Marked

parted the Red Sea or something.
    "It's true," Damien said.
    "Very true," Shaunee said while Erin nodded.
    "So the rumor is he used to go out with Aphrodite," I said.
    "Yep," Erin said.
    "The rumor is grotesque but true," Shaunee said. "Which makes it even better that now he likes you!”
    "Guys, he was probably just staring at my weird Mark,” I blurted.
    "Maybe not. You're really cute, Zoey," Stevie Rae said with a sweet smile.
    "Or maybe your Mark made him look, and then he thought you were cute so he kept looking,” Damien said.
    "Either way, his looking will definitely piss Aphrodite off," Shaunee said.
    "Which is a good thing,” Erin said.
    Stevie Rae waved away their comments. "Just forget about Aphrodite and your Mark and all that other stuff. Next time he smiles at you, say hi. That's all.”
    "Easy,” Shaunee said.
    "Peasy," Erin said.
    "Okay,” I mumbled and went back to my salad, wishing desperately that the whole Erik Night issue was as easy-peasy as they thought it was.
    One thing about lunch at the House of Night was the same as lunch at SIHS or any other school I'd ever eaten at―it was over too soon. And then Spanish class was a blur. Profesora Garmy was like a little Hispanic whirlwind. I liked her right away (her tattoos looked oddly like feathers, so she reminded me of a little Spanish bird), but she ran the class speaking entirely in Spanish. Entirely. I should probably mention here that I haven't had Spanish since eighth grade, and I freely admit to not paying much attention to it then. So I was pretty lost, but I wrote down the homework and promised myself that I'd study the vocab words. I hate being lost.
    Intro to Equestrian Studies was held in the Field House. It was a long, low brick building over by the south wall, attached to a huge indoor riding arena. The whole place had that sawdusty, horsey smell that mixed with leather to form something that was pleasant, even though you know that part of the "pleasant" scent was poopie―horse poopie.
    I stood nervously with a small group of kids just inside the corral where a tall, stern-faced upperclassman had directed us to wait. There were only about ten of us, and we were all third formers. Oh, (great) that annoying redheaded Elliott kid was slouching against the wall kicking at the sawdust floor. He raised enough dust to make the girl standing closest to him sneeze. She threw him a dirty look and moved a few steps away. God, did he irritate everyone? And why couldn't he use some product (or perhaps a comb) on that nappy hair?
    The sound of hooves drew my attention from Elliott and I looked up in time to see a magnificent black mare pounding into the corral at full gallop. She slid to a stop a couple feet in front of us. While we all gawked like fools, the mare's rider dismounted gracefully. She had thick hair that reached to her waist and was so blond it was almost white, and eyes that were a weird shade of slate gray. Her body was tiny, and the way she stood reminded me of those girls who obsessively take dance classes so that even when they're not in ballet they stand like they have something stuck way up their butts. Her tattoo was an intricate series of knots entwined around her face―within the sapphire design I was sure I could see plunging horses.
    "Good evening. I am Lenobia, and this," she pointed at the mare and gave our group a contemptuous look before finishing the sentence, "is a horse." Her voice rang against the walls. The black mare blew through her nose as if to punctuate her words. "And you are my new group of third formers. Each of you has been chosen for my class because we believe you might possibly have an aptitude for riding. The truth is that less than half of you will last the semester, and less than half of those who last will actually develop into decent equestrians. Are there any questions?" She didn't pause long enough for anyone to ask anything. "Good. Then follow me and you shall begin." She turned and marched back into the stable. We followed.
    I wanted to ask who the "we" were who thought I might have an aptitude for riding, but I was scared to say anything and just scrambled after her like everyone else. She came to a halt in front of a row of empty stalls Outside of them were pitchforks and wheelbarrows. Lenobia turned to face us.
    "Horses are not big dogs. Nor are they a little girl's romanticized dream image of a perfect best friend who will always understand you.”
    Two girls standing beside me