Page 8 - My FlipBook

at the front of the single long table, which is always set up
for club meetings, there’s Lana. I wave enthusiastically and
then drop my hand, embarrassed.
Lana’s pale face splits into a smile. “Come on over, the
seat next to me is open.”
I usually sit near the back, but Lana’s invitation, possibly
brought on by my ridiculous waving, emboldens me. Lana
makes room by pushing several boxes of pizza away from her,
into the middle of the table, near a few liters of soda, paper
plates, all the stuff the club usually provides for meetings.
Poor college students love free food, and free weekly lunches
are one of the perks of joining this club.
Jasmine, the club president, puts her slice down the sec-
ond she spots me. She stands, wipes her hands on a napkin,
and reaches her dark, copper-toned hand out to me. “Good
to see you again, Victoria.”

I laugh awkwardly at her formality and shake her hand.
“Glad to be here,” I say, before taking a seat a few chairs
away. With a swing of her long black-and-red-streaked
braids, Jasmine returns to her spot, leaning over the podium.
I wave to Candace and Lance as they rush in, and the room
fills up with the usual twelve to fifteen people. Some sit in
chairs along the wall, behind the table.
Trey glides through the open door, heading toward us.
He waves at Lana and me.
Tall, fit, with dirty blond hair cut short on the sides but
long on top, Trey looks like he could be in a punk band. When
we first met, his friendliness immediately disarmed me.
I scoot my backpack out of the way, in case Trey wants

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