I reach our block, and while I dig out my key ring, I try to focus on the positive. Mom worries, and I don’t want her to think I’m unhappy at the new school. Even if I am.

No, I have to give it more than a day. Tomorrow could be infinitely better. It can hardly be worse. I can’t act less confident.

In Orangevale I never had to use house keys. Mom was always home, the door unlocked, ready with an after-school snack. Our building in San Francisco is a multistory U-shaped thing with a locked front gate leading into the courtyard and a locked main entrance. The only ways inside are using a key, getting buzzed in by a tenant, or sneaking in after someone else. I tried that last one the first day in town and got a dirty look from one of our neighbors, so I don’t think I’ll be using the sneaking-in technique again.

The key turns easily in the lock and the gate swings open with a high-pitched squeak. I make sure it closes and locks behind me before heading toward the door. I love the courtyard. It’s full of shady trees and brightly colored tropical flowers that smell like I’ve always imagined Hawaii would. A little piece of paradise in the big city.

At the lime-green front door I flip to another key on my ring. Everything—the door, the trees, the flowers—is a stark contrast of color against the bright white of the building rising up on three sides. Too bad the interior isn’t as vibrant and cheerful.

I head into the gloomy hallway, with its dark wood floor and insufficient lighting. It creeps me out a little. Too many shadows and hidden corners.

I hurry to the stairwell and run to the second floor. After one near-death experience in the classic—aka creaky and ancient—elevator, I’ve decided I could use the exercise of taking the stairs.

At our apartment door, I select the third and final key on my ring and burst inside. My rotten day forgotten, I set my backpack on the dining table and follow the smell of brownies to the kitchen.

“Mom, I’m home!” I shout, grabbing a still-warm treat from the piled-high plate on the counter.

She emerges from the back hall wearing paint-spattered jeans and a matching smock. Since we’ve been in the apartment only a little over a week, she’s still finishing up the decorating and unpacking. Judging from the shade of soft taupe dominating her clothes, I’d guess she’s tackling the master bedroom today.

“So . . .” she prods with a huge smile on her round face, “how was your first day? Tell me everything.”

As a rule, I don’t lie to my parents. I don’t even usually keep things from them. We’re very close, and I want it to stay that way. But this move has been difficult in so many ways—the long family talks after I got the scholarship, the concerns about uprooting me and Thane in the middle of our high school careers, the last-minute decision that meant a last-minute move. If Dad hadn’t gotten that promotion to the San Francisco office, we’d still be in Orangevale.

Now Dad’s working crazy hours, and I know Mom is still stressed about everything. I don’t want her worrying that we’ve made the wrong decision, which is why I smile and say, “It was great. I think Alpha is going to be really good for me.”

“Thank goodness,” she says, ignoring her freshly painted state and rushing forward to wrap me in a tight Mom hug. “I was so worried.”

“And all for nothing,” I tease. Mission accomplished. Mom is relieved, which means the smile on my face isn’t as forced as it was a minute ago. “You’ve got brownie in your hair.”

She runs her fingers through her black-brown waves. “Did I get it?”

“I’m not sure,” I say, leaning in to inspect. “I can’t tell under all that paint.”

“Ha ha.” She teasingly smacks me on the shoulder. “Not funny.”

I shrug. “I thought it was.”

She steps around me into the kitchen and heads for the sink.

“And you found the bus and everything easily enough?” she asks over her shoulder.

“Mmm-hmmm,” I say around my mouthful of brownie. Mom doesn’t need to know about the bad bus driver any more than she needs to know about Miranda or my solo lunch in the library.

Mom busies herself with washing the few dishes in the sink while I finish my brownie. Moist, chocolaty goodness. The perfect cure for my disappointing day.

I pour myself a glass of pineapple Fanta to wash down the last crumbs.

“Where’s Thane?” I ask after a big gulp. “Isn’t he home yet?”

“The public schools have a later schedule. He gets out twenty minutes after you,” she answers, drying her hands on a kitchen towel. “He should be home soon. Do you need anything?”

“Nope, I’m good.”

“Okay, then I’ll get back to my painting.” Her smile is thrilled but weary. She’s excited to be making over the apartment, but also exhausted. “Shout if you need anything.”

