“Isn’t eight times four thirty-two?” he’d innocently asked. ‘You wrote down thirty-four.”

Mark stuck out his tongue and pushed so hard on his pencil that the lead broke.

‘See what you made me do?” he complained. “If you’re so smart, why don’t you go to school for me?”

Mother was hovering over them.

“Hush,” she said to Mark, and that had been the end of it.

Luke’s family didn’t dwell on what they all knew:

Because Luke was the third born, he was illegal, violating the Population Law with every breath he took and every bite of food he ate. Of course he couldn’t go to school, or anywhere else.

But here he was, now, at school. And it wasn’t Matthew and Mark’s little country school, but a grand, fancy place that only the richest people, Barons, could afford. Rich people like the real Lee Grant, who had died in a skiing accident. His family had concealed his death and secretly given his identity card to help a shadow child come out of hiding.

Couldn’t everyone tell that Luke was an impostor?

Luke wished the real Lee Grant were still alive. He wished that he, himself, were still at home, hiding.

“Young man,” someone said in a warning voice.

Luke glanced around. He was the only one still standing. Quickly he slipped into the nearest vacant chair. He didn’t have any books to study or work to do. Maybe this was the time to read the note from Jen’s dad.

But as he reached into his pocket he knew it wasn’t safe. The boy across the table from him kept looking up, the boy two chairs down kept whispering and pointing. Though Luke kept his head down, he could feel eyes all around him. Even if no one was looking directly at him, Luke felt itchy and anxious just being in the same room with so many other people. He couldn’t read the note. He could barely keep himself from bolting out of his chair, running out the door, finding some closet or small space to hide in.