“Don’t I know it.”
But her grin flipped when she caught sight of Sarah, her arms wrapped around Pietr. “We need to fix this.”
“Amy—don’t.” I grasped her arm. “If he doesn’t want me…”
“He does.”
“I hate to point this out, baby…,” Marvin joined in, addressing Amy, “but maybe Jessica’s right. Sarah’s got a reputation. Everybody knows she’s eas—”
“-ily led astray,” I finished for him. I didn’t want to consider it. Yeah, I knew guys thought about a lot more than passing Trig or Calculus. Making passes was more their style. I would even bet Pietr thought about it faster than most guys at Junction High because of his freaky biology.
And I knew enough about Pietr’s brother Max to know he wasn’t one to encourage living a chaste lifestyle (especial y considering the rumors going around the school). Unless he spel ed it C-H-A-S-E-D.
Which was what Max liked to be, by lots of girls. Stil , the words slipped out of my mouth. “Would Pietr stay with her for—”
Amy sighed. “Is there a guy who wouldn’t?” Seeing my expression, she quickly added, “Unless he could upgrade.”
Hoping Amy’s pessimism wasn’t an accurate view of guys, I muttered, “I’m not interested in playing Sarah 2.0. Either he wants me or he doesn’t.”
I looked down the hal and watched a moment. Sarah stretched up on her tiptoes to kiss him. And Pietr saw no one but Sarah. Kiss four of the day.
My stomach bal ed up, sour as Amy’s expression.
I’d wondered what Pietr wanted.
It seemed I had my answer.
* * *
“Vice Principal Perlson wil see you now.”
I smiled at the secretary and stood up, looking past the poster that discouraged students from suicide. I didn’t know why so many teens in our area were kil ing themselves (and I certainly wasn’t al owed to address it in the school paper), but I doubted posters were going to put an end to it.
I headed into Perlson’s office, by this point far too familiar ground. I’d been here after I smeared my fist across Jenny’s and Macie’s faces. And I’d been here after the drug-sniffing dog tried to kil me because I’d made an unwise fashion choice. It hadn’t been an ugly sweater, just way too big. Just because it smel ed like werewolf …
Now, though, I was here on my terms. Interviewing the VP about the upcoming lunch plan. A plan that seemed too good to be true—except the school would make a profit off the kids.
seemed too good to be true—except the school would make a profit off the kids.
Perlson motioned me to sit. “Good afternoon, Miss Gil mansen. It’s a pleasure to have you in my office in a different capacity,” he said with a flash of his broad smile. “Keeping out of trouble is the best way to go through school, don’t you think?” His lilting voice went perfectly with the palm trees I associated with his native land.
Part of a special exchange program for midlevel administrators, he’d come to our district in late summer to prepare. He was entrancing, his complexion like dark brown sugar and molasses. There were few people of African descent in Junction, and although businesses claimed they were equal opportunity employers, I had my doubts about a few. So I was thril ed when the school had announced his arrival.
But my intrigue at having someone so fabulously foreign—so distinct—faded when he began to distrust me. Besides, nothing could be more foreign, or more fascinating, than Russian werewolves.
He folded his dark hands together, linking his fingers and putting them behind his head. “You have questions about the school lunch plan,” he stated, relaxing in his chair.
“Yes, sir. The plan is paid for by angel funding?”
“Yes. So we never need to pay it back.”
“Wonderful.” I scribbled in my notebook.
“It also gives us superior food quality, considering federal standards. Better food, better processing, better distribution.”
“I won’t complain about that,” I assured him. Federal standards were continual y on the rise, but I’d read Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle and didn’t want to think too much about food between farm and table as a result. What had become unacceptable was stil accepted in some places.
He smiled again, beaming at me.
“It’l remove us from the federal program, won’t it?”
“Yes.”
“What if the organization folds? Can we get back in?”
“We won’t need to.” The radiance of his smile diminished like the brightness of a bulb on a dimmer switch.
“Lots of our students get free lunch. What about them?”
“They wil be al owed free lunch on the new program,” he assured me. “Just a little additional paperwork.
”
“If the program al ows free lunch transfers and is ful y funded by a corporation that won’t fold, why charge anything?”
His smile became close-lipped. “This may be difficult for a student to understand, Miss Gil mansen—”
“Try me.”
Straightening in his chair, he licked his lips, hands sliding down to rest on his desk.
“Where wil the additional money go?” I pried.
“Into a specialized fund.”
“For what?”
“Discretionary purposes.” His dark eyes glimmered.
“Like…”
“Whatever Administration decides the school needs.”
“New computers?”
“Maybe.”
“Water fountains that don’t leak?”
“Perhaps.”
“Bonuses for low-level employees and teachers?”
“No.”
“I would have supported that one.”
He blinked. Slowly. “Miss Gil mansen. Please remember that although we encourage students to try their hands at media coverage through the school newspaper and daily broadcasts, they aren’t resources for inflaming the school population.
“This program is good. We want everyone on it. It wil make the students in Junction better than before.
The quality of the fuel they put into their bodies wil be greatly improved.” He rapped on his desk with his knuckles. “Make sure that’s clear.”
Picking up his phone he punched in a number, saying to me, “I look forward to seeing your rough draft.”