I wrapped my arms around myknees and stared through the window's wavy glass. The red velvet curtains weredrawn around the tiny alcove, and I was enveloped by an odd sense of peace,knowing that in twenty minutes, the halls were going to be crowded; music wasgoing to be blaring; and I was going to go from being an only child to one of ahundred sisters, so I knew to savor the silence while it lasted. Then, as if toprove my point, a loud blast and the smell of burning hair came floating up themain stairs from the second-floor Hall of History, followed by ProfessorBuckingham's distinguished voice crying, "Girls! I told you not to touchthat!" The smell got worse, and one of the seventh graders was probablystill on fire, because Professor Buckingham yelled, "Stand still. Standstill, I say!"

Then Professor Buckingham saidsome French swear words that the seventh graders probably wouldn't understandfor three semesters, and I remembered how every year during new studentorientation one of the newbies will get cocky and try to show off by grabbingthe sword Gillian Gallagher used to slay the guy who was going to kill AbrahamLincoln—the first guy, that is. The oneyou never hear about.

But what the newbies aren'ttold on their campus tour is that Gilly's sword is charged with enoughelectricity to … well…light your hair on fire.

I just love the start ofschool.

I think our room used to be anattic, once upon a time. It has these cool dormers and oddly shaped windows andlots of little nooks and crannies, where a girl can sit with her back against