“I'm not sure how to order.""Easy," Josh says. "Stand in line. Tell them what you want. Accept delicious goodies. And then give them your meal card and two pints of blood.""I heard they raised it to three pints this year," Rashmi says."Bone marrow," Beautiful Hallway Boy says. "Or your left earlobe.”

“Everyone's here except for St. Clair." Meredith cranes her neck around the cafeteria. "He's usually running late.""Always," Josh corrects. "Always running late."I clear my throat. "I think I met him last night. In the hallway.""Good hair and an English accent?" Meredith asks."Um.Yeah.I guess." I try to keep my voice casual.Josh smirks. "Everyone's in luuurve with St. Clair.""Oh,shut up," Meredith says."I'm not." Rashmi looks at me for the first time, calculating whether or not I might fall in love with her own boyfriend.He lets go of her hand and gives an exaggerated sigh. "Well,I am. I'm asking him to prom. This is our year, I just know it.""This school has a prom?" I ask."God no," Rashmi says. "Yeah,Josh. You and St. Clair would look really cute in matching tuxes.""Tails." The English accent makes Meredith and me jump in our seats. Hallway boy. Beautiful boy. His hair is damp from the rain. "I insist the tuxes have tails, or I'm giving your corsage to Steve Carver instead.""St. Clair!" Josh springs from his seat, and they give each other the classic two-thumps-on-the-back guy hug."No kiss? I'm crushed,mate.""Thought it might miff the ol' ball and chain. She doesn't know about us yet.""Whatever," Rashi says,but she's smiling now. It's a good look for her. She should utilize the corners of her mouth more often.Beautiful Hallway Boy (Am I supposed to call him Etienne or St. Clair?) drops his bag and slides into the remaining seat between Rashmi and me. "Anna." He's surprised to see me,and I'm startled,too. He remembers me."Nice umbrella.Could've used that this morning." He shakes a hand through his hair, and a drop lands on my bare arm. Words fail me. Unfortunately, my stomach speaks for itself. His eyes pop at the rumble,and I'm alarmed by how big and brown they are. As if he needed any further weapons against the female race.Josh must be right. Every girl in school must be in love with him."Sounds terrible.You ought to feed that thing. Unless..." He pretends to examine me, then comes in close with a whisper. "Unless you're one of those girls who never eats. Can't tolerate that, I'm afraid. Have to give you a lifetime table ban."I'm determined to speak rationally in his presence. "I'm not sure how to order.""Easy," Josh says. "Stand in line. Tell them what you want.Accept delicious goodies. And then give them your meal card and two pints of blood.""I heard they raised it to three pints this year," Rashmi says."Bone marrow," Beautiful Hallway Boy says. "Or your left earlobe.""I meant the menu,thank you very much." I gesture to the chalkboard above one of the chefs. An exquisite cursive hand has written out the morning's menu in pink and yellow and white.In French. "Not exactly my first language.""You don't speak French?" Meredith asks."I've taken Spanish for three years. It's not like I ever thought I'd be moving to Paris.""It's okay," Meredith says quickly. "A lot of people here don't speak French.""But most of them do," Josh adds."But most of them not very well." Rashmi looks pointedly at him."You'll learn the lanaguage of food first. The language of love." Josh rubs his belly like a shiny Buddha. "Oeuf. Egg. Pomme. Apple. Lapin. Rabbit.""Not funny." Rashmi punches him in the arm. "No wonder Isis bites you. Jerk."I glance at the chalkboard again. It's still in French. "And, um, until then?""Right." Beautiful Hallway Boy pushes back his chair. "Come along, then. I haven't eaten either." I can't help but notice several girls gaping at him as we wind our way through the crowd.”

“Chronicler froze. 'So you're saying I work for you?''I'm saying you belong to me.' Bast's face was deadly serious. 'Down to the marrow of your bones.”

“An Irishman walks into a pub,” she begins and the bar went silent. “The bartender asks him, ‘What'll you have?’” Her Irish accent was spot on. “The man says, ‘Give me three pints of Guinness, please.’ The bartender brings him three pints and the man proceeds to alternately sip one, then the other, then the third until they're gone. He then orders three more.“The bartender says, ‘Sir, no need to order as many at a time. I’ll keep an eye on it and when you get low, I'll bring you a fresh one.’ The man replies, ‘You don't understand. I have two brothers, one in Australia and one in the States. We made a vow to each other that every Saturday night we'd still drink together. So right now, me brothers have three Guinness stouts too, and we're drinking together.’“The bartender thought this a wonderful tradition and every week the man came in and ordered three beers.” January’s playing and voice became more solemn, dramatic. “But one week, he ordered only two.” The crowd oohed and ahhed. “He slowly drank them,” she continued darkly, “and then ordered two more. The bartender looked at him sadly. ‘Sir, I know your tradition, and, agh, I'd just like to say that I'm sorry for your loss.’“The man looked on him strangely before it finally dawned on him. ‘Oh, me brothers are fine - I just quit drinking.”

“That's it," Rashmi says. "I'm outta here. Enjoy your hormones.”

“People will tell you cannot live your dreams, this is what I say to them; NEVER SAY NEVER”