Chupacabra
Felicia wasn't pleased to have been relegated to the kids' table for dinner that night. She would rather have been enjoying herself in the company of the too-perceptive-for-his-own-good Dale and annoyingly stubborn, handsome, and skilled Shane Walsh. But no, she was jammed between Glenn, who was passing notes with his new lover like a twelve-year-old with a crush, and Ingrid, who, after bringing dinner up to the recovering Daryl, was making some sort of art project out of her food. Feeling on edge but unsure why, she addressed the redhead, "Seriously? You're what, nineteen? You're supposed to be eating that."
"I am," argued Ingrid, not looking up from balancing a green bean on top of a mountain of potatoes.
Felicia shook her head, eyes wandering across the room to where the adults were talking. She and Shane hadn't interacted much since arrival at the camp, but she was now feeling paranoid about their last conversation. He had been looking at her… differently now, and she couldn't figure out whether that was good or bad. They had made eye contact on several occasions, and each time she had seen not his typical rough, confrontational stare but instead something softer, contemplative. As if he was considering something. She didn't like it, mostly due to the unfamiliarity, but it might be that he had just taken her offer seriously. She decided she would try talking to him again soon, but given the day's events she doubted she would get the opportunity right away.
Patience.