“Want some help?” I offer. With no homework to do, I need something to distract me from the mental replay of today’s lowlights.

“That’s sweet,” she says, “but I’m almost done.” At my skeptical look, she adds, “Really.”

“You’re sure?” When she nods, I say, “Okay.” I refill my Fanta and head for the dining table.

I pull out the packet of Alpha Academy papers the counselor gave me this morning and dig for the electives lists. I have to choose two, in addition to Spanish, and the first one is easy. I don’t boast about it much, but I’m a bit of a computer geek. Okay, I’m a serious computer geek. Ever since I got my first laptop in third grade, I’ve been fascinated by computers and technology. It’s my dream to work for one of the big software companies someday.

I circle Computer Science on the list.

The other elective, however, is a harder choice.

At lunch I marked stars next to Journalism and Yearbook. I’ve always been intrigued by the media. I don’t have any experience, but I’m sure I could learn the necessary programs easily enough. But then this afternoon I overheard someone say that Miranda is social editor on the school paper, and I don’t need that conflict. I erase the star next to journalism.

For some reason I also starred Ancient Greek and Tae Kwon Do. When Ms. West suggested languages and athletics this morning, they didn’t sound appealing at all. But as I read over the list, they started to look kind of interesting. Now, in the quiet of our apartment, they seem weird again. When would I ever use Greek? And my trying martial arts would probably only lead to injury—mine or someone else’s. I erase both stars.

The last star is on Pottery and Sculpture. When I was in elementary school, I always loved art classes when we got to be hands-on with clay. I was never any good at it, but it was fun. It might be a nice reprieve from the rigorous academics at Alpha. It wouldn’t do anything for my college applications, though.

I’m about to erase the remaining stars and circle Yearbook when the lock on the front door clicks open. There is no other sound, just the whisper of a breeze against my back as the door soundlessly swings open. I know it’s Thane. No one moves as quietly as my brother. He’s like a ninja cat burglar.

If we paired his stealth with my computer skills, we could be an epic spy team.

“Hey, Thane,” I say without turning around. I draw a dark circle around my elective choice. “How was school?”

“Fine.”

Did I mention that Thane isn’t big on talking either? Some days I think he’s a recovering mime. But I know he’s just really thoughtful. He spends a lot of time in his head. He also has some emotional baggage—protective walls that none of us have been able to fully crack. We chip pieces away from time to time, but mostly his life before he came to live with us is a well-guarded mystery.

“You must be Grace,” another, brighter boy voice says. “Thane told me all about you.”

Jerking back from the table and nearly knocking my chair over, I turn to see who Thane has brought home.

My breath catches in my throat.

The boy standing at my brother’s side is, in a word, adorable. I’m completely struck. He’s taller than Thane by a couple of inches, making him about six foot. His dark hair falls in haphazard curls over his brow, his ears, and the collar of his rugby shirt. His eyes are a pale mint green with a light-brown ring around the pupil. And his mouth is spread in a wide, curving smile, showing bright teeth and a charming set of dimples.

Maybe adorable doesn’t cover it.

“H-h-hi,” I manage, looking away from his beautiful eyes.

I know I haven’t got much of a backbone in general, but I don’t usually lose the ability to speak complete words. There’s something about him, about the whole package, that makes my skin tingle all over.

I’ve never reacted like this to a boy before. Sure, I’ve had my share of crushes and loves from afar, and even a quasi sort of boyfriend freshman year. None of them caused this whole-body reaction.

“This is Milo,” Thane says, seemingly oblivious to my transformation into girl drool, thankfully. “He’s a goalie.”

Holy goalie.

Well, soccer explains Milo’s presence. Thane may be quiet and shy and reserved in real life, but he comes alive on the soccer field. He’s a completely different person when he’s chasing down a ball or taking aim at the goal. Soccer is practically his life.

He says he doesn’t want to play professionally. I don’t know why not. I’m pretty sure he could if he wanted to.

“We have physics together,” Milo says, dropping into the chair at the head of the table. “Homework on the first day.” He shakes his head. “What kind of teacher does that? Pure evil, I’m telling you.”

Thane slips through the kitchen to tell Mom he’s home, and I’m still struck silent by Milo’s presence when my brother gets back. Thane takes the chair across the table from me and pulls out his textbook. He grumbles, “Homework.”