Walking into the cafeteria for lunch, I quickly realize that Derek and Amber are nowhere to be found. Feeling incredibly out of place, I make my way methodically through the line. Lunch today is set up buffet style, one of those build-your-own sandwich bars. I throw together a substantial sandwich while looking around for someplace I might be able to sit. Sure, there's the usual table, but I'm not about to look like a loner by sitting there by myself.
Grabbing a bottle of water, I finish my progress through the lunch line, and I've just decided I'll look less lame if I'm eating alone in the courtyard when I catch sight of Marco.
He zeros in on me at about the same time I see him, lifting a hand to motion to me.
"Hey, newbie!" he calls as I get closer, "You can hang out over here today."
In the back of my mind, I remember the numerous marks on his left hand, the way Amber referred to him as 'the devil worshiper'. At the same time, he's never come across as anything but agreeable to me.
I decide I'll take my chances, and I close the last bit of distance between myself and his table.
Marco's table is relatively full. He's sitting next to a girl who appears to be of Japanese descent, and I count at least five others at the table aside from her and Marco.
The girl moves closer to Marco, leaving space for me to steal a chair from the neighboring table and slide up next to her. Once I've taken my seat, the girl considers me.
She's about five feet tall, with lengthy raven-colored hair pulled back in a braid and piercing brown eyes.
"So," she says, "you already know Marco."
She doesn't ask, but her tone compels me to nod anyway.
"He met me at the airport."
She nods, still looking at me with her calculating gaze.
"I'm Yumi," she says at last, "I'm in the tenth grade."
"I'm Tim," I tell her, "nice to meet you."
Yumi meets my gaze as though, by looking at me, she can see straight through to my soul.
"You chose them over us. I'm not sure if I think it's that nice to be meeting you."
"Excuse me?" I stare back at her, taking a bite of my sandwich while trying to comprehend her meaning.
"You chose to sit with the three musketeers instead of us. Don't you know where the real power is, you moron? Amber, Derek, and Marco's pathetic ex-girlfriend have nothing on us. Well, Creighton and Derek have money, but that's about all they have going for them."
"Well, Derek's my roommate." I defend.
Yumi takes a ferocious bite from her sandwich, still nailing me with an admittedly freaky death glare.
"Amber took my place! I should have been the girl prefect for our grade, not that wannabe. It's based on GPA, sure, but it's also based on character. I make straight A's, I've been doing community service for years. If that's not enough, both my sisters were prefects. She doesn't deserve it! If you call her your friend, I don't have anything to say to you."
"Umm?" A small voice pipes up from my other side, "He's new. Maybe he doesn't know who his friends are yet."
My glance goes to the small owner of the small voice, my eyes widening in surprise. She's not very tall at all, and if I had to guess I'd say she'd only be about four feet tall standing on tiptoe. She has short strawberry-blonde hair and eyes that remind me of the green of moss. Though she's participating in the conversation there's a slightly distant look in her eyes, giving her a dazed expression. It's not so much her appearance that takes me aback, it's the fact that she's at least five years younger than the next-youngest kid at the table.
"Shut up, Lauren!" Yumi fumes, and the girl immediately closes her mouth.
"Who's she?" I can't help asking, "Surely she doesn't go here."
Marco is the one to respond.
"Lauren Perkins, she's nine." Marco explains, " Headmaster's kid. No, she's not a student here. She lives in the headmaster's suite with him and his wife, and she's tutored privately. She'll take classes here when she's old enough for high school. I like to keep her around because she's pretty smart."
He shoots me a smile,moving his chair closer to Yumi so he can drape an arm possessively around her shoulders. I fight the urge to snap at him. I knew guys at my old school who'd do the same thing to girls, and I always thought it made them look like controlling douchebags.
Yumi doesn't seem to mind his advances, though, and continues eating in an unperturbed manner.
"Lauren's right, babe," Marco says convincingly, "Tim doesn't know who his real friends are yet."
"But-" Yumi protests, only to be cut off by Marco.
"Why don't you give him a reason to stay?" Marco snaps, "They don't like it when you're hateful. It turns all the newbies away."
"Sorry." Yumi retorts, though I have to admit she's not looking all that sorry.
"So," Marco says to me, shooting me a grin, "what's your next class?"
"World history," I tell him, shocked that I've managed to remember that, "then I have the public speaking class."
"I took the speech class last year," he says, "but you've got history with me and Yumi. Want to sit together? We're about to start group projects on ancient civilizations in there, and I'm sure it wouldn't be a problem for you to join up with us. I'm not good with research, and Yumi could sure use the help."
I hesitate.
Yumi doesn't comment at first, but eventually her gaze turns to me. I feel myself being captivated in the depths of those brown eyes, and suddenly I understand exactly what Marco sees in her.
"Yes," she says, drawing me in with each word, "I'd really appreciate it, you know. That is, if you'd join us. Your roommate and his dorky friends don't have that class with us, so they don't have to know. Say yes, it'll be awesome."
My head moves enthusiastically, and I tell myself to get it in check. Calm down, Tim, projects aren't that exciting.
"Y-yes." I stammer, snapping my gaze from Yumi to Marco so quickly that a headache pounds at my temple.
"Good," Marco grins, "I'm glad Yumi's convincing."
Fighting the urge to cradle my now throbbing head in my hands, I take a long drink from my water bottle and close my eyes.
~*~
World history goes by in a blur, and I find myself being drawn in to Marco and Yumi's presentation on Ancient Greece. The three of us talk through various ideas all period, and by the end of the hour I'm relieved to find my headache has nearly faded completely.
Fifth hour goes by twice as fast. The teacher is one of those guys who takes attendance the way they did it years ago, reading off everyone's name instead of taking a faster approach. Surely his computer could make the process go by more quickly, or at the very least tell him who's been absent all day.
Creighton's supposed to be in this class, but she isn't here. For the first time all day I'm in a class filled completely with people I don't know, so I focus all my energy on the in-class reading assignment.
When the class ends, I'm one of the first to leave.
I make my way to the first floor of the classroom building, taking a series of hallways that, if memory of my tour serves me right, will lead directly to the infirmary. I'm rewarded with a heavy wooden door, which leads me to the hospital-like wing of the school. There are exactly eleven rooms in this hallway, one of which doubles as the nurse's office and a supply closet. Each of the remaining rooms is identical, containing a bed, a couple of chairs, and a table.
Upon closing the door to the infirmary hallway, I catch sight of Amber almost immediately. She's pacing in front of the nearest door, moving ceaselessly back and forth.
She's muttering something over and over under her breath, twirling one of her pink-tipped locks around her middle finger.
She looks mildly insane.
"Amber!"
She jumps, whirling to face me and making a startled squeaking sound. Her face goes from deathly pale to bright red in an instant as she raises her voice to me.
"Don't do that!" Amber hisses, "I've already been told I'm going to die, I don't need you to make it happen sooner by scaring me to death."
I'm still trying to formulate an appropriate response to that when she takes a step toward me.
"I can tell," Amber says more rationally, "that you thought this was going to be some stereotypical boarding school full of preppy kids. Yeah, you're sort of right. There are forces at work here, though, that you can't begin to stereotype. Some kids are normal, some fit the expectation you've set for the place. But a lot of us, we aren't really normal."
She trails off, meeting my gaze.
"It's about to get real, or maybe surreal, for you. You need to prepare yourself, because once you learn what we're about to tell you, there's really no escaping it."