thrill as cleaning up toxic waste, but since Breakthrough got here she looked about ready to spit nails. Spirit started to tune her out—anything really important would be in email—when the phrase “class reorganization” caught her attention.
Oh, that isn’t fair! she thought a moment later, setting down her fork. Her Systema class had been moved to right after breakfast—and it was going to be one of the new extra long ones, too. Her Norse Folklore class had been moved to just before lunch (she was starting to wonder if Madison Lane-Rider ever slept), and in the afternoon, there was an Endurance Ride—which would take the whole afternoon, and kill her if Ovcharenko didn’t manage it this morning.
I wasn’t supposed to be stuck with Endurance Riding again until next week! she thought angrily.
The Endurance class could only accommodate twelve riders at a time, so they only had it every third day. The lucky class scheduled for a Thursday ride got four days between rides, not three—but thanks to “class reorganization” she had it again this afternoon!
I remember hating Mr. Wallis’s gym class. I’d give anything if he were teaching it now, she thought dolefully. There was no point in eating breakfast now. She’d just end up puking all over the gym.
“Awww … kitten, ” Muirin said with fulsome mockery. “You’ve got to turn that frown upside down!” She leaned against the edge of the table.
Spirit just shook her head wearily. Muirin was dressed for Vogue, not for Oakhurst, and getting here in time for breakfast was clearly not an issue with her these days.
“Madison was telling me about her new boutique, and it’s going to be so awesome—she says she’s going to talk to the Fashion Institute of Technology about showcasing some of their student designers—light-years better than all those Sixth Avenue hacks!—and even have Breakthrough fund an FIT scholarship for Oakhurst students! She’s going to completely redo one of those vacant shops in Radial as her flagship store and maybe even do a fashion shoot at the Spring Fling—you know, because just about everyone there’s going to be wearing one of her dresses? I know I am—and it’s going to be fabulous! No more of this tacky makeover crap from the Isle of Misfit Prom Gowns—and the Dance! I really don’t know why you guys are bothering with the Dance Committee—Madison told me she’d consider it an honor to take over the whole design—”
“Madison told me.” “Madison said.” Don’t you know any other words, Muirin? How can you think she’s going to keep a single one of her promises? All this was absolutely insane. Why would anyone who intended to start a fashion line showcase their stuff at a hick town dance? Well, the answer, of course, was that they wouldn’t, if
Spirit felt a spark of jealousy that Addie was talking to Maddie about her horrible night instead of to her, but she knew it was unfair. Addie could talk to Maddie without risking having her vanish. Or worse.
She got her tray and walked to her table. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Loch at his new table. He looked as if he’d dressed in as much haste as she had. He was talking to a dark-haired boy Spirit knew slightly. Both of them seemed intent on their conversation, and Spirit felt a pang of … not jealousy this time, but worry. Oakhurst didn’t like it if you made friends; Breakthrough positively loathed it.
She’d just picked up her fork—she had no appetite this morning, but if she didn’t eat she knew she’d regret it—when Ms. Corby came in with her clipboard. Ah, it’s the morning announcements, Spirit thought wryly. She took as much pleasure as she could from Ms. Corby’s sour expression. She’d always acted as if dealing with a building full of teenagers gave her about the same level of thrill as cleaning up toxic waste, but since Breakthrough got here she looked about ready to spit nails. Spirit started to tune her out—anything really important would be in email—when the phrase “class reorganization” caught her attention.
Oh, that isn’t fair! she thought a moment later, setting down her fork. Her Systema class had been moved to right after breakfast—and it was going to be one of the new extra long ones, too. Her Norse Folklore class had been moved to just before lunch (she was starting to wonder if Madison Lane-Rider ever slept), and in the afternoon, there was an Endurance Ride—which would take the whole afternoon, and kill her if Ovcharenko didn’t manage it this morning.
I wasn’t supposed to be stuck with Endurance Riding again until next week! she thought angrily.
The Endurance class could only accommodate twelve riders at a time, so they only had it every third day. The lucky class scheduled for a Thursday ride got four days between rides, not three—but thanks to “class reorganization” she had it again this afternoon!
I remember hating Mr. Wallis’s gym class. I’d give anything if he were teaching it now, she thought dolefully. There was no point in eating breakfast now. She’d just end up puking all over the gym.
“Awww … kitten, ” Muirin said with fulsome mockery. “You’ve got to turn that frown upside down!” She leaned against the edge of the table.
Spirit just shook her head wearily. Muirin was dressed for Vogue, not for Oakhurst, and getting here in time for breakfast was clearly not an issue with her these days.
“Madison was telling me about her new boutique, and it’s going to be so awesome—she says she’s going to talk to the Fashion Institute of Technology about showcasing some of their student designers—light-years better than all those Sixth Avenue hacks!—and even have Breakthrough fund an FIT scholarship for Oakhurst students! She’s going to completely redo one of those vacant shops in Radial as her flagship store and maybe even do a fashion shoot at the Spring Fling—you know, because just about everyone there’s going to be wearing one of her dresses? I know I am—and it’s going to be fabulous! No more of this tacky makeover crap from the Isle of Misfit Prom Gowns—and the Dance! I really don’t know why you guys are bothering with the Dance Committee—Madison told me she’d consider it an honor to take over the whole design—”
“Madison told me.” “Madison said.” Don’t you know any other words, Muirin? How can you think she’s going to keep a single one of her promises? All this was absolutely insane. Why would anyone who intended to start a fashion line showcase their stuff at a hick town dance? Well, the answer, of course, was that they wouldn’t, if
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