Luke opened the door, and Mr. Hendricks rolled back in his wheelchair to give Luke room to pass. When he’d first met Mr. Hendricks, Luke had been awkward around him, particularly because of the wheelchair. But now Luke practically forgot that Mr. Hendricks’s lower legs were missing. Going into the living room, Luke automatically stepped out of the way of Mr. Hendricks’s wheels.

“The other boys will find this out soon enough,” Mr. Hendricks said. “But I wanted to tell you first, to give you time to adjust.”

“Adjust to what?” Luke asked, sitting down on a couch.

“Having your brother here at school with you.”

“My brother?” Luke repeated. “You mean Matthew or Mark. “ He tried to picture either of his rough, wild older brothers in their faded jeans and flannel shirts walking up the marble stairs at Hendricks. If he felt caged at the windowless school, his brothers would feel handcuffed, pinned down, thoroughly imprisoned. And how could Mother and Dad possibly afford to send them here? Why would they want to?

“No, Lee,” Mr. Hendricks said, stressing the fake name that Luke had adopted when he’d come out of hiding. Luke knew that he should be grateful that the parents of a boy named Lee Grant had donated his name and identity after the real Lee died in a skiing accident. The Grants were Barons — really rich people — so Luke’s new identity was an impressive one indeed. But Luke didn’t like to be called Lee, didn’t like even to be reminded that he was supposed to be somebody else.

Mr. Hendricks was peering straight at Luke, waiting for Luke to catch on.

“I said your brother,” Mr. Hendricks repeated. “Smithfield William Grant. You call him Smits. And he’s coming here tomorrow.”

CHAPTER 2

Mr. Hendricks handed Luke a picture, but Luke was too shocked to look at it yet.