CHAPTER EIGHT

“Matthew is perfect.” Kitty’s head was propped dreamily against her hand. “Everything he says is clever. We love all the same books and music. I’m going to be the first girl in grade seven to have an exotic, foreign boyfriend, and we’ll date all through high school, get engaged our senior year during the graduation ceremony, and then we’ll get married in the summer at Portland Head Light before moving to Wales.”

Kitty had her future completely planned out. If only my own future looked half as bright.

Right now, the noise of the lunch room was making my head pound. All the grades ate together at noon and the volume level made the walls vibrate. Sometimes I tried to read at the lunch table, but it was hard to concentrate.

The sixth-, seventh-, and eighth-grade girls ate at one of the long tables at the side of the room, and the boys ate at the table behind ours. The kindergarteners through fifth graders sat up front with the teachers, and the high schoolers had the best tables, along the back wall, farthest away from the lunch line.

“Kitty, you’re so lucky you got to meet Matthew first,” Olivia said, staring forlornly at the ham sandwich her mother had packed. Olivia had decided to become a vegetarian, but her mother wasn’t cooperating. “You sure looked like you were having fun.”

“Did I mention that Matthew is perfect?” Kitty said. “He’s super funny. And guess what. He loves Hello Kitty too.”

“They have Hello Kitty in England?” Jennifer asked.

From the end of the table, Mary Newburg, the Methodist and Episcopal ministers’ daughter, lifted her nose out of the book she was reading. “The United Kingdom,” she said, “has all of the modern conveniences that we have. In fact, our society descended from theirs, not the other way around.”

Mary had been raised by not one but two ministers, so most of what came out of her mouth sounded like a sermon. She loved to point out our faults, and that got old quick.

“Matthew and I couldn’t stop talking,” Kitty said breathily. “We just had so much to say. Matthew knows everything about cooking and traveling, and he wants to be a computer animator someday. Isn’t that cool?”

Francie scowled. “You think it’s cool that he wants to be another media-driven pawn adding to the meaninglessness of modern society?”

Francie was in ninth grade and was our school rebel, always willing to break the rules. She ate at our table whenever she and the other ninth-grade girl weren’t getting along. That day, Joanie was eating with the tenth graders, who sat all mashed together, boys and girls draped over one another.

Was that what our class would be like when we reached tenth grade? For a minute, I imagined what it might feel like to drape myself over a boy. If I was going to write sophisticated, worldly stories, shouldn’t I know?

I’d lost the thread of the conversation, but I looked up again when I heard gasps around me. A new girl had emerged from the lunch line, carrying a red plastic tray complete with greasy chicken nuggets and soggy green beans, but somehow she made it appear as if she were walking a runway in Milan. She was tall and stick thin, and she had the exact same shade of hair as Devon. There was no mistaking her features because they looked just like his.

“Oh. My. Goodness,” Kitty breathed. “Those shoes are awesome! And I swear I saw those exact pants in a fashion magazine.”

I wrinkled my nose. Aside from Kitty, fashionable people made me grouchy. Their mere presence made me feel short and frumpy.

Matthew waved from the end of his table. “Hey, sis! Want to sit over here?”

The girl’s expression shifted as if she’d just stepped in dog poop. “With the little kids? No. Way.”

Little kids? That was my class she was talking about! My eyes narrowed just as she glanced toward me. She gave me a smile that was half amusement and half smirk before she made her way over to the high school table and settled in between the two best-looking guys in the tenth grade, displacing Joanie with a wiggle and a bump of her curved hips.

Ugh. Another snooty Fairfax? How many of them were there?

Michelle sighed. “She is so pretty.” Then she shook her head. “But the person I truly envy is Jane.”

My peanut butter sandwich stuck to the roof of my mouth. “Me?”

“Uh-huh. Devon is so good-looking.” She paused as if she couldn’t quite bring herself to ask, but couldn’t bear not to. “What’s he like?”

“I could listen to his accent all day,” Jennifer added.

I didn’t point out that after the second egg incident, Devon and I hadn’t spoken a word to each other that wasn’t directly related to making a cheese omelet. Instead, I thought about what Devon had said about our town.

“I don’t care what kind of accent he has,” I snapped. “Maybe you all think he’s good-looking, but he’s not cute enough to tempt me. Devon Fairfax is pompous, he insults other people, and he dresses like a dork.”

“Jane!” Kitty said, reaching over to squeeze my hand so hard, it hurt. “Shut up, will you? He’s sitting right behind us. He probably heard that!”

I glanced over my shoulder.

“I don’t care. He ought to hear me.”

Devon was directly behind me, but if he’d heard what I said, he didn’t show any outward sign. He was busy spreading some sort of soft cheese onto a cracker. There was a thermos beside him and I bet it held something ridiculous like chicken consommé or sparkling water. Crème brûlée?

The other boys were making conversation with Matthew, but Devon was silent. I couldn’t help glancing over my shoulder once more, and this time Devon looked right at me.

And he didn’t look haughty . . . he looked hurt.

All I wanted was to go home, bury myself under Gram’s quilt on the B&B couch, and pretend this day had never happened.