Bloodlines (Bloodlines, #1)(35)

“I like Latin,” I said with absolute seriousness. “It’s fun.”

Eddie shook his head and said in a very, very low voice: “I can’t believe you think we’re the strange ones.”

Trey’s comments for me in my next class were less complimentary. “Wow, you sure have Terwilliger wrapped around your finger.” He nodded toward our chemistry instructor. “Are you going to go tell her that you split atoms in your free time? Do you have a reactor back in your room?”

“There’s nothing wrong with—” I cut myself off, unsure what to say. I’d nearly said “being smart,” but that sounded egotistical. “There’s nothing wrong with knowing things,” I said at last.

“Sure,” he agreed. “When it’s legitimate knowledge.”

I remembered the crazy conversation with Kristin and Julia yesterday. Because I’d had to take Jill to Adrian, I’d missed the study session and couldn’t follow up on my tattoo questions. Still, I at least now knew where Trey’s disdain was coming from—even though it seemed absurd. No one else at school had specifically mentioned my tattoo being special, but a number of people had approached me already, asking where I’d gotten it. They’d been disappointed when I said South Dakota.

“Look, I don’t know where this idea’s coming from about my tattoo making me smart, but if that’s what you think, well . . . don’t. It’s just a tattoo.”

“It’s gold,” he argued.

“So?” I asked. “It’s just special ink. I don’t get why people would believe it has some mystical properties. Who believes in that stuff?”

He snorted. “Half this school does. How are you so smart, then?”

Was I really that much of a freak when it came to academics that people had to turn to supernatural explanations? I went with my stock answer. “I was homeschooled.”

“Oh,” said Trey thoughtfully. “That would explain it.”

I sighed.

“I bet your homeschooling didn’t do much in the way of PE, though,” he added. “What are you going to do about your sport requirement?”

“I don’t know; I hadn’t thought about it,” I said, feeling a little uneasy. I could handle Amberwood’s academics in my sleep. But its athletics? Unclear.

“Well, you better decide soon; the deadline’s coming up. Don’t look so worried,” he added. “Maybe they’ll let you start a Latin club instead.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, not liking the tone. “I’ve played sports.”

He shrugged. “If you say so. You don’t seem like the athletic type. You seem too . . . neat.”

I wasn’t entirely sure if that was a compliment or not. “What’s your sport?”

Trey held his chin up, looking very pleased with himself. “Football. A real man’s sport.”

A guy sitting nearby overheard him and glanced back. “Too bad you won’t make quarterback, Juarez. You came so close last year. Looks like you’re going to graduate without fulfilling yet another dream.”

I’d thought Trey didn’t like me—but as he turned his attention to the other guy, it was like the temperature dropped ten degrees. I realized in that moment that Trey just liked giving me a hard time. But this other guy? Trey completely despised him.

“I don’t remember you even being in the running, Slade,” returned Trey, eyes hard. “What makes you think you’re going to take it this year?”

Slade—it wasn’t clear to me if that was his first or last name—exchanged knowing glances with a couple friends. “Just a feeling.” They turned away, and Trey scowled.

“Great,” he muttered. “Slade finally got the money for one. You want to know about tattoos? Go talk to him.”

My thirty-second impression told me Slade was no one I wanted to talk to, but Trey provided no additional explanation. Class soon started, but as I tried to focus on the lesson, all I could think about was Amberwood’s apparent obsession with tattoos. What did it mean?

When PE came, I was relieved to see Jill in the locker room. The Moroi girl gave me a weary smile as we walked outside. “How’s your day been?” I asked.

“Fine,” Jill said. “Not great. Not terrible. I haven’t really gotten to know many people.” She didn’t say it, but Jill’s tone implied, “See? I told you I would stand out.”

Yet as the class started, I realized that the problem was that Jill didn’t stand out. She avoided eye contact, letting her nerves get the best of her, and made no effort to talk to people. No one openly shunned her, but with the vibes she gave off, no one went out of their way to talk to her either. I certainly wasn’t the most social person in the world, but I still smiled and tried to chat with my classmates as we did more volleyball drills. It was enough to foster the sparks of friendship.

I also soon noticed another problem. The class had been divided into four teams, playing two concurrent matches. Jill was in the other game, but I still occasionally caught sight of her. She looked miserable and tired within ten minutes, without even having done much in the game. Her reaction time was bad too. A number of balls went past her, and those she did notice were met with clumsy maneuvers. Some of her teammates exchanged frustrated looks behind her back.