And then there was lunch. Students everywhere, and not a friend in sight.
Oh, but there was a fiend in sight. It seems that my brother’s old buddy, Miller the Killer, has a little brother. And by little, I mean enormous. I’d seen Miller—and Mini-Miller looks just like him. Only bigger and uglier.
I was standing at the front of the cafeteria when he walked up to me. “Muuuuuunh,” he grunted. “Muuuuuuunh.” He was dragging his leg behind him.
Then he grinned a stupid grin at me.
“Are you supposed to be a zombie?” I asked. “Because clearly someone has eaten your brain.”
He narrowed his piggy eyes at me. “You’re Rafe Khatchadorian’s sister, right?” Mini-Miller plucked my chocolate chip cookie right off my tray and ate it in a single gulp.
“What makes you say that?” I replied.
Mini-Miller glared. “It says ‘Khatchadorian’ on your notebook.”
“Oh, you can read that?” I asked. That must have been the wrong thing to say, because he flipped my lunch tray right out of my hands. Food splattered all over the floor, and the hard plastic tray landed with a clatter that rang through the cafeteria.
“Oops,” Mini-Miller said. Then he laughed, stomped on my foot, and walked away.
