We sat in silence until therewas nothing to see outside my window but the tall stone fences that circle theGallagher Academy grounds. Home.

I felt the limo slow and stopbehind the long line of nearly identical chauffeured cars that brought us backto school each semester. It had been more than a century since GillianGallagher had decided to turn her family's mansion into an elite boardingschool, and even then, after more than a hundred years of educating exceptional young women,no one in the town of Roseville, Virginia, had a clue just how exceptional wereally were. Not even my ex-boyfriend.

"Tell meeverything!" someone cried as soonas I opened the limo door. Sunlight bounced off the snow, blinding me before Icould focus on my best friend's face. Bex's caramel-colored eyes bore into me,her brown skin glowed, and, as usual, she looked like an Egyptian goddess."Was it awesome?"

She stepped aside as I crawledout of the car, but didn't pause because…well…Bex doesn't exactly have a pause.She has a play and a fast-forward and occasionally a rewind,but Rebecca Baxter didn't become the first non-American Gallagher Girl inhistory by standing still.

"Did they grillyou?" she continued. Then her eyes went wide and her accent grew heavy. "Wasthere torture?"

Well, of course there wasn'ttorture; but before I could say so, Bex exclaimed, "I bet it was bloodybrilliant!" Most little girls in England grow up wanting to marry aprince. Bex grew up wanting to kick James Bond's butt and assume his double-0ranking.

My mom walked around the sideof the car. "Good afternoon, Rebecca. I trust you made it back from theairport okay?" And then, despite the bright sun that glowed around us, ashadow seemed to cross my best friend's face.