House of Darken (Secret Keepers #1)(18)
Despite all the warnings, and my own internal annoyance at the way they acted in this school and town, I couldn’t help but let my gaze linger on Lexen. There was something in the way he held himself. It was fascinating, like a lion waiting patiently in the grass. There was no doubt they had their predator eyes locked on everything. Lexen was like that just sitting behind his desk – making it look ridiculously small I should add. Like the other elites I had seen, he carried no books or a laptop. Did none of them need to take notes? Probably they just paid for perfect grades.
Starlit darkness smashed into me then, our gazes holding for a few beats past comfortable, and I knew exactly how it felt to be prey. Through sheer force of will I managed to tear my gaze away from Lexen’s. Everything inside of me was screaming to stay off his – and all the elites’ – radars. To avoid drawing even a small amount of their attention. I had to be more careful.
Thankfully the rest of my morning classes passed without incident. By lunchtime I was starting to get a feel for my new school. I had even grown somewhat accustomed to being surrounded by the odd but convenient technology.
Cara was waiting at our lockers. We’d decided earlier we would walk to lunch together. We both dumped everything inside, and with our “poor people” cards clutched in our hands, we took the moving paths toward the cafeteria. The entire school ate lunch at the same time here, which was another first for me. In my last school we’d been split up between different years. Here … well, apparently here they liked to encourage school togetherness. As we stepped into the cafeteria, I understood why it worked so well.
“Holy freaking hell!” My words were a breathless whisper, eyes no doubt as large as saucers while I tried to take in the mammoth structure.
Cara chuckled. “Yeah, they like to impress here at Starslight. Got to make it comfortable for all the future presidential candidates they’re teaching.”
Comfortable was a slight understatement. This was pure luxury. Everything inside was white and shiny; the building was dome-shaped, the ceiling at least thirty feet above our heads. All of the walls and the entire ceiling were made from thick, octagonal windows that fit into each other, forming the structure. They allowed the room to be filled with light and warmth despite the usual inclement weather of Astoria. There were different levels, and sectioned off areas, and as we moved into the main path Cara steered me toward the center of the room, where there was a huge buffet.
“So … we’re allowed to choose from any food with a red tag. The students who aren’t on scholarships can choose from anything in this section, and the elite have their own separate section up there.” She pointed to a raised platform above us. It jutted out almost like a viewing stage across the entire domed room.
“Where do the seniors eat?” I looked around, trying to get the lay of the land, figure out the social cliques.
Cara, who was still focused on the upper elite platform, finally pulled her gaze away and returned it to me. “There is no separation by grade here, mostly just elite and the rest of us. Don’t sit in the elite section and you’ll be fine.”
I shrugged. Well, that should be easy enough.
The line wasn’t very long. The buffet wound for about twenty feet; students were filling their plates as they walked. When Cara and I reached the start of the shiny silver stand, she showed me where to scan my card, then a red tray drifted along a small conveyer belt to stop in front of me.
“Just in case we forget our place, I’m guessing.” My nose wrinkled as some of my awe over this beautiful shiny room wore off. Cara said there was no segregation on this level, but by giving me a red tray they were ensuring everyone here knew we were the scholarship students. Which was confirmed when Cara said hesitantly, “It’s more so that the serving staff don’t accidentally feed us the wrong stuff.”
Right. I was silent as we followed a chatting pair of students. They looked much younger than me but were so filled with confidence, smiles and laughter, talking about parties and shopping for bags, it was like these girls were aliens. I had never felt so out of place in my life. For the past eight months I had lived in a grief bubble, barely even noticing the outside world, basically just forcing myself to breathe, take one step after another, eat my meals, and try not to lose my mind with grief. As the veil of my grief was lifting, I was realizing I wasn’t the same person anymore. The death of my parents had changed me. Fundamentally. And now I had to figure out who the new Emma was.
As I followed the path of the buffet, I realized what Cara meant about red food. There were tags above each hot and cold dish stating what it was, and those tags were colored. I tried not to look at the dishes I wasn’t allowed. I would focus on the fact that no matter how bad the food situation at home got, I was able to eat something here.
Surprisingly enough, the red section was not bad at all. I tended to prefer fruit, salad, and vegetables, if I had the choice, so I ended up with white-sauced pasta, a bread roll, a cup of very fresh-looking fruit salad, and a small-crumbed piece of chicken for a shot of protein. Orange juice and bottled water finished off my selection. I stepped to the side and waited for Cara. My stomach growled as I stared at my tray, desperate to shovel food in my mouth but determined to not act like a crazy person raised in a jungle.
“God damn, they have ribs in the purple,” Cara complained as we walked away. “I made the kitchen staff promise me the ribs would be red one day, but so far it has not happened.”