B.S. (Before Solomon), wafflesand bagels would have won out for sure. But today, Professor Smith had a lot ofeye-lined and lip-glossed girls with growling stomachs listening to him talkabout civil unrest in the Baltic States when 8:30 rolled around. I looked at mywatch, the ultimate pointless gesture at the Gallagher Academy, because classesrun precisely on time, but I had to see how many seconds were standing betweenme and lunch. (11,705, just in case you're curious.)

When COW was over, we ran uptwo flights of stairs to the fourth floor for Madame Dabney's Culture andAssimilation lessons which, sadly, that day did not include tea. Then it wastime for third period.

I had a pain in my neck fromsleeping funny, at least five hours' worth of homework, and a newfoundrealization that woman cannot live on cherry-flavored lip gloss alone. I dug inthe bottom of my bag and found a very questionable breath mint, and figuredthat if I was going to die of starvation, I should at least have minty-freshbreath for the benefit of whatever classmate or faculty member would be forcedto give me CPR.

Liz had to go by Mr.Mosckowitz's office to drop off an extra-credit essay she'd written over thesummer (yeah, she's that girl), so I was alone with Bex when we reachedthe base of the grand staircase and turned into the small corridor that was oneof three ways to the Subs, or subfloors, where we'd never been allowed before.

Standing in front of thefull-length mirror, we tried hard not to blink or do anything that mightconfuse the optical scanner that was going to verify that we were, in fact,sophomores and not freshmen trying to sneak down to the Subs on a dare. Istudied our reflections and realized that I, Cameron Morgan, the headmistress'sdaughter, who knew more about the school than any Gallagher Girl since Gillyherself, was getting ready to go deeper into the vault of Gallagher secrets.Judging from the goose bumps on Bex's arm, I wasn't the only one who got chillsat the thought of it.