When Will and Bet were four, tragic circumstances brought them to the same house, to be raised by a wealthy gentleman as brother and sister. Now sixteen, they’ve both enjoyed a privileged upbringing thus far. But not all is well in their household. Because she’s a girl, Bet’s world is contained within the walls of their grand home, her education limited to the rudiments of reading, writing, arithmetic, and sewing. Will’s world is much larger. He is allowed— forced, in his case—to go to school. Neither is happy.   So Bet comes up with a plan and persuades Will to give it a try: They’ll switch places. She’ll go to school as Will. Will can live as he chooses. But once Bet gets to school, she soon realizes living as a boy is going to be much more difficult than she imagined. "With nods to Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night and Isaac Bashevis Singer’s "Yentl the Yeshiva Boy," Bet’s descriptive, intimate, first-person narrative incorporates historical details and diverse characters, including adult female allies at school...historical-fiction fans will likely find Bet an appealingly lively heroine as she pursues her dreams and makes unexpected discoveries in learning, life, and love."-- Booklist Lauren Baratz-Logsted has written books for all ages. Her books for children and young adults include the Sisters Eight series, The Education of Bet and Crazy Beautiful . She lives with her family in Danbury, Connecticut. Prologue Everything I needed to wear beneath my clothes was already in place.  I selected a shirt the color of unspoiled snow, eased my arms into the sleeves, slowly did up the buttons from narrow waist to chest and finally to neck. It felt peculiar to wear something on my upper body, in particular my waist, that did not bind my skin like a glove. How odd not to feel constricted where one expected to. The trousers that I slid up over the slight swell of my hips were made of black superfine wool, and I buttoned these as well. This was even more peculiar, the sensation of the expensive fabric against my calves and thighs.  A sound in the outer hallway brought me up short. Was someone coming? The threat of intrusion, of discovery before I’d finished, terrified me. It was a danger I lived with daily, as natural to my new life as a lack of danger had been to my old one. But after a long moment spent stock-still, hearing no more noises, I concluded that the sounds were of my imagination’s making, a product of my fears.  I was well practiced in the art of tying ties, and I commenced doing so now, taking up the length of black silk and fitting it around my collar. Then I took the ends and fashioned a knot that I knew without looking would fall at a slightly rakish angle. My intention was to convey that perfect mix of convention (I was wearing a tie) and indifference to convention (I did not care how that tie looked). Over all, I put on a black superfine wool coat that matched the trousers.  Only then, when I was fully dressed except for shoes, did I turn to confront my reflection in the looking glass.  And what did I see there?  A clean-shaven young gentleman about sixteen years of age, with thick black hair so wavy there was almost a curl to it—there would be, on humid days—and eyes nearly as dark; pale skin; generous lips; a fine straight nose. The young man looking back at me was handsome and gave offan air of self-confidence.  There was just one problem; two, actually.  The barely discernible bulge in the front of the trousers had been created by a carefully balled-up pair of stockings.  And the young gentleman—I—was a girl. Chapter One “William, I am so disappointed in you!”  Paul Gardener always addressed his great-nephew as William when he was displeased with something he had done.  I was seated on a chair by the fireplace, sewing, my long skirts around me, as I had been just a moment before when a servant at the door to the drawing room had announced Will. The drawing room ran the length of the house, from front to back, and had large windows at either end that cast long shadows now that night was nearly upon us. The ceiling was a blinding white, while the walls were painted scarlet, punctuated with well-placed brass candle fixtures; the master of the house and I were seated at the room’s far end. There was an enormous area rug, also in scarlet but accented with cream, and a large bookcase containing all of the master’s favorite volumes, of which I’d read more than a few.  “Bet.” Will acknowledged me with a nod after first greeting his great-uncle, as was proper.  “Will.” I returned the nod but saw no reason to rise for the occasion, although I was happy to see him. I was always happy to see Will, no matter what the circumstances.  Paul Gardener did not rise either. It was difficult for him to do so without assistance. In the past few years, he had aged a great deal. Indeed, both eyes, formerly a sharp blue, were now so fogged by cataracts that he glimpsed only flashes of the world through thick clouds,