Drink, Slay, Love

Chapter Eight

A few classes later Pearl joined the salmon stream of juniors heading for the cafeteria—honestly, that was the dumbest name for a room that she'd ever heard. She let the chatter ebb and flow around her and wondered if she would become used to the cacophony of sounds and smells.

She was aware that some of the students were chattering about her. She'd managed to keep her mouth shut in her other classes, but she'd supplied enough fodder by the end of first period to entertain the masses. By third period, her exchange with Mr. Barstow had blossomed in the retelling to become a full-out screaming match, during which she had supposedly insulted his ancestry and his prize Maltese. By fourth period, news of her run-in with Ashlyn's car had spread as well. One variant of that tale involved explosions. If Daddy and Mother expected her to keep a low profile, she was failing. Luckily, Daddy and Mother were zonked out underground.

Pearl let herself be swept with the other students into a line. Kids clustered in front and behind her. She watched as they selected orange plastic trays and then proceeded through the food line. Choosing her own tray, she followed. Newly washed, it dripped water on her hands. Mimicking the other students, she held it away from her to avoid dampening her sweater.

As she reached the front of the line, her nose was assaulted by the sweaty stench of grease. She noticed some of the students were bypassing the line altogether, carrying bags and the occasional knapsack. Next time she'd pretend to bring lunch.

She pursed her lips as she read the scrawled signs above each congealed food item: vegetarian, kosher, lactose-free, low sodium. . . She bet there wasn't a vampire-friendly option. She'd have to fake eating. Pearl selected a salad that looked as though it would make some rabbit ecstatic and a container of red fruit juice that at least reminded her of something edible.

She wondered if anyone would notice if she packed a thermos of blood. It would be stale, of course, but at least she wouldn't have to worry about hunger pangs at awkward moments. So far she hadn't had a single opportunity to feed. Her stomach growled, and she eyed the neck of a boy in a gym shirt as she followed him to the cashier. Peachlike fuzz covered the back of his neck. She snagged a piece of fruit from a basket.

"Student lunch account number?" the cashier asked.

Pearl frowned at her tray. She was sure her parents hadn't made arrangements for this. They wouldn't have thought of lunch as something she'd need to participate in. "I'll return these."

A voice behind her said, "I'll cover her."

She knew without looking that it was Evan. "No, thanks. I'm not hungry." Last thing she needed was to be beholden to any of these humans, especially Evan. His knight-in-shining-armor act shouldn't be encouraged.

"No one eats alone on their first day," he said. "Ought to be an official rule."

Lousy rule, she thought. She couldn't eat in a crowd, at least not without inspiring a lot of screaming.

He swiped his student ID, and the cashier nodded them through.

"Keep this up, and one of these days you'll be nice to the wrong person," she said. Her Good Samaritan warning of the day delivered, she swept by him.

Following her, he said, "Is it overstepping if I tell you where to find the forks?" He pointed at a display of utensils and napkins right before the entrance to the cafeteria.

Pearl was reasonably certain that he was laughing at her. Glaring at him, she selected a fork and knife. For good measure, she also picked up a spoon. She hoped she remembered how to use them—she'd had training once in a human etiquette class, but she hadn't practiced since then. She brushed past Evan and entered the cafeteria itself.