Calliope Chained

Untitled Part 8: Lunch

The dining room at the school was nice; it stretched as wide as a gym. The black and white tile floor looked like a checkerboard. Wood tables and potted plants filled the space. The air felt humid and smelled like mac and cheese.

Probably because that is what everyone was eating for lunch. The food was terrible. Rich brats still get fed the same crap we were. Equality is everything.

Beaver sat alone at a back table, half hidden by a gigantic palm. He turned away from the student body.

I devoured them.

"Hey, Beaver?"

"Yeah?"

He poked a hole in his styrofoam plate. It teetered, piled high with all kinds of healthy Michelle Obama-approved food.

"Who's the girl with the weird freckles?"

"What?"

"You know that girl with the white hair and eyelashes? Is she in your history class?"

"Polly?" He shrugged. "She's the only kid who gets it worse than me. She's kind of a freak. Why do you ask?"

"Because she's making a bee line for this table."

Beaver shot stick straight; he turned 180 degrees. His face blanched when he saw Polly waddling towards us.

She was all metal, glasses, a thick necklace, thicker braces, and a headband wrapped in what looked like tinfoil; she reminded me of a bird in a cage. A strange exotic creature caught behind iron bars.

"Can I sit here?"

Beaver's jaw clicked open

She slid next to him and squirmed, making herself at home. "I'm Polly." She extended a hand, "I'm a statistical anomaly."

Beaver looked at me, wide eyed and panicked. I snickered.

Polly jumped.

"You ok?" Beaver asked.

"Yeah, I just thought I heard something."

His adam's apple bobbed. He glanced at me. I grinned. He rolled his eyes, and poor Polly, sure he was annoyed at her, blushed.

"If you don't want me here you can just tell me." She looked down at her lap. "No need to be so rude."

"Oh, no, I-" Alarm shot through Beaver's face; how do you explain you were rolling your eyes at a ghost girl you murdered? Well, if you're Beaver like this," I just have an eye twitch."

I snorted, "You realize you have to keep rolling your eyes now, or she'll get suspicious?" I said.

"If you keep talking, it won't be hard." He mumbled.

"What was that?" Polly asked.

"Oh, I was just wondering if you like Ms. Burgout's class. She seems really nice."

A tepid smile flicked across Polly's braces.

"I think she's a wearwolf."

I actually laughed out loud. Beavers face screwed into shape even I couldn't replicate.

This was so good.

"Think about it. She has that tapestry behind her desk, she's rugged looking, and did you see all the weird stuff on her shelf? All kinds of ruins and crap. Then there's the accent-"

"Couldn't she just be from a different country?"

Polly looked at him like he was a tick at the end of her comb. "You think I'm crazy. Don't you"