The Old Timer paces the classroom, a massive set of nail clippers in his fingers. With his free hand, he twiddles what’s left of his handlebar moustache. Cissy sits nearby. A few days have passed since Lincoln invited me—plus Zeke and Cissy—to the thrax ball. They won’t shut up about it, which makes this nerve-wracking event wrack my nerves all the more. I’m starting to wonder if I should have invited them at all.
“Class, please note the proper equipment for overgrown cuticles.”
A few students glance in his direction. The rest are busy whispering.
“Have you sent your measurements in?” Cissy has appointed herself event manager for Lincoln’s going-away ball. She’s already bugging me about wearing thrax undies.
“Yes, Mom did it right away. I’m a guest of the House of Gurith, so I’ll be in
