One year later
(Zahara, age 15)
A soft knock on my door pulls me out of the deep, dark pit that is my math homework. “Come in.”
“Zara.” Iris, our maid, peeks in. “Am I interrupting? I wanted to get your take on the curtains that need to be changed in the parlor.”
Her tone is serious, but there is a slight smirk on her face. The one she wears whenever she has a letter for me.
I leap off the bed and dash across the room.
“Sure. Come in.” I basically drag her inside and shut the door. “You have it?”
“Yes. I snagged it as soon as I picked up the mail.” She pulls the folded envelope from her pocket and hands it to me. “Do you need me to drop off your response today?”
“I’m not sure, yet.”
“Okay. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”
She turns to leave, but I grab her arm, stopping her. “
