The last time I'd seen ourfourth roommate, she'd been preparing for three weeks in the Swiss Alps withher senator father, her cosmetics-heiress mother, and a celebrity chef from theFood Channel; but Macey McHenry had come back early. And now she was nowhereto be seen.

Bex was looking around, too,staring over the heads of the seventh graders walking in front of us. "Shesaid she had a bit of research to do in the library, but that was hours ago. Ithought she'd meet us down here, but…" she trailed off, still looking.

"You guys go eat," Isaid, stepping away from the crowd and starting down the hall. "I'll findher."

I pulled open the heavylibrary doors and stepped inside the massive bookshelf-lined room. Comfyleather couches and old oak tables surrounded a roaring fire. And there, in thecenter of it all, was Macey McHenry. Her head was resting on the latest editionof Molecular Chemistry Monthly, pink highlighter marks were on hercheek, and a puddle of drool had run from her mouth to the wooden desktop.

"Macey," Iwhispered, reaching out to gently shake her shoulder.

"What? Huh…Cammie?"She struggled upright and blinked at me. "What time is it?" shecried, jumping up and knocking a stack of flash cards to the floor.

I bent down to help her pickthem up. "The welcome-back dinner is about to start."

"Great," she said,sounding like someone who didn't think it was great at all.

Her glossy black hair stuckout at odd angles, and her normally bright blue eyes were dazed with sleep.Even though I knew better, I couldn't help but say, "So, did you have anice break?"

She cut me a look that couldkill (and will—just as soon as our headscientist, Dr. Fibs, perfects his looks-can-kill technology).

"Sure." Macey blew astray piece of hair away from her beautiful face and pulled the last of theflash cards into a pile. "Right up until my parents saw my grades."