The trip to Archambault Academy approaches. Whenever they can, everyone talks about it; Miss Dalca and Mr. Griffith both tell their classes that if they hear the word "Archambault" one more time, you'll work in silence. That only serves to ramp up the excitement.
Hartmann spends much of their time arranging preparations for the visit, and you rarely see them outside of classes. They seem to be avoiding Max when they can, along with the fuss that comes with him. Max is often in and out of Lady Renaldt's office being reprimanded, and frequently crows about it in the dorm. He doesn't try to sneak out again, but whenever Hartmann is around Max manages to needle them incessantly.
Of course, even now that you're settled in at Gallatin, you do not have time for everything. Where do you focus your attention?
You establish a reputation amongst the teachers for being a serious worker. Once, Miss Dalca tells you that you shouldn't hide your light under a bushel.
"You're perfectly capable of speaking up," she says, "and as it is, your peers will underestimate you. You don't want that, do you?"
Still, your grades improve, and Mr. Blanchard gives you an encouraging smile whenever you pass him in the corridors.
And then, amidst a whirlwind of excitement, the afternoon of the Archambault visit arrives.
Next
It's a crisp afternoon; the season is fully autumnal now, with the trees blazing scarlet and orange and a chill in the air. Your dormmates are crowded in the bathroom, fixing their hair and adjusting their uniforms. Freddie is fussing over her shirt sleeves, complaining that the ink won't come out of the fabric. Hartmann snaps that Freddie should have thought of that when there was longer than twenty minutes before leaving, and Freddie looks crestfallen.
"Don't worry, Freddie," Max says, leaning right up to the mirror and lining his eyes with dark kohl, "Hartmann always flips their wig over things like this."
Hartmann, tight-lipped, does not respond.
"There," Max says, his reflection looking satisfied as he tilts his head. "Pedro, do you want the mirror?"
You squeeze past, stand next to Gonzalez, who is clumsily putting up her hair, and survey your reflection. It's not an occasion for wearing your own clothes, but you can tweak your look.