I don’t want to argue, so I just say, “Yeah, I guess.”
“You told me that only Stoker vampires can make other vampires,” she goes on, her gaze lowering to the white cast on her arm. “But he’s not a Stoker.”
“Right.”
“What about the guys he met in Hanover? Were they Stokers?”
There’s an uncomfortable squirm in my stomach. “No,” I say with a sharp shrug. “But I’ve been thinking about it over break, and I feel like if there were Stoker vampires around, their population would probably have grown big enough by now that we’d know they exist.”
She doesn’t react to that. “Do you think he’s ever coming back? Like for his things?”
I shake my head, and to my horror, tears prick my eyes again. “He’s gone,” I say firmly, both to her and to myself.
Salma’s face turns away slightly, and I wish I could see her expression. When she doesn’t look at me for a while, I ask, “What can I do, Sal? How can I make this up to you?”
“I don’t know,” she says at last. “Just give me time.”
Every part of me wants to keep fighting for her forgiveness, but I know that Salma can’t be coaxed. She operates on her own terms.
I’m about to stand up in resignation when I hear the lock click, and the door swings open. Tiffany sweeps into the room in a floor-length puffy pink coat that seems a little sweeter than her usual fashion choices. She’s paired it with black boots identical to Salma’s.
It’s clear she’s coming from home and not her aunt’s house because she’s not wearing makeup, and instead of straight hair, she’s left her natural curls. She looks younger, but no less beautiful.
She’s also rolling her own suitcase this time.
“What, no valet service?” asks Salma.
Tiffany grins, but the expression freezes on her face as she spots the cast. “What’s this?!” she asks. “You didn’t say anything about it!”
I guess they kept in touch over break. Tiffany rushes to Salma’s other side, so that the three of us are sharing a mattress. “What happened?” she asks.
“I was going through my mom’s things on a high shelf in her closet, and I lost my balance. Fell wrong on my elbow.”
“You’re trading beds with her, aren’t you?” Tiffany asks me, and the question irks me. It’smyjob to protect Salma, not hers.
“Whatever you want,” I say to Sal, as if she’d asked the question.
“Dinner starts soon,” says Tiffany, springing to her feet. She snaps open her coat, all the buttons unlocking, and she’s wearing her uniform underneath. She’s paired the miniskirt with gray winter stockings.
Salma is wearing the pants version this time, just like me. Only hers is all black.
While we walk toward the dining hall, Tiffany asks her, “So did you get the chance to see Cat’s profile? Her parents’ house is as big as this school!”
Salma nods and asks, “Did you see what I sent you about Jada? She qualified for the US gymnastics team.”
“No wonder she’s the best in our PE class.”
“You run faster than her,” Salma points out, and Tiffany can’t suppress her grin.
When we get to dinner, it feels like there are more eyes on us than usual. Something about Huntington feels different on this side of break… as if the innocence we enjoyed before is gone. We’ve lost our anonymity.
Our table is set for five, and the fact that the space for William has been removed makes his absence all the more palpable.
The guys are not here yet, and we pluck plates off the table on our way to the buffet. Salma and Tiffany return before me, and when I pull out my usual chair next to my best friend, she picks up her plate and moves to Tiffany’s other side.
Without a word, I slide into Salma’s now-vacant chair, next to our roommate, and I can’t even look at Tiffany because I don’t want to see her gloat.
Then the whole dining hall starts to quiet down, and I look up to see why: Trevor and Zach have arrived, and as they stride to our table, nearly all our classmates are staring at them.
