The cafeteria has fallen into silence, which is something to see considering the number of people in here. The injured boy moans again and presses a hand to his bruised mouth. He lifts his eyes, sees Rudolph take a step toward him, and covers his head with his arms.
Rudolph bursts into hyena-like cackles. I catch Marcus shouldering his way through the crowd. For once, I'm relieved to see him angry.
"What are you doing?" he asks, his voice deceptively calm.
Rudolph stabs a finger at his victim. "He stole food when he was on kitchen duty. His roommate caught him stuffing cans into his drawer last night."
"Where's the roommate?"
He clutches another guy by the back of the shirt and drags him forward. It's Weasel, the kid who tested the bread yesterday. He swipes a tongue over his thin lips. "It's true. I saw it. I was trying to do the right thing by reporting it."
More like he was trying to suck up. Marcus's glare makes it clear his endeavor has failed. "And you didn't bother to bring this to my attention?" Marcus asks Rudolph.
Rudolph looks at the rest of their gang. No one sticks up for him. He realizes he stands no chance because he mumbles, "Thought I could handle it myself."
"Except you're too stupid to do anything on your own, aren't you? You're back on kitchen duty until I say otherwise. I might give you back some power when you learn your place. Is that clear?"
Rudolph's nose flares and his jaw moves hard and fast. But his eyes stay fixed on the floor. With a stiff nod, he wheels around and stomps back the way he came.
"And you, Weasel-face." Marcus shoves him. "You're a spineless little shit who snitches on people to make himself look good. You think I'm going to reward you for that?"
Another shove. Weasel's eyes dart around. They flood with relief when Marcus gives him a disgusted look and says, "Get out of here."
He scuttles away. I watch Marcus as he returns to his corner of the cafeteria, surprised at the way he handled the situation. I expected him to take Rudolph's side. I thought he'd bash heads together and create a bigger mess, but he was reasonable for once.
"Maybe Marcus can help us with Rudolph," I say before I've thought it through.
"You're kidding." Carson lets out a nervous laugh. "What makes you think he's going to do that? He'll probably reward Rudolph for being such a prick."
"I don't think so. Marcus doesn't like Rudolph. It could work to our advantage. The enemy of our enemy is our friend, right?"
"Except this friend is just as capable of being a complete ass—maybe an even bigger one." Carson folds his arms on the tabletop and rests his chin on them. "We got enough to worry about as it is."
My chest softens at the downward tilt of his lips. Rudolph has done a number on him, but we can't ignore away our problems. Now that Marcus has put him on long-term kitchen duty, we can only go hungry for so long. "Don't worry, Carson. I'll talk to him alone. No sense in all of us drawing his wrath."
"You sure?" Willow asks.
"Yeah. I'll be fine."
Marcus sees me as I approach his table and gives me his undivided attention. There's already the barest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He's going to be impossible to deal with in front of everyone, but if I can talk to him privately—like Willow did with him yesterday—he might not feel like he has to put on an act.
The colorful assortment of food on the table distracts me. Mac and cheese, deli meat sandwiches, pancakes—even boxes of cookies I didn't know we had. A boy strips meat from a chicken leg with gusto and tosses the remains on top of a tray heaped with bones. The girl across from him picks at a bowl of fruit with her fork, giggling with a friend.
They're enjoying a feast while the rest of us have to make do with what barely passes as prison food. It takes a few deep breaths to swallow my indignation. I'm not here to call them out on their unfairness, even if this is a gross abuse of power. I doubt I'd get far with Marcus if I antagonized him right away. Bigger fish to fry and all.
"If it isn't the thorn in my side," he says when I reach him.
Buzzcut sits to his right, clearly his second-in-command. Across the table is Alec. He's chatting with Camille and a hot girl with wavy auburn hair, but the moment I walk up to the group, he falls quiet and aims me a questioning look.
"I need to talk to you," I say to Marcus.
He signals for me to continue with a lazy wave of his hand. I glance at the others, noting their curiosity, their hostility. Nine teenagers, not including those who aren't here. I'm way out of my element here. Everything inside me is telling me to retreat before things get worse.
