“Calli, wake up.” Clara’s voice pulls me out of my sleep. “It’s time for lunch, after which we’ll pick back up in my office.” She turns and leaves the room.
I rub my eyes with my palms, and realize I’ve slept for three hours. I stand and walk over to Beth’s full-length mirror to make sure no unruly hairs are standing straight up on my head. I study the face looking back at me in the mirror and run my fingers through my short hair to fluff it a little. Even though I don’t look any different on the outside—my green eyes are the same, I still have the same high cheekbones, straight nose, and normal-sized ears—on the inside I have changed dramatically. According to Clara, I have superhuman powers.
I feel an unusual need to enhance my physical attributes before going down to lunch. I dig through my bags and pull out the makeup case buried at the bottom. I apply a bit of mascara to my lashes, then stop. What am I doing? I have an epiphany. No amount of makeup will improve the cranky attitudes and opinions of the other Runners. If there’s any respect to be earned, I want it to come from my achievements, not my looks.
I head downstairs and take my place at the end of the lunch line, behind two guys. They glance over their shoulders at me, frown, and turn forward. Up ahead, several girls chat quietly, and I read their lips. They are talking about me. One says I lit into Beth as soon as our bedroom door shut, and the other says Beth told her I was bitterly cruel with my words and was probably a spy. They both make eye contact with me and then turn away, giggling. Idiotic female jocks.
A different girl, who’s standing nearby, talks to her friend about Chris. She’s infatuated with him because he touched her arm. The other girl informs the first that Chris’s heart is already taken. He said so himself, she says. The first girl refuses to accept this information and admits to actively pursuing his attentions.
Oh, brother! This is the kind of stuff I can live without!
A group of guys, with Chris in the lead, enters the dining hall in a tight V formation like a flock of geese. A boy next to him whispers in his ear and points in my direction. Chris looks at me as he passes. His stare is deeper than innocent eye-to-eye contact. I can’t tell if he’s curious or upset, but his lingering gaze tells me something’s on his mind. I smile at him hoping he might smile back, but instead he diverts his gaze back to the food line. His group inserts itself into the front of the line, and nobody seems to mind. I wonder what the point is of having a line if there’s no order to it.
On second thought, I would let him cut in front of me. I’ll admit, being the girl that I am, I’m willing to recognize undeniable attractiveness, even if it belongs to a jock. The fact his heart is already taken, like that other girl said, means I can look all I want.
The lunch menu includes some kind of disgusting cold soup—which could be mistaken for raw sewage—more fruits and vegetables, and broiled fish. I hate fish. What I wouldn’t do for some sandwiches or a hamburger or fries—or ranch dip for that matter. The only dip available is hummus. Yuck!
“You’d better get the soup,” a male voice says behind me. “It’s called Muck Soup, and they made it just for you.”
“Because I’m a muck?” I answer without turning around.
“Bingo.”
“Be careful, or I might start thinking you care.” I glance over my shoulder to find the guy I ran into last night.
“The soup is made from enchanted herbs and energy-boosting vegetables. You should eat it because it helps you run faster—and because it’s good.”
“Are you sure? It looks like . . . muck.”
“Exactly,” he says with a diabolical sneer.
An equally good-looking, dark-haired guy smacks his arm, “Hey, Justin, you’re not supposed to be talking to the newbie.”
“Shut up, Will!” Justin looks at me once more and walks away with Will.
I accept my serving of muck soup and take my barely-filled tray to the table with the younger kids. They all stop talking as I sit down, and some of them turn around to see if they can move to another table.
I angle my head slightly to the left and see Beth, Justin, Will, and some other girl sitting at a nearby table, laughing—probably at something to do with me. Beth catches my eye and the smile falls from her face.
At a table to the right sits the flawless exemplar of manliness, Chris, who I can only assume is the best of the best, the Runners’ king, the top dog. He’s listening to the conversations at his table. I admire his stunning profile, and feel an incredibly strong attraction to him. His head turns in my direction, with his gaze coming to a halt when our eyes meet. His neutral expression turns to a grimace and he shakes his head a fraction of an inch. I don’t know if his head-shake is meant for me or if he’s responding to the table conversation. He redirects his gaze to the guy sitting across from him.
The others must have noticed his attitude change because a couple of them look over at me. One guy turns all the way around in his chair to find me. Their expressions are unmistakably negative.
My heart thuds in my chest. I look away so I don’t have to feel their disapproval.
Why are all jocks such jerks? I’ve never been one to like the arrogant athletic type, and that’s too bad for me because I am now surrounded by both female and male jocks.
The look on Chris’s face, the whispers of other Runners, and Beth’s constant icy stare sparks something inside me—a rebellious burst of energy. Beth warned me not to show off at the time trials, but I say to hell with her and all these egotistical jocks! I’m not scum! I’m a damn fast athlete, and everyone will find out tomorrow morning. They all hate me anyway. Why not bask in the glory of earning their hatred? I’ll shake everything up and sit back and watch as they scramble to normalize.