Slow Burn by Nicole Christie Page A

date.”
    “I know it’s not a date,” I say through clenched teeth, my temper rising.  “And I’m not making a big deal out of it.  I’m simply saying I’d rather not.  So, you know, don’t do me any favors.”
    “I’m not.  You need to eat, I need to eat. ”  He shrugs his broad shoulders.  “Might as well do it together.”
    Why is he hassling me about this?  “No, thanks.  I’m suddenly not hungry.”
    Again, I try to walk away, but his deep growly voice stops me.
    “You have something against lunch, or you have something against me?”
    I glance at him over my shoulder.  “Do you really need to ask?”
    He shakes his head slightly.  “You’re still stubborn.”
    “And you’re still a bully.”
    I toss this out without turning around again.  Still, I can feel Dean’s stare burning into my retreating form.  I don’t look back.
    So, I’m irritated and hungry, and now there’s no time to grab something from the cafeteria.  Not that I wanted to go back in there, anyway.  I change course and head for the bathroom down the hall.  I guess I’ll just hide in there for the few minutes I have left.
    Pathetic, I know.
     
    I luck out in Bi ology.  Ms. Sepulveda, a tiny woman, looks too tired and depressed to give a damn.  She whispers something incomprehensible when I introduce myself to her, and gestures vaguely toward some empty seats at the back of the class.  While I head straight to the last row, she flicks off the lights, and pops in a video about cell cycles.
    My stomach is growling so loud right now.  I try coughing to disguise the telltale roar, but I know the people around me aren’t fooled.
    After a pa rticularly vicious growl, the girl at the desk in front of me turns around, grinning.  The first thing I notice about her is her nose, which is large and slightly off-center.  Strangely, it works with her face, giving it a quirky appeal.  Also, she has some big hair.  The wild black curls that swirl around her face give the impression of sentient life.  I can easily imagine a lock of it springing out and wrapping itself around my neck.
    “Hi,” she says in a loud bright voice.  “Your name’s Juliet, right?  I’m Tanya.  So, where are you from?”  Her curls bounce nervously with her most minute movement.
    I kind of want to stick a hand out and see if her hair will shake it.  “Hey,” I say, sitting up straight, and forcing a smile to my lips.  “I actually just transferred from Jefferson.”
    “Oh?”  She tilts her head, curious and birdlike.  “How come?”
    Well, there’s one person who hasn’t heard the gossip.  I shrug one shoulder.  I decide to give her a half-truth.  “My grandmother offered to pay for my tuition.”
    “Nice grandmother.  I have a cousin who goes to Jefferson.  Cecily Patel?  She’s a sophomore.”  She watches me expectantly for recognition.
    I shake my head slightly, and smile regretfully.  “Sorry, I don’t know her.”  Why am I apologizing?
    It’s her turn to shrug.  “Eh, I’m not surprised.  She’s not exactly popular.  Got the family nose.”  She points proudly to the beaky protuberance on her face.  It seems to wiggle a little.  Did she do that on purpose?  Fascinating!
    She twists all the around in her seat so she can face me , swinging her bony legs around.  “So, you know Dean Youngblood?  I saw you talking to him in the cafeteria.”
    She says his name so reverentially, I kind of want to say it, too.  To see if she’ll fall to the ground in supplication.  The worshipful way she says it cancels out her cool self-deprecation. 
    She waits breathlessly for me to reply, hair seemingly on the ready to strike.  I glance toward the front of the room, checking the alertness level of Ms. Sepulveda.  She appears to be asleep with her eyes wide open.  Most of the peopl e in class are blatantly taking advantage of her inattentiveness, talking amongst themselves and completely ignoring the