lineups to get served are short. The plates are hot. The drinks are cold. The cafeteria ladies—well, okay, they look just like every other cafeteria lady, except they wear the same emerald brooches the secretaries wear. And the tables? They’re next to an indoor stream that runs right through the room and cascades outside, where it careens down the shoal. Lovely.
If only I had an appetite.
“What’ll you have, Annie?” Pilot picks up two trays.
“Not my name.”
“Okay, what’ll you have, Anastasia ?”
Not even bothering to roll my eyes, I glance at the menu, looking for something simple. “What’s in the club sandwich?”
“Basil-crusted shrimp. Kentucky hickory smoked bacon. Fresh avocado. And I think they serve it on toasted brioche.”
I smother a laugh. So much for simple. I get the roasted beet salad instead and grab a table with Pilot, who’s not hungry, either. Next to us—or, actually, four feet above us—sit the faculty; their table is an elevated platform. All the better to see the students from. I’ve never felt so watched over as I do at Cania. Back home, teachers trusted the smart kids, and I always just assumed that wealth bought you all sorts of privileges, like privacy, respect, and a willingness to look the other way. Here? I glance up at Villicus, who’s peering at me— oh, great. Here, it’s starting to feel like I can do no right. Like no one can.
“Like reform school,” I mutter.
“What?” Pilot asks, spearing a ball of goat cheese from my plate. He shoves it in his mouth and chews. “Blech. Doesn’t taste like anything.”
“Never mind.”
As if trained to ruin every moment I have at this place, Teddy walks in and takes a table near us. He pulls out his notepad and fixes his eye on me…because I guess there’s a right way and a wrong way to slice a beet. Or maybe he’s grading me on my ability to chew with my mouth closed. I can’t be sure, but knowing I’m being observed from so many different angles doesn’t give me warm fuzzies. Reform school. My dad definitely shipped me off to reform school—though the idea of Cania being a fancy mental institution hasn’t entirely exited my mind.
Next to carefree Pilot, I must look like a paranoid schizophrenic. He yammers on endlessly, openly mocking the notion of being valedictorian. At one point, his voice gets so loud and Teddy’s scribbling so furious that I wonder if we should leave.
“I’m not hungry anyway,” I say. “Let’s go.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” he chides, waving his finger. “We’ve barely even started to get you settled in here, Annie. Or, wait, what has Harper started calling you?”
“She’s started calling me something?”
“Fainting Fanny.”
“That doesn’t even make sense,” I groan, casting a sideways glare at Teddy as he notes my new nickname.
“No one said she’s the cleverest girl around, but she’s a shoein for valedictorian next year.”
“She is?” I whisper, turning my shoulder to block Teddy from reading my lips. “Why?” I have a hard time masking my irritation.
“What? You don’t like her already?” Pilot sighs. “God, why can’t we all just get along? Look, Harper’s all right. If you just let her have the Big V, everyone’ll be fine.”
“Well, that’s convenient for you, but I actually want to be valedictorian.”
“It’s not convenient for me,” he counters. His face pales, his voice falters, and his shoulders slump like a deflating balloon. “It’s hard. My dad’s not superenthused about my performance here, you know. He wants me to be valedictorian. He was supposed to be our next president, and here he’s got this flunky kid who keeps screwing everything up.”
“Wait, he was gonna be president?”
“It’s more than a little screwy that you don’t know that.” Pilot frowns. “Anyway, that’s not my point.”
“Right. Sorry.” I push a leaf around on my plate.
“It’s like he wants me to fit into this little mold, but,
If only I had an appetite.
“What’ll you have, Annie?” Pilot picks up two trays.
“Not my name.”
“Okay, what’ll you have, Anastasia ?”
Not even bothering to roll my eyes, I glance at the menu, looking for something simple. “What’s in the club sandwich?”
“Basil-crusted shrimp. Kentucky hickory smoked bacon. Fresh avocado. And I think they serve it on toasted brioche.”
I smother a laugh. So much for simple. I get the roasted beet salad instead and grab a table with Pilot, who’s not hungry, either. Next to us—or, actually, four feet above us—sit the faculty; their table is an elevated platform. All the better to see the students from. I’ve never felt so watched over as I do at Cania. Back home, teachers trusted the smart kids, and I always just assumed that wealth bought you all sorts of privileges, like privacy, respect, and a willingness to look the other way. Here? I glance up at Villicus, who’s peering at me— oh, great. Here, it’s starting to feel like I can do no right. Like no one can.
“Like reform school,” I mutter.
“What?” Pilot asks, spearing a ball of goat cheese from my plate. He shoves it in his mouth and chews. “Blech. Doesn’t taste like anything.”
“Never mind.”
As if trained to ruin every moment I have at this place, Teddy walks in and takes a table near us. He pulls out his notepad and fixes his eye on me…because I guess there’s a right way and a wrong way to slice a beet. Or maybe he’s grading me on my ability to chew with my mouth closed. I can’t be sure, but knowing I’m being observed from so many different angles doesn’t give me warm fuzzies. Reform school. My dad definitely shipped me off to reform school—though the idea of Cania being a fancy mental institution hasn’t entirely exited my mind.
Next to carefree Pilot, I must look like a paranoid schizophrenic. He yammers on endlessly, openly mocking the notion of being valedictorian. At one point, his voice gets so loud and Teddy’s scribbling so furious that I wonder if we should leave.
“I’m not hungry anyway,” I say. “Let’s go.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” he chides, waving his finger. “We’ve barely even started to get you settled in here, Annie. Or, wait, what has Harper started calling you?”
“She’s started calling me something?”
“Fainting Fanny.”
“That doesn’t even make sense,” I groan, casting a sideways glare at Teddy as he notes my new nickname.
“No one said she’s the cleverest girl around, but she’s a shoein for valedictorian next year.”
“She is?” I whisper, turning my shoulder to block Teddy from reading my lips. “Why?” I have a hard time masking my irritation.
“What? You don’t like her already?” Pilot sighs. “God, why can’t we all just get along? Look, Harper’s all right. If you just let her have the Big V, everyone’ll be fine.”
“Well, that’s convenient for you, but I actually want to be valedictorian.”
“It’s not convenient for me,” he counters. His face pales, his voice falters, and his shoulders slump like a deflating balloon. “It’s hard. My dad’s not superenthused about my performance here, you know. He wants me to be valedictorian. He was supposed to be our next president, and here he’s got this flunky kid who keeps screwing everything up.”
“Wait, he was gonna be president?”
“It’s more than a little screwy that you don’t know that.” Pilot frowns. “Anyway, that’s not my point.”
“Right. Sorry.” I push a leaf around on my plate.
“It’s like he wants me to fit into this little mold, but,
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