I glance back at my table. Willow gives me an encouraging smile. Carson looks worried. Worried is better than scared. And it's much, much better than hurt.
"Can we talk alone?" I whisper.
"Whatever you have to say to me, you can say it to all of us. We don't keep secrets here."
Someone snickers. "Marcus," I say in a low, frustrated voice.
"April," he replies in an exaggerated version of me.
This is the first time he's used my name, but he's only saying it to mock me. Fine. I'll play by his rules. "I need you to tell Rud—Steve to back off. He keeps harassing me and my friends."
"Your friends?" He rests his ankle on the opposite knee. "Weren't you telling me just the other day that you don't have friends? And I did offer to take care of Rudolph for you, if you remember. You turned me down."
"You were asking for a lot."
"You're asking for a lot now. Do you have any idea how many people I've had to turn down?" He gestures at the expanse of the cafeteria. "They all want to be one of us, but there you were, acting high and mighty. And now you come here begging for favors." He smiles. "I have to admit there's something nice about being needed by you, Rose."
"Is the offer still available?" I'm horrified at myself. What are you asking, April? Abort! "If I . . . join your gang, will you get Steve to stop picking on us?"
He shares a look of amusement with Buzzcut. "What do you think? Should I give her another chance?"
Buzzcut shrugs his muscled shoulders, looking disinterested in anything to do with me—and everyone around him for that matter. I don't think I've seen him crack a smile yet. It doesn't feel like it's because he doesn't have a sense of humor. It's more that he's so far above the rest of us that he can't be bothered with petty squabbles.
Where he's disinterested, the others have plenty of input. A few laugh while others literally boo at me, as though I'm some stage performer who failed to be entertaining.
"I think she has to earn it," says the brunette next to Camille.
More snickers and murmurs of agreement sweep across the table.
"Any ideas?" Marcus asks her.
"I have one," Camille answers, smiling deviously at the brunette. "Rose is acting like she doesn't like you, Captain. That's disrespectful. It undermines your position. I say she needs to prove to us that she has no hard feelings for you."
"What're you suggesting?" he asks her.
She looks me up and down, smirking. "She needs to get on her knees and beg you. Maybe even kiss your shoe."
"You're sick," I say as the other girl—I'm assuming Janie—snorts with laughter.
Marcus just grins like it's all funny to him. "How about it? And you don't have to worry about germs. Brand new sneakers."
"I can think of another good reason I'd want her on her knees," Eli says with a guffaw so loud I'm sure the sound reaches all corners of the cafeteria. If the people at the other tables weren't already watching us, it's safe to say they are now.
"Fucking creepy, Eli," Janie says with disgust.
"Hey, now," Marcus adds. "None of that around Rose's innocent ears."
My innocent ears burn even hotter. I take a step backward, opening my mouth to let him know exactly what I think of his ridiculous terms, but I freeze.
Emotions are my worst enemy. Another lesson from Sam. Anger, happiness, misery, fear. They distort reality and make it impossible to think through them. I should know. Sam reinforced his teachings with real-life examples, making me fight to stay composed through pain and tears, pushing me to strive for normalcy when everything inside me was coming undone.
Hard to keep focus when you're trying to write a three-page essay with a broken thumb, but that was Sam's idea of tough love. And after a while, it became my normal. In comparison, this moment is nothing. Dealing with Marcus is nothing.
I drop to one knee then the other, keeping my gaze leveled on his shoes. I don't bend down to kiss his foot. No way. I just have to make my apology convincing.
I look up at him and try for a sincere expression. "Please give me another chance."
"I don't know if I'm buying it," Janie says. "Could you try harder to not look like you want to murder him?"
"Kiss the shoe!" someone at the table yells.
Laughter resounds, followed by a chant that breaks out around me. Kiss the shoe! Kiss the shoe!
Their taunting laughter and expressions are overwhelming. My chest grows tight with the urge to react, but I'm trapped in indecision. I'm mustering up the courage to stagger to my feet when Marcus says, "Alright, enough!"