The smile freezes on my face. Charlayne is spying on me.
“The sandwich isn’t half bad if you add ketchup,” Trey says, and then notices my expression. “What’s wrong?”
“Charlayne. I’m pretty sure she’s been told to sit here. Look around. Are there any other Cyrists on this side of the cafeteria?”
He smiles sadly. “I thought you’d already figured that out. I mean, it’s a little too convenient, don’t you think? Your best friend from before plays for the other team, but she wants to be your BFF again.”
Now I feel stupid, because, of course, he’s right. Just because my conversation with Charlayne felt natural, just because she seems like the old Charlayne, doesn’t mean she is. I felt a connection, but I was probably the only one who felt it. Wanting something doesn’t make it real.
Trey dips one of the fries in ketchup and waves it in front of me. I shake my head, and he shrugs, popping it into his mouth instead. “So, do we tell them to go back to their own side or play along?”
“Play along. I’d much rather sit here with just you, but I can’t let Eve or Prudence or whoever the hell is behind this know that I finally . . . finally . . . caught on. Playing dumb shouldn’t be too tough—it seems to be a natural talent.”
Trey fakes an offended look. “Excuse me?”
“Not you. I’ve seen you undercover. You’re like James Bond. I’m the gullible one. Mom says I’m too trusting, just like Dad. Apparently she’s right.”
“Maybe. But do you want to go through life assuming the worst about everyone you meet? One of my favorite things about you is the fact that you have the personality of a golden retriever.”
I narrow my eyes. “I’m neither blond nor fluffy.”
“And you don’t have doggy breath, either. I said personality. You’re kind. Loyal. You give people a chance. Do you want to be the type of person who’d automatically assume Charlayne was bad, before the evidence was in?”
“Well, no.” Even now that I’m pretty sure what she’s up to, I don’t like thinking of Charlayne that way. I push my salad around on my plate, stab a few veggies, and then put the fork back down. “I actually don’t believe Charlayne’s bad. I mean, not really bad. She could have reasons we don’t . . .”
I stop, because Trey is grinning. “I rest my case. We need to find a good golden retriever nickname for you.” I kick his foot under the table, and he laughs. Then his eyes take on a different sort of light as he rubs his calf gently against mine and says in a soft voice, “I’m looking forward to tonight. Maybe you could bring that thing you were wearing?”
I raise an eyebrow. “The librarian outfit?”
Trey rolls his eyes. “Yeah, right. You know exa—” He snaps his mouth shut as Charlayne and Ben come up from behind, sliding their plates onto the table.
“Only bacon crumbs,” Charlayne grumbles. “And the lady snapped at me when I pulled the container out of the bar and dumped the rest on my plate. What was I supposed to do?”
Bensen, who hasn’t spoken until now, says, “I think she’s just grumpy. She’s the one who splashed gravy on my brownie. And it’s not even next to the potatoes.”
I suspect they’re talking about the same cafeteria lady I saw earlier, and I’m torn. Part of me is thinking it’s not cool to be prejudiced against all Cyrists just because some are jerks, and the other part is sizing her up as a potential ally against the Dark Side. Although she’s older than Katherine and seriously out of shape, so I’m not sure how much help she’d be.
We talk about classes for a few minutes, although most of the conversation is carried by Charlayne. When there’s a lull, Trey jumps in with a question.
“Aren’t you afraid you’ll get shunned, sitting on this side of the Great Divide?”
Ben smiles, a fleeting upward twitch of his lips that I’d have missed if I’d blinked at that moment. “I’m on scholarship,” he says. “Partly need based, which makes me a charity case, which means I’m shunned by definition. But I don’t know what Charlayne did to piss them off.”
Charlayne gives him a dirty look. “No one is pissed at me, Ben. This isn’t kindergarten. I can sit wherever I want.”
“But you have a tattoo,” I say, looking over at Bensen’s hand. “So I thought . . .”
He shrugs, tossing a bit of dark hair out his eyes. “Mom wanted me to go to Carrington Day. Charlayne’s mom told her I could probably get a scholarship if I’d agree to the . . . conditions. So I ran the odds. The average male of Indian descent loses his virginity around nineteen. Additional factors: I’m fat, short, and my favorite book is Lord of the Rings. Put those together, and it’s virtually certain that I’ll be a virgin at twenty with or without this tattoo, so I might as well reap some sort of benefit from it. And I’ve heard the tattoo will make me forbidden fruit for nonbelievers.”
Ben’s eyebrows flick upward a fraction of an inch.
“Shut up, Ben,” Charlayne hisses. “I thought you were supposed to be smart. Do you believe every locker-room fantasy you hear?”
“Only the ones your brothers tell me.” He does the little lip-twitch grin again. This guy has clearly mastered the art of understated facial expressions.
“How long have you two known each other?” Trey asks.
It’s the same thing I was thinking. They snipe at each other like siblings.
“Too long,” Charlayne replies. “His mother was our nanny. She still helps out from time to time, when my parents have to travel or something. She’s nice. It’s not her fault Ben’s a jerk.”
“There’s a picture of us in the tub together when we were two. It’s as close as I’m likely to get to a naked female for quite some time, so I carry it in my wallet. Would you like to see?”
Charlayne jabs him with her elbow. “I’ve half a mind to report you to the temple, you little twerp.”
A tiny shake of his head and a miniscule smile. “Rah. Ool.”
I glance over at Trey, and he seems as confused as I am. And then something about Charlayne’s expression makes me realize that Ben is teasing her about a guy. Someone named Raoul.
I manage to keep from laughing, but it’s a close call. If I had any doubts at all whether the real Charlayne was still inside this crispy Cyrist shell, they’re gone now. And even though I know the primary reason she’s here is so she can report back to her Cyrist overlords, knowing that she’s still Charlayne gives me hope.
The first day of senior year ends without casualties, aside from a bruised elbow I pick up when some guy with an uncanny resemblance to Gaston from Beauty and the Beast shoves me against the lockers. The shove may have been an accident, but since the big lunk was with Eve in the cafeteria a few minutes earlier, I think it was accidentally on purpose.
Trey and I are both a little preoccupied on the drive home. I’m thinking about the fact that I’ll be in Georgia in half an hour, watching for evidence of my grandfather’s crimes, and that sort of winds my stomach into a knot. I’m not sure what’s up with Trey—maybe he’s still annoyed at the Gaston guy. He drops me off at the house with a quick kiss and a promise that he’ll see me at six.
I grab a bag of chips and a soda from the kitchen, because there are no nacho-cheese Doritos or diet sodas in 1905.
“Are you running away, dear?”
Katherine is standing in the doorway, with one of the CHRONOS diaries in her hand. She’s wearing her robe and looks like she hasn’t been awake for long.
“No. Just taking a few supplies with me.” She opens her mouth, and I can tell there’s a lecture coming about carrying out-of-timeline items, so I quickly add, “Kiernan’s cabin is in the middle of woods, Katherine, and I swear to God, I’ll bring back every single wrapper, okay?”