The Network ( Book One of the Grounders Series )

23

I wake the next day fully rested. The fire has burnt low to I grab the matches off the fireplace and light both of the lamps.

Once the room is illuminated, I cross to the dresser and search through it. I find a cool looking T-Shirt, a V-neck that looks as if someone had splashed lines of white paint over a pale blue surface. I also find a pair of the foreign underwear and a pair of jeans. I get dressed quickly and go downstairs, following the aroma of food that has wafted throughout the house.

Kalin is in the kitchen with the door propped open. Smoke rolls from the kitchen into the dining room.

Two plates have been set up at the heads of the table. In the center of the table is a stack of two glasses next to a glass bottle of orange liquid. Orange juice.

I take a glass and pour myself a cup of the mysterious, bright juice, and take a sip.

My eyes widen at the delicious taste of the juice, tangy and sweet. My tastebuds sizzle with happiness.

Kalin comes out of the kitchen with a large pan full of fluffy white-yellow stuff. He sets the pan atop a cloth on the table.

He looks at my face and chuckle. "I see you've found the Orange juice."

I set my cup down and walk up next to him, gesturing the the gross looking yellow substance. "What is this?" I ask, since the word didn't come to me when I first saw it.

"These are scrambled eggs," he says, grabbing a spatula next to the pan. "Hand me your plate."

I reach Over and grab my plate, made from fine chine, with swirly designs of lyres and the sun adorned on the surface.

He scoops up some of the scrambled eggs with the spatula and slaps it down on my plate.

I reach down to pinch of piece of it between my fingers, but he swats my hand. "There's more."

He goes back into the kitchen and comes out with two more pans, one with weird strips of meat, a mixtures of reds, and pinks, and browns (bacon). The other pan has meats that look like severed fingers the he scrounged from a bonfire (sausage) I decide to stay away from the sausage.

He goes back into the kitchen again and comes out with a small bowl full of squares of pink meat (ham), and a plate full of hundred to thousands of tiny strips of golden-brown potato (hash browns).

It gets a bit exhausting watching him set the table with his endless supply of food, so I decide to sit down.

There is a bowl of thick red sauce (ketchup), a bowl of shredded yellow stuff (cheese) a plate with bread on it, but the bread has weird swirls of brown on it (French toast). Next to that is set a bowl of white powder (powdered sugar) and a cup of thin brown liquid (syrup)

He looks at me about halfway through is table setting frenzy. "You know," he says, "this would go a lot faster if I had some extra hands."

I get the hint and feel embarrassed that I hadn't though of helping him before. I jump to my feet and stand just outside the kitchen as he hands me stuff.

Flat, circular cakes that look particularly boring (pancakes), a basket of rolls of bread, a cup of sticky red jelly (jam), and lastly, a plate of yellow circles with hollowed out checks across the front and back (waffles).

"Are you planning to feed an army?" I ask.

"You could say that. Dax and your friends are joining us for breakfast."

"Oh," is all I say. I'm not sure I can face Cicada right now.

"It's alright, Alaric. I'm sure they've forgiven you by now."