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Though how should I know where all the other schools are located? Besides, I used to be a straight-A student, back before my family collapsed like a poorly built skyscraper.

"My family lives in New York," he goes on. As he's talking, the next Yankee at bat winds up and swings at a fastball. We both stand watching as the ball sails into left field, clearing the Green Monster. Home run.

Liam's smile straddles the border between smug and pitying. "Besides, why shouldn't I root for the best team?"

My mouth opens, but my brain utterly fails me. Where's the snappy retort? The witty comeback? Why am I standing here in slack-jawed silence, staring at this good-looking guy who's just bested me?

"Em, come on!" Dylan—bless him—waves to me from the line.

I flash my boarding pass at Liam and force my flaming cheeks into a smile. "Guess I should get in line. Nice to meet you."

His fingers brush against the small of my back as he gestures with the other hand to allow me to go in front of him. "After you, Emily from Exeter."

A casual touch that doesn't mean a thing, but my heart hammers anyway as I turn to join Dylan. When I glance back, Liam is locked in conversation with Olivia. Why isn't she with her own classmate?

While I'm scanning the crowd for another forest-green Lancashire blazer and tie, Dylan nudges me with his elbow. "Flirting with the enemy?"

"Of course not." I give him a look. It's not like there's room for relationships when I'm competing against all these people for the same prize. He cocks an eyebrow and flashes his cutest grin, the one normally reserved for Nikki, and I'm reminded again exactly why I've had a crush on him for so long. I would never say a word about it to anyone in a million years—'especially' him. That dream died a slow and agonizing death when Dylan asked Nikki to the middle school spring formal his first year at Exeter. They've been on and off again ever since, but mostly on. As far as Nik knows, my feelings evaporated back when we were twelve, and she's never going to hear different.

"Good thing," he says. I start to wonder if he's magically reading my mind until he adds, "Because I've got to look out for my Exeter girl."

Obviously, I'm not actually his girl, but something about the way he says it makes me almost believe it. I'm so used to living in Nikki's shadow it's weird suddenly being on the receiving end of Dylan's charm. And he has a 'lot'.

The students ahead of us start to move. A fresh wave of jitters courses through my body. Outside the large glass windows, thunder crackles as if even the sky knows what's at stake.

Everyone lines up more or less in pairs, hauling book bags and small totes. Our larger luggage was checked, to be transferred through to Paris. Two students from Waterford in North Carolina are at the back of the line. The guy's cropped blond hair and sturdy build shout "football player," and the girl, with her bubbly laugh and curly brown hair tied up with a ribbon, could've been pulled off any school's cheer squad. They're holding hands and gazing into each other's eyes like they're never going to see each other again.

Some of the tension eases in my shoulders. If they're this absorbed in each other, maybe they won't be much of a threat.

Standing in front of them is the pair from Saint Peter's, a Catholic school in San Francisco. The girl is the shortest of us all, with red hair and enough freckles she could be Anne of Green Gables' clone if it weren't for her sun- kissed bronze skin. The guy with her is a wall of solid muscle, but less bulky than the football player. Not tall enough for basketball, so I'm going with baseball. Especially because he keeps darting glances at the Red Sox Yankees game. Between his dark hair and thick brows, he's got that hot broody look. I wonder if he has a girlfriend.

When he glances up and catches my gaze, his full lips curl into a lazy smirk. I jerk and turn away before he gets any ideas. I don't have time to invest in boys right now, especially ones who are my competition.

Olivia has finally found her classmate—Simon Walker—but she's got her back to him. He's reading something that looks an awful lot like a textbook. What on earth? From the slew of equations visible on the page, I'd guess . . . calculus? Physics? I might break out in hives just looking at it. At least I know who's got the brains on this trip—a useful bit of information to tuck away in case we need to work in teams.

He's not exactly unattractive, with spiky dark hair and black glasses over pale skin—kind of the geeky I-could-be-hot-if-I-tried look—but he's clearly not interested in Olivia. At all. Probably the first time that's ever happened to her.

My attention snags on a dark-red blazer out in the corridor, where people are scurrying past, towing bags and crabby children. It's Liam, stooped down, picking something up off the scuffed linoleum floor. A head of curly brown hair bobs nearby, and when they both stand, my insides grow warm and fuzzy. He was helping a little girl, no more than six years old, judging by her height. Liam hands the kid her backpack, waves at her and her mom, and turns back to our line. I whip around before he catches me staring.