to this Montford place and want to extend my stay? Can you arrange that too? Oof.”
Abby must have elbowed him. “I think you’re confusing boarding school with the Residence Inn. You have to work to stay here.”
Daniel glowered over his shoulder. Everyone quieted as we approached a large brick building, a cross between a fortress and a fairy-tale castle. He pushed a button and the doors whooshed open. We entered an oversized hallway featuring original art and love seats with fancy curved wooden feet. The pictures showed different parts of the campus. Apart from that, the area looked more like the entryway of an elegant house, or even a museum, than a school. We hadn’t met the students yet, but we already knew they were incredibly privileged.
Dean Parsons’s office was as oversized as the campus. Another claw-footed love seat resided against one wall, while two tasteful stuffed chairs sat in the middle of the room. Behind a massive desk, a woman with a neat blond bob and rectangular rimmed glasses peered up from her laptop with a professional smile.
“Mr. Baker, from the Classical Charter School?”
Daniel nodded.
“We’re delighted to have you and your students here for a visit. The dean is waiting for you.”
As Daniel thanked her, I wondered. Either the dean was exceedingly prompt, or they had someone monitoring that video camera at the gate.
A lean man with a sparse sprinkling of brown-and-gray hair popped his head out of the adjoining room. “There you are!” Dean Parsons stepped to the side and swept an arm back, inviting us in. His suit was gray with faint navy pinstripes. His white shirt underneath appeared starched. No trace of wear on his smooth black leather shoes. Clean nails, smooth shave. Brown eyes.
Caucasian male, approximately 6 ft., 1 in.
Approximate weight: 180 lbs.
Age: Late 50s.
After shaking Daniel’s hand, the dean ushered us into the room, which had an elegant long table surrounded by antique chairs. At four places, there were glossy blue folders embossed with the school seal. One for each of us prospective students.
To keep things simple, Daniel had insisted on names that didn’t vary too far from our real ones. Samuel was now Simon; Abby was Annie. Hunter was Hank. And me? I kept Mara. By starting with the same first letter, Daniel had figured it would be easier to cover up any mistakes.
“Have a seat,” Dean Parsons said, waving a hand toward the folders. We settled into the chairs that corresponded with our names, while he and Daniel sat at opposite ends of the table.
“Mr. Baker, would you like to introduce me to your students?”
Daniel cleared his throat, probably giving himself time for a mental review. “Sure. Next to me is Simon McCormick, then Hank Lang, Annie Thomas. Last but not least, my daughter. Mara Baker.”
I knew that I caught and stored all the pleasantries and introductory speeches that followed, but my body felt paralyzed by one word. Like a glitch, it kept replaying, over and over again, shocking me each time.
Daughter. Daniel had introduced me as daughter—and I’d heard a note of pride in his voice.
The dean said, “So nice to meet you all. You’ll see I’ve provided each of you with a prospective-student folder, full of information about the school. Faculty, sports, extracurriculars, even the food . . . everything you need to know about us is in there.”
He eased himself onto the edge of his chair and folded his hands on the table. “Now, tell me a little bit about yourselves and what makes you interested in Montford.”
Gamely, we recited the facts we had learned about our fraudulent selves. Abby asked about dance classes, and Samuel requested a tour of the squash courts. Even Hunter pretended he wanted to know if he could take three years of calculus here. The dean looked intently at all of us, like a trick he had practiced, but I had the sense he was thinking about something else. If only my android abilities extended to mind reading.
Exactly twenty minutes later, the secretary told him he was needed in another meeting. Almost as if it was planned.
“Well, I think that was a successful chat, don’t you?” the dean said, smiling smoothly. “But I’m sure you’re all eager to get started on the tour.”
As the leader at Montford, he was bound to know something about the Watson Grant. Unfortunately, it was too dangerous to show too much interest in the one thing we really wanted to know.