Fated

row of straight white teeth. “Well, just so you know, the answer is yes to all three. So tell me, was this your first clue?”
    She taps her cane against the gray-tiled floor, the move causing my cheeks to heat so much I’m glad she can’t see me. Still, I’m not about to let her off the hook. “So with that in mind, how could you possibly know I’m a green-eyed brunette?” I ask, looking her over again, wondering if she’s faking it, wondering if there was some kind of school bulletin warning all the students about the incoming new girl.
    But Xotichl just smiles and says, “Some might say I’m perceptive.”
    “And what would you say?” I ask, my voice a little edgy, tired of being toyed with.
    “I’d say I agree.” She lowers her head, tries in vain to hide the grin that sneaks onto her face.
    I fidget. Heave my bag high onto my shoulder as I try to drum up some kind of reply. But before I can gather the words, the bell rings, and a swarm of students burst into the hall, while Xotichl stands in the middle, with an army of students careening around her.
    “Do you need help?” I ask, not wanting to offend, but they all veer so close, it’s like they don’t even see her.
    “Don’t we all?” She laughs, tapping the tip of her cane against the toe of my boot. “But in this case, I’m pretty sure you need way more help than I do. So, if you’re looking for the office, it’s straight ahead. Fifty-two steps from where we now stand. Though for you, it may be as few as forty-five—forty-seven tops—considering how much taller you are. And your legs are much longer too—lucky you.” She laughs again.
    I squint, wondering how she could possibly know all that. Is she mocking me? Having fun at my expense? Is she not really blind? Is anyone in this town who they present themselves to be?
    But before I can reply, she’s gone. Cane sweeping before her, heading down the hall as a path clears all around her.

twenty-five
    I wish I’d prepared.
    Wish I’d taken the time to do a little research by watching a weekend’s worth of high school–themed movies.
    Because this—this school—this insane social scene—feels as foreign and chaotic as the day I got lost in the Moroccan medina.
    It’s all about the bells. Bells are in charge around here—they rule everything. They usher us to class, scold us when we’re late, then prod us again when it’s time to move on. The sequence repeating over and over—until I’m just like everyone else, numbly reacting to that abruptly shrill sound.
    Except, I’m not like everyone else. I’m not like anyone I’ve seen so far. And despite my attempts to blend in, thanks to the events in the hall between the mean girls and Cade, I now stand out in the very worst way.
    Nothing in my life has prepared me for this. Not one single thing. I feel like a lab rat stuck in some horrible experiment meant to measure how I adapt to brutal forms of social segregation and weirdness. And the sad news is, I’m producing way below average results.
    I stand to the side of the lunchroom, or cafeteria, or whatever they call it. The vegetarian lunch Paloma packed with great love and care tightly clutched in my fist, though I’ve no clue as to where I’m supposed to go eat it.
    Having already committed the most heinous crime of all by sitting at the wrong table, I’m not sure I’m up for trying again. I’m still shaken by the way those girls acted—so self-righteous and territorial, so burdened by my presence at the end of their bench.
    It’s the seniors’ table , I was told. I have no right to sit there. Ever . And that includes holidays and weekends.
    “Duly noted,” I replied, grabbing my lunch and standing before them. “I’ll do my best to steer clear of it on Christmas. Easter as well. Though Valentine’s Day is a wild card I just can’t commit to.” And though it felt good at the time, I’ve no doubt it was a reckless act that only made things worse.
    I heave a deep sigh and survey the room, wondering how Jennika might’ve handled such a thing back when she was my age. Barring the fact that she was already in her first trimester of carrying me, she’d probably head straight for the table where the bad boys sit, making them fall madly in love with her during the first five minutes.
    And while the bad boys’ table isn’t all that hard to spot—just aim your dart for the guys dressed in leather jackets, trying too hard to look dangerous and jaded—and