Ember beams at me, putting her cigarette out against the brick wall before looping her arms around mine and dragging me back through the school gate. “Just as well, I’m a fast talker,” she tells me, more than up for the challenge. “I hope you can keep up, though. I’m not one for repeating myself.”
Damn. She sounds like my kind of girl. “Hit me with it.”
She drags me through the school, pulling at my arm, and forcing me to keep up with her. “So, I’m sure by now you’ve already figured out that there’s a hierarchy around here?”
I shake my head. “Nope. I’ve been more interested in hiding out than actually noticing anything that’s been going on around me.”
She rolls her eyes. “Jesus, I’m going to have to start right from the beginning then.” She pulls me into the cafeteria where the majority of the senior students are loitering. The second the door closes behind us, their stares hit me like a freight train. “Ignore them,” Embers says. “They’re just jealous that you’re smoking hot and they can’t pull off a look like yours to save their lives.”
I smile, appreciating that one little comment more than she could ever know. She keeps pulling me through the crowded bodies, not seeming to care that being with me means that the curious stares are now on her too. “So, let’s begin with the bottom, shall we,” she tells me, indicating to a group of people sitting around a table, some standing, some resting across the table like it’s a freaking living room. “This is the stoner group. They’re usually too fucked up to notice anything that’s going on around here,” she explains before glancing across the cafeteria. “We have the hippy group over here. If you ever get confused, you can generally find them at lunchtime because they’ll be the people meditating right in the middle of the football field.”
I laugh, a grin pulling at my lips. “I’m sure the football team hates that.”
“Fuck me, understatement of the year. They’ve been at war over it for years, and no matter how many times Principal Turner asks them to meditate somewhere else, they always end up right back in the middle of the field, only with more people.”
“They sound like my kind of people,” I murmur. “You know, apart from the meditating part.”
“Right?” Ember laughs. “Though, speaking of the football team. You’ll find those assholes sitting in the back. They’re the noisy turds who can’t keep their comments or hands to themselves, but for the most part, their attention is usually aimed at the cheerleaders who sit right across from them. But if you ask me, the cheerleaders are practically begging for their attention, and it doesn’t matter how they get it as long as it’s theirs.”
“Ugh,” I grumble, spying the cheerleaders at the back of the cafeteria, knowing that, without a doubt, they’re not the kind of girls I’ll be hanging out with. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure a few of them are really sweet and awesome chicks, but the way Ember has described them as a whole, they reek of desperation. “So, who’s next?”
She stops in the middle of the cafeteria and starts slowly scanning the room, walking in a circle as she does it. “Let’s see,” she says, pointing out groups as she goes. “There’s the mean girls, the really mean girls, the douchebags, the computer nerds—though half of the computer nerds are also part of the science geeks—but they’re all super cool if you ask me. Umm, over here we have the Satan worshippers, the dudes who are going to fuck you up, and of course, the guys who are probably going to try and drop a pill into your drink at a party.”
I make a note of that, scanning over that last group and memorizing their faces to be sure that I don't get caught out with any of them. I circle around, trying to remember it all when I realize that there are a few faces in here that I haven’t seen. “What about Knox and those guys who rocked up in the Escalade? Where do they belong in all of this?”
A smile cracks across her face. “Oh, girl. Has Carver already caught your attention?”
I shrug my shoulders. “Depends on which one is Carver,” I tell her. “But don’t get excited, if he’s the guy I think he is, then he’s a complete asshole.”
“You’ve got that right,” she says, hooking her arm through mine again and dragging me out of the cafeteria. “The cool kids don’t like to hang out in the cafeteria; it cramps their style. They usually just chill out in the quad where they can watch over everything, but by the end of lunch, all the desperados are out here doing everything they can to get noticed.”