Free The Secret Prince by Violet Haberdasher

in, gloating.
    Adam glowered. “It isn’t fair,” he grumbled.
    “Adversus solem ne loquitor,”
Henry said with a shrug, taking his usual seat.
    “There was reading for languages, too?” Adam looked scandalized at the injustice.
    “No, it’s Latin for—Never mind,” Henry said asEdmund, James, Luther, Derrick, and Conrad piled into the surrounding seats and Professor Lingua waddled into the room.
    The weather had warmed slightly, and the ominous clouds had retreated, giving way to a surprising late-afternoon sunshine that flooded through the windows of Professor Lingua’s classroom. Everyone was bent over his Latin exercise—except for Henry, who had finished early but was trying to look as though he hadn’t. Which was why he noticed when James discretely passed a note to Rohan.
    Rohan slid the note under his desk and tried to open it without glancing down. His hands fumbled, and the note slipped to the ground. He went grayish and twisted in his seat in a panic, nearly giving himself away to their professor.
    Henry scribbled
“Reach down for a spare pen and put the note in your satchel”
on the edge of his notebook and tilted it toward Rohan.
    Rohan nodded slightly and did as Henry told him.
    At the end of the lesson, James sauntered over. “Well?” he prompted.
    “Sorry,” Rohan said retrieving the unread note from his bag. “I didn’t have a chance to open it.”
    “Stop being such a
prefect
, Mehta,” James teased. “And anyway, you were meant to pass it on down the row.” James took the note and smoothed it onto the table. It was a list of students. For one horrible moment Henry was reminded of his midnight exploration of Partisan Keep—the hidden room filled with illegal weapons, the targets shaped like human torsos, and the lists of Partisan students with their ranks in combat.
    But then Rohan read the heading aloud with a grin. “ ‘Cricket trials.’ ”
    Henry felt ridiculous. Of course it was a sign-up list for cricket. Now that he looked closely, he saw James St. Fitzroy down as captain.
    “Who’s the other team, then?” Henry asked. “A group of second years challenged us to a match this Saturday,” James said. “Put your names down if you’re interested in playing. We’re having trials today on the quadrangle.”
    Rohan scribbled his name at the bottom of the list. “Shall I put you as well?” he asked Henry and Adam.
    “I’ve never played before,” Henry said, looking to Adam.
    “I’ll teach you,” Adam offered. “Put us both.”
    Adam tried to explain the rules on the way over tothe quadrangle, but Henry was hopelessly confused.
    “Wait, so who gets run out? Didn’t you say something about partners?” Henry asked.
    “It makes sense if you see it played.”
    To Henry’s dismay, it
didn’t
make sense when he saw it played. He could barely keep the rules straight, never mind the terms for everything. The other boys dashed around the quadrangle, their ties and jackets draped haphazardly over one of the benches, playing seven-a-side as though they were practicing for professional scouts. Henry gave up about twenty minutes in.
    “Too distracted to play, Grim?” Conrad teased, nodding toward the rock garden.
    Frankie and her chaperone were taking a leisurely stroll through the grounds, clearly spying on the cricket trials. Henry shrugged and tried to ignore them. After all, Frankie had already caused him more than enough trouble that morning.
    Henry shuffled over to the sidelines, where he stood watching his classmates and brooding over the recent discovery of his inability to comprehend cricket. He didn’t notice Adam’s approach until his friend joined him on the sidelines.
    “You’re not playing?” Henry asked in surprise.
    “I’m rubbish,” Adam admitted. “I know
how
to play, but I haven’t really—I never—I mean, it’s not like there are parks in the East End.”
    Henry sympathized. He’d forgotten that Adam had been to school in the city and