She smirked, and I knew she'dprobably been planning this scene since she was halfway over the Atlantic Ocean(in addition to being stubborn, Bex is also quite theatrical). She waited untilall eyes were on her—holding the silenceuntil Liz was about to explode, then she took a warm roll from the basket onthe table and nonchalantly said, "New teacher." She tore the bread inhalf and slowly buttered it. "We gave him a ride from London this morning.He's an old pal of my father's."

"Name?" Liz asked,probably already planning how she was going to hack into the CIA headquartersat Langley for details as soon as we were free to go back to our rooms.

"Solomon," Bex said,eyeing us. "Joe Solomon." She sounded eerily like the black, teenage,female James Bond.

We all turned to look at JoeSolomon. He had the scruffy beard and restless hands of an agent fresh off amission. Around me, the hall filled with whispers and giggles— fuel that would have the rumor mill running on highby midnight—and I remembered that, even though the Gallagher Academy is aschool for girl geniuses, sometimes the emphasis should be kept on the girl.

The next morning was torture.Absolute torture! And that's not a word I use lightly, considering thefamily business. So maybe I should rephrase: the first day of classes was challenging.

We didn't exactly go to bedearly … or even a little late … or even at all, unless you count lying on thefaux-fur rug in the common room with the entire sophomore class sprawled aroundme as the basis for a good night's sleep. When Liz woke us up at seven, wedecided we could either primp for an hour and skip breakfast, or throw on ouruniforms and eat like queens, before Professor Smith's 8:05 COW lecture.