She sighed. This was not what she had expected of today.

LAUREL SAT CROSS-LEGGED ON HER BED WITH A PAIR of scissors, cutting sheets of paper into makeshift note cards. It had taken her less than an hour of reading to realize that the situation demanded note cards. And highlighters. A year of studying biology with David had apparently turned her into a neurotic method-studier. But the next morning she was dismayed to discover that the “staff,” as everyone called the soft-spoken, plainly dressed servants who scurried about the Academy, had no idea what note cards were. They were, however, familiar with scissors, so Laurel was making her own note cards out of a fine card stock. The highlighters, unfortunately, were a lost cause.

A soft rap sounded at the door. “Come in,” Laurel called, worried that she would scatter bits of paper everywhere if she tried to actually get up and open it.

The door swung open and a small, blond head poked in. “Laurel?”

Having given up trying to recognize people, Laurel simply nodded and waited for the stranger to introduce herself.

The short, pixie-style haircut was followed by a bright smile that Laurel found herself automatically returning. It was a relief to see a smile directed at her. Dinner the evening before had been a complete disaster. Laurel had been summoned around seven to come down for the evening meal. She had hurried downstairs behind a faerie who had showed her the way to the dining hall — Laurel should have gotten a clue when she heard dining hall instead of cafeteria—in her sundress and sandals, her hair still pulled back in a ponytail. The moment she entered the room Laurel realized she’d made a mistake. Everyone was dressed in button-down shirts and silk pants, or floor-length skirts and dresses. It was practically a white-tie formal affair, minus shoes. Worse, she’d been pulled to the front of the room by Aurora to be welcomed back and presented to the Fall faeries. Hundreds of Fall faeries with no one better to look at than her.