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“But I need it … for the class.”

“I’ll count to three.…”

On “two,” Lesley handed him the folder, gritting her teeth. It was so embarrassing when Mr. Whitman pushed us into the classroom. Mrs. Counter obviously took it personally that we’d bunked off her class, because she ignored us until it was over.

“Were you smoking something?” Gordon asked.

“No, idiot,” Lesley snapped at him. “We just wanted to talk to each other in peace.”

“You cut class because you wanted to talk?” Gordon tapped his forehead. “Girls!”

“And now Mr. Whitman can look through your whole file,” I said to Lesley. “Then he’ll know—I mean, the Guardians will know—that I’ve told you all about it. I’m sure I’m not allowed to.”

“Yes, so am I,” said Lesley. “Maybe they’ll send one of those men in black to get rid of me because I know things that no one is supposed to know.” She seemed to think this was an exciting prospect.

“Well, suppose that isn’t such a far-out idea?”

“Then … well, I’m going to buy you a pepper spray this afternoon, and I’ll buy myself one at the same time.” Lesley patted me on the back. “Come on. We’re not going to let them get the better of us?”

“No. No, we’re not.” I envied Lesley her unshakeable optimism. She always looked on the bright side of things. If they had a bright side.

3:00 P.M. to 6:00 P.M., Lucy and Paul came to elapse in my office. We talked about cleaning up the city and restoring the buildings on the bombed-out sites, and the extraordinary fact that, in their time, Notting Hill will be one of the most fashionable and sought-after parts of town. (They described it as “trendy.”) They also gave me a list of all the Wimbledon champions from 1950 onward. I promised to put my winnings into a fund for the college education of my children and grandchildren. I am also thinking of buying one or two of the dilapidated apartment blocks in Notting Hill. You never know.

FROM THE ANNALS OF THE GUARDIANS

14 AUGUST 1949

REPORT: LUCAS MONTROSE, ADEPT 3RD DEGREE

FOURTEEN

CLASSES DRAGGED ON painfully slowly, lunch was disgusting, same as usual, and when we could finally go home after double chemistry in the afternoon, I felt ready for bed.

Charlotte had ignored me all day. Once, at break, I tried to speak with her, and she said, “If you were thinking of apologizing, forget it!”

“What would I want to apologize for?” I asked, feeling annoyed.

“Well, if you can’t work that out for yourself—”

“Charlotte! I can’t help inheriting this stupid gene instead of you.”

Charlotte’s eyes had sparkled with fury as she looked at me. “It’s not a stupid gene, it’s a gift. Something very special. And it’s simply wasted on someone like you. But you’re too childish to even understand that.”

Then she had turned and marched away, leaving me standing there.

“She’ll recover,” said Lesley as we took our things out of our lockers. “She just has to get used to not being someone special anymore.”

“But it’s so unfair,” I said. “After all, I haven’t taken anything away from her.”

“Well, basically you have.” Lesley handed me her hairbrush. “Here!”

“What do you want me to do with this?”

“Brush your hair, what else?”

I obediently ran the brush through my hair. Then I asked her, “Why am I doing this?”

“I only wanted you to look pretty when you see Gideon again. Luckily you don’t need any mascara. Your lashes are amazingly long and black naturally.”

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