Virals(60)

I was chasing a pea across my plate when a strangled whine interrupted my thoughts. I looked up just as Shelton dropped his fork. His hands flew to his head and his lids slammed shut.

"No," he muttered. "Not here."

"Shelton, are you--"

The clatter of Ben's fork caused me to turn.

Ben's eyes were vacant. Spit bubbles foamed at one corner of his mouth.

"Ben?" I said softly.

No response.

"Hey! Blue!" A little louder.

Across the table, Hi dropped his utensils.

"Chicken," he whispered. Then his hand shot out and swept veggies from his plate. Zucchini and squash splattered the tabletop.

"Hi? Hiram?"

Oblivious, Hi grabbed a chicken leg and stripped off the flesh. Shoved it between his jaws.

Beside me, Ben gnawed a drumstick, grinding both meat and bones with his teeth. I watched juice dribble down his chin and dampen his shirt.

Horrified, my eyes scanned the room. So far, no one seemed to have noticed the drama playing out at our table. That wouldn't last. Hi and Ben were making a mess.

I was debating a course of action when Shelton clamped a chicken breast with his teeth and shook it savagely.

My eyes dropped to my own plate.

SNAP.





Boiling oil rushed through me. My brain jumped the tracks.

Oh no.

The odor of poultry overrode all other sensations. On instinct, I stuffed a piece of chicken into my mouth. The taste was indescribable. Drool covered my tongue.

Stop! STOP!

Closing my eyes, I dug my nails into my palms. Hard. Until it hurt. Willing my higher centers to regain control.

Blinking away the haze, I looked around.

The boys were shredding meat with their hands and teeth, all manners forgotten. Then I saw it.

Shelton's irises glowed deep saffron yellow.

I checked Hi, then Ben. My heart thudded madly. Their eyes shone with the same golden radiance.

Dear God in heaven!

The boys continued gorging, unaware of the Lion King scene they were making. I had to do something. Our table was a disaster of strewn utensils, shattered bones, and smeared veggies. Someone would spot us at any minute. We'd be the joke of the school forever.

My mind blanked. The fingernail trick worked for me, but I didn't know how to call the others back. Without a better idea, I did the one thing I knew would clear the room.

Against every principle, everything I knew to be right, I pulled the fire alarm.

A piecing wail blasted from the PA system.

I jumped away from the little box, already feeling guilty.

The false alarm continued to scream out, blaring, refusing to be ignored.

Still slammed, my ears were hypersensitive. The pain was almost unbearable. A moan rose from my throat. The boys pawed their ears in agony, food forgotten. Shelton fell to the floor and curled in on himself.

The other students jumped to their feet, aware of the Bolton routine and knowing this wasn't a drill. With a clatter of trays and a few screams, the anxious mob rushed the front doors. In their hasty retreat, not a single person glanced our way.

In seconds we were the cafeteria's only occupants.

"Let's get out of here!"

I blasted through the emergency exit, desperate to escape the mind-splitting sirens.

SNUP.





Midway across the yard my knees buckled as if gunshot. I fell to the grass, rolled twice, and lay still.

Slowly, awareness reasserted itself. Running teachers. Huddled students. My friends lying nearby, panting, speechless.

Gradually, my body returned to normal. For long moments no one moved.

I spoke first.

"Did you guys like the chicken?" I asked. "Mine was a bit dry."

Dead silence.

Then nervous laughter rose around me.

It was music to my bruised ears.





CHAPTER 44


No way I was going to school the next day.

I turned on the shower, rattled bottles, made getting ready noises. Kit bought my act. He rushed off to work early, oblivious to my plan. When the front door closed, I flopped back into bed.

The boys weren't so lucky. Sorry, guys.

The four of us had agreed to wait another day before presenting ourselves to an ER. Or a psych ward, whichever made more sense.

But school was the least of my worries.

A cotillion dance, my first event as a junior debutante, was taking place that evening. With Kit and Whitney so fired up about it, I couldn't back out. Aside from Mom's funeral, I'd never dreaded a gathering more in my life.

I slept all morning and a good chunk of the afternoon. I awoke still sluggish, but free of the overwhelming fatigue. Maybe I was recovering.

I tried to distract myself, even went to see Coop at the bunker. But my thoughts turned repeatedly to the dance. What was I supposed to wear to this thing?

The other girls would feature expensive designer gowns. Stunning red-carpet numbers. I owned nothing even close. A fact that Madison and her coven would be sure to point out.

At 3:27 p.m. I opened my closet door. And found that I'd underestimated Whitney.

The dress practically jumped from the hanger to spin a pirouette. Marchesa. Light pink, strapless, with gold accents. It must've cost a thousand bucks.

To my horror, it was my size. Below the dress sat a jewelry box containing two items. A silver David Yurman cable bracelet with pearl tips, and a diamond solitaire necklace.