“Please, sit,” she said, gesturing to the chairs. “Can I get you anything? Water? Tea?”

  “No, thank you,” Mom said quickly, already tucking herself into the edge of the seat like she was afraid of taking up too much cushion. I sat beside her, knees suddenly very aware of themselves.

  Ms. Cho took her own chair behind the desk—not lounging, not rigid, just…set. Her navy dress was simple and perfect, her hair smooth, a strand tucked precisely behind one ear. She folded her hands on a yellow legal pad.

  “So,” she said, looking at me first. “Diana. And Mrs. Sinclair. I’m glad you were able to come in on such short notice.”

  “Thank you for seeing us,” Mom said. Her voice came out a notch higher than usual. “I—I got your letter and just—” She shook her head a little, smiling. “We weren’t expecting anything like this.”

  “That’s often how good things arrive,” Ms. Cho said, and the way she said it made it sound less like a platitude and more like a rule. Her eyes were on Mom for a second longer than felt normal. Mom’s shoulders loosened a hair, like someone had adjusted a dial.

  I watched that and filed it under Huh.

  Ms. Cho turned back to me. “Let me explain how we work,” she said. “Northbridge is selective, but we’re also always looking for students who will both benefit from and contribute to the community here. Your transcript and teacher comments stood out. Strong performance, particularly in English and science. Words like ‘reliable,’ ‘takes initiative,’ ‘quiet leader.’”

  Heat crept up my neck. “I…didn’t know they wrote that,” I said.

  “They don’t usually show you their notes,” she said, almost amused. “You also have no disciplinary record until very recently.” One well-manicured finger tapped a line on her pad. “There was an incident with a skating center wall.”

  Mom stiffened. “She made that right,” she said quickly. “She’s still making it right. Community service, cleanup, the whole thing.”

  “I saw the report,” Ms. Cho said, still in that unfazed tone. “What interested me was not the paint. It was how you handled the fallout.” Her gaze moved between us. “You showed up. You took responsibility. You didn’t…blame the weather.”

  I winced. “It did rain,” I muttered.

  A corner of her mouth twitched. “It always rains,” she said. “The question is what you do when it does.” She folded her hands again. “We’ll talk about that more in a bit. For now, I want to give you a sense of what we’re offering and what we expect.”

  She did not waste words. She laid it out: full tuition coverage, books, fees; option to commute or live in a dorm if we wanted; shuttle bus routes that came as far as Canton; expectations about workload, honor code, community involvement. There was no hard sell, but there was an undercurrent of this is serious in every sentence.

  As she talked, Mom’s face changed. The tightness around her mouth eased, her hands unclenched on her purse strap. She leaned in slightly, eyes bright. When she laughed at something—Ms. Cho’s dry comment about teenagers and time management—it came out freer than I’d heard it in months.

  I felt something odd, like the air got thicker. It brushed against me and slid away. Whatever it was, it didn’t raise my hackles, it was more like a summer breeze that carried no scent or sound. There was nothing in my experience to compare it to. I focused on Ms. Cho. She was the kind of adult who seemed to have three plans for every problem before it even arrived. Intimidating, in the way of someone who always, always knew the assignment. Her gaze, when it landed on me, was sharp. Assessing.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Do you have questions so far?” she asked, looking at me again.

  A dozen idiot things tumbled through my head—why me, do you know about monsters, who told you about the wall—but the only one that made it past my teeth was, “Why…now? I mean, I’m a freshman. Don’t you…start looking later?”

  “Actually, many of our students start in kindergarten,” she said. “Sometimes sixth grade. Occasionally it’s sophomore year. Other times it’s when a file crosses my desk that makes me think, ‘If we wait, we’ll lose her.’” She let that sit. “We had a scholarship spot open unexpectedly. I don’t like leaving those empty.”

  Mom swallowed. “Unexpectedly?”

  Ms. Cho’s expression didn’t change much. “A family had to withdraw for personal reasons. Their loss may be your gain. If it’s the right fit,” she added. “Northbridge is not right for every student.”

  Before Mom could ask what that meant, there was a knock at the door and it opened a crack. A young guy in a button-down and knit tie stuck his head in. “Sorry to interrupt, Ms. Cho. I’ve got the updated aid packets you asked for.”

  He stepped fully into the room, a manila folder in one hand. And on his shoulder, like an accessory, sat something small and impossible.

  It was about the size of a squirrel. It reminded me of the thing at the station, but if that was a garage band, this was an A-list pop star. Its body was sleek, lizard-like, scales catching the light in jewel tones—emerald, sapphire, amethyst—shifting as it breathed. Its bat wings were folded neatly along its back, membranes a translucent gold that shimmered faintly even in the office light. A crest of fine, iridescent spines ran from its head down its neck, currently relaxed. It was preening, delicately nibbling at one wingtip with tiny, needle-fine teeth.

  I felt every muscle in my body tense.

  Don’t react. Don’t. React.

  My fingers dug into my own knees under the desk. The creature cocked its head, one opal-bright eye flicking in my direction, then calmly went back to straightening its wing. Its tail curled lightly around the guy's collar like it had done this a thousand times.

  He crossed the room as if he was not hosting a jewel-toned mini-dragon monster. “These are the revised numbers,” he said, setting the folder on the desk. “And the latest transport schedules.”

  “Thank you, Patrick.” Ms. Cho’s tone was brisk. She didn’t glance once at his shoulder. “I’ll look them over this evening.”

  He nodded, gave me and Mom a quick polite smile, and turned to go. The not-lizard flicked its wings once, a soft metallic whisper, then settled again. The door clicked shut behind them.

  My heart was pounding so loud I was sure it had to be audible. Mom, beside me, was oblivious—eyes still on Ms. Cho, cheeks a little pink.

  Doesn’t he KNOW there’s a thing perched on him? I thought, bordering on hysterical. Is he a pet? A handy landing spot? A shuttle bus around the campus?

  Ms. Cho watched me with that assessing look again, and for a horrible second I wondered if she’d seen my pupils blow wide. If she knew I was seeing things that couldn’t be there.

  “Mrs. Sinclair,” she said, turning to my mom with a smooth pivot. “Would you like to see more of the campus? We have a parent tour that covers facilities, classrooms, dorms. My assistant can walk you around while I speak with Diana one-on-one.”

  Mom blinked, then glanced at me. “I—are you sure? I don’t want to leave her…”

  “It’s important that I get to know your daughter without her mother influencing her,” Ms. Cho said, and there was that gentle brush again. “I need to hear her voice. You understand, don’t you?”

  Mom’s shoulders lowered another notch. “Of course,” she said, almost eager. “Yes. That makes sense. I’ll just—”

  “Patrick will meet you in the hall,” Ms. Cho said, already reaching for her phone to send a quick message. “He gives an excellent tour.”

  Mom touched my arm. “You’ll be okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said, because what else was I going to say? Please don’t leave me alone with the terrifyingly competent woman who has a monster in her office?

  She squeezed once, then stood. “Thank you again, Ms. Cho. This is…this is amazing.”

  “We’re grateful you came,” Ms. Cho said, standing as well, offering her hand. Mom shook it, and for a second I watched her face soften even more, like the contact itself was reassuring.

  Then Mom was out the door, footsteps retreating down the hall. Ms. Cho sat back down. The office felt quieter, the air lighter.