She had a point.
I flopped on the bed beside her, then glanced around my room. Last year, I’d been in the mansion’s dorm wing—aka repurposed servants’ quarters—with the other students. But now, I was back in a real bedroom, with the same furniture I’d had in our old house. And the same pile of training clothes in thecorner that I kept meaning to wash. And the same best friend making herself at home on my bed like she owned the place.
So I guess it really is true—no matter how much things change, some things stay the same.
“Hello?” Mindy pressed, snapping her fingers in my face. I smacked them away, and she crossed her arms and scowled. “Hello? Are we ranking or what?”
“What categories?”
She rolled her eyes. “Duh. Hotness. Personality. Overall vibe. Likelihood of being secretly evil.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “The usual.”
“We have a usual? This is only year two.”
She made a clicking sound with her tongue. “I’m adding to last year’s spreadsheet.”
“Right.” I made a show of rolling my eyes as she made a show of shaking her head in mock exasperation.
“You are such a Luddite,” she said.
“I have no idea what that is, but I shall proudly wear the crown.”
She grinned, and I grinned back. This was normal, at least for us—Mindy’s systems and spreadsheets and deep-dives into demon research, me pretending to be exasperated while secretly finding it both impressive and hilarious.
And right now? Well, I’d like a great big helping of normal, please.
“So?” Mindy prompted. “Sophie first. Thoughts?”
I scooted up the bed, then turned to sit with my back against the headboard. The movement made Timmy look up briefly, but he went right back to his drawing without comment.
“Sophie,” I repeated, calling up the mental image. Small. Brown hair that hung in her face and a habit of biting her lower lip. “Sweet. A little scared. Reminds me of Ana before she came out of her shell.”
“Agreed. Abandoned-puppy energy.” Mindy nodded sagely. “She’ll be fine once she settles in. This place is weird, but it’s good-weird once you get used to it. Trevor?”
That one was harder. I thought about dinner—the way he’d sat at the end of the table with his headphones on, hunched over his food like he was guarding it from predators. The way he’d flinched when Ren accidentally bumped his chair. The flat look in his eyes that substituted for a full-on mask.
“Defensive,” I finally said.
“Translation, daddy issues.”
“Come on, Min. Leap much?”
She just shrugged. “He’s all surly macho guy. Sounds like classic no good male influence.”
“You have got to stop reading psych books,” I said, but she wasn’t wrong. Trevor might as well be wearing a t-shirt that saysThe system failed me, and now I trust no one.
“You agree,” Mindy said. “I see it on your face.”
“Fine. Maybe you’re right.” She was, but I couldn’t tell her as much since Mom had made me swear not to tell anyone—especially Mindy—that he’d bounced through six foster homes in four years. And that kind of instability left marks. The kind Mom says either kicks you in the gut and knocks you down or makes you strong enough to do the kicking.
It all depends on the kid, and we won’t know until we know.
I shrug. “Mom thinks he’s got potential.”
“Your mom thinks everyone has potential. It’s her superpower. She has to. Otherwise, she’d be an idiot to run this school.”
She wasn’t wrong about that.
“He’s kind of cute, though,” she said. “In a broody, I-hate-everything way.”
