“Don’t ever scare me like that again, swinging on the rope.”“I won’t. I’ll find a new way,” she teased.”

“You’re American, yes?” Daniela said.“Yes.”“New York?”“Oregon.”“Dónde?” Where?“It’s a state on the West Coast.”“Near Los Angeles?” Brigitte asked.“North of there. Just south of Canada.”All three sighed, “Ah.”“You’re from the ends of the earth,” Amalia said, a teasing smile on her lips.“Not quite that far!”“Almost!” Brigitte said.”

“I will talk to you again in my office, at nine A.M. tomorrow morning, togive you a more thorough orientation to the school and to explain what I will be expecting of you as a scholarship student.” She turned to Greta.“Greta, please see Caitlyn settled in her room, and see that she showers.” With a nod she turned on her heel and left.Caitlyn raised her arm and sneaked a sniff at her armpit. Was Madame Snowe saying she smelled? She caught Greta watching her and loweredher arm. “Just checking,” she said sheepishly.”

“Except Caitlyn. High school dating, drill team, school spirit—it all seemed silly to her. Why did it feel like high school was crushing her soul? Shehad nothing concrete she could point to. All she knew was that she didn’t belong here.She preferred old, used clothes to new ones; her iPod was full of classical music; and photos of castles and reproductions of old European artcovered her bedroom walls, including a Renaissance painting of a young girl in white, named Bia. It should have been pop singers on her wall, ormovie stars”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” Caitlyn protested. “I’m sure it keeps you out of trouble.”“Thierry told me I was cold. He wasn’t the first boy to say that, either.”Caitlyn winced. “Ouch.”Amalia turned toward Caitlyn. “I wish I could be more like you.”“Me? Are you kidding? Why?”“You let your emotions show on your face. They’re right on the surface, for all to see.”Caitlyn grimaced. “I thought I’d learned to control that.”“See?” Amalia copied her grimace. “Right on the surface!”“Mmph,” Caitlyn grunted unhappily.“Mmph,” Amalia copied.Caitlyn threw up her hands in defeat, then cast a quick warning look at Amalia. “Don’t you do it!”Amalia chuckled.”

“Monsieur Girard grinned at the effect his story had had, and moved on, grunting disparagingly at another student’s efforts. As he approached her,Caitlyn went back to work, afraid to be caught slacking. He came to stand behind her, watching her attempts, and despite her best efforts her armslowed and then dropped as she was overcome with self-consciousness.“Do you, too, have a brilliant artist locked in your head?” he asked.“No. I’m beginning to think I don’t know a thing about art.”“Class! Do you hear? She knows nothing about art! And she proves it in her drawing.”Caitlyn cringed.“This,” he went on, laying his hand upon her head, “is the proper state of mind for learning to draw. Your mind must be blank of your old ideas andold ways of seeing. You must start fresh, like a baby who has never seen the world.” He dropped his hand from her head and pointed to the areashe’d shaded with parallel lines. “This is nice.”“Thank you,” Caitlyn said in soft surprise.He nodded in acknowledgment. “Keep listening. With open ears, you will be one of the few who learn.”

“She spent all her free time either drawing the strange things she saw in her dreams, or with her nose inside historical novels. The world held inthe pages of history felt like the real world, and the present day an illusion she had to suffer through until she could escape back into the pages of abook.”