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I walk into the cafeteria for dinner and pile food onto my plate. Tonight’s main course is chicken enchiladas with salsa verde. My stomach is so empty that even the smell of the food makes it churn. I’m early, so I have a few minutes at the table alone. I use them to shovel food into my face.
Eventually, Sam sits down across from me. He grins. “You look slightly less close to death.”
I snort, but most of my attention is on watching Lila walk in and pick up a tray of food. Looking at her brings a hot flush of memory to my skin. I’m ashamed of myself and I want to touch her again, all at once.
She and Daneca come to the table and take seats. Daneca looks over toward Sam, but he’s staring at his plate.
“Hey,” I say as neutrally as I can.
Lila points her fork at me. “I heard a rumor about you.”
“Oh?” I can’t tell if she’s teasing or not, but she’s not smiling.
“I heard that you were taking bets about me.” Lila rubs her gloved hand across her forehead, pushing back her bangs. She seems tired. I’m guessing she didn’t get any sleep last night. “Me and Greg. Me being crazy. Me being in a prison in Moscow.”
I glance quickly at Sam, who is wearing an expression of almost comical surprise. He’s been helping me keep the books for bets, since his stint running the business, so he knows what’s come in and what’s gone out. He knows we’re busted.
“Not because I wanted to,” I say. “If I didn’t, I was afraid people would make too much of it. I mean, I take bets on everything.”
“Like who’s a worker?” she asks. “You’re making money off those bets too, aren’t you?”
Daneca narrows her eyes at me. “Cassel, is that true?”
“You don’t understand,” I say, turning to her. “If I suddenly pick and choose what bets to take, then it would seem like I knew something—like I was protecting someone. I sit with you three; everyone would assume I was protecting one of you. Plus people would stop telling me what’s going on—what rumors are being spread. And I couldn’t spread any rumors of my own. I wouldn’t be any help.”
“Yeah, and you’d have to take a stand, too,” Lila says. “People might even think you’re a worker. I know how much you would hate that.”
“Lila—,” I say. “I swear to you, there’s a stupid rumor about every new kid that comes to Wallingford. No one believes them. If I didn’t take those bets, I would basically confirm that you and Greg—” I stumble over the words and start over, not wanting to piss her off any worse than I already have. “It would make everyone think the rumor was true.”
“I don’t care,” Lila says. “You’re the one that’s making me into a joke.”
“I’m sorry—,” I start, but she cuts me off.
“Don’t con me.” She reaches into her pocket and slaps five twenty-dollar bills down on the table. The glasses rattle, liquid sloshing. “A hundred bucks says that Lila Zacharov and Greg Harmsford did it. What are my odds?”
She doesn’t know that Greg’s never coming back to Wallingford. She doesn’t know just how much Audrey hates her. I look automatically toward his old table, hoping that Audrey can’t overhear any of this.
“Good,” I force out. “Your odds are good.”
“At least I’ll make a profit,” she says. Then she gets up and stalks out of the dining hall.
I rest my forehead against the table and fold my arms on top of my head. I really can’t win today.
“You gave back that money,” Sam says. “Why didn’t you tell her?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “I did take bets on who was a worker. I thought I was doing the right thing. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I was just covering my ass.”
“I took those bets about who was a worker too,” says Sam. “It was the only thing we could do to have any leverage.” He sounds more sure than I feel.
“Cassel?” Daneca says. “Wait a second.”
“What?” Her voice sounds so odd—tentative—that I look up.
“She shouldn’t have been able to do that,” Daneca says. “Lila just told you off.”
“You can love someone and still argue with—,” I start to say, and stop myself. Because that’s the difference between real love and cursed love. When you really love someone, you can still see them for who they are. But the curse makes love sickly and simple.
