Chapter 3
Priscilla mentally donned the armor of faith as she walked to the right side of the cafeteria. One thing she'd learned early was that the school hated her for not playing its idiotic (and usually sinful) games. Lawndale High reflected the greed and vanity of its surrounding community. All these people cared about was who bought what, who'd slept with whom, and other stomach-churning things.
Priscilla wasn't naïve enough to think the petition stood a chance, or even that she'd get many signatures. But it gave her something to do. It was hard to hear the voice of the Lord in the cafeteria. All the more reason to try and get back to the library where she could bolster her faith by shutting out the idiots around her.
Reaching the far table, standing straight and tall, she realized that she'd ended up at the place where the goths or witches—whatever the people who dressed all in black called themselves—congregated. They huddled together and spoke in low voices, and Priscilla detected talk of evil things among those inaudible whispers.
But she had to give them some credit: at least they were honest about being sinners. They didn't hide their wickedness behind cloaks of piety.
She walked to the nearest goth (a redhead she was pretty sure was named Scarlett) and slammed the petitions down on the table.
"I'm sure you people hate this cafeteria arrangement as much as me, so sign this and maybe we can get some space around here," she blurted out.
A half-dozen foundation-caked faces turned to stare at her. Priscilla gulped. Her hairs stood up on the back of her neck.
She didn't fear witchcraft. But that didn't mean she liked these people who were so enamored of it.
"Well?" she demanded, her voice faltering.
More silent staring.
Snarling, she grabbed the petitions and stalked off to the next clique.
The goths looked at each other.
"Who was that?" Scarlett asked.
Victor reached the left end, where the punks gathered. Probably not an ideal first choice—but maybe there was something to be said for getting the hardest out of the way.
The punks seated closet to where Victor stood seemed to have the wildest hairdos and accessories, the fashions getting steadily milder the farther down the table he looked, until settling into a vaguely rebellious skater punk style.
One, whose black hair had been done up in spikes that stood a good two to three inches above his scalp, reached into his backpack and took out what Victor was pretty sure was a can of beer. The spiky punk tore it open and chugged, foam dripping down his chin as some of his friends cheered.
Maybe a drunk crowd would be more receptive?
Victor cleared his throat and stepped forward.
"Uh, excuse me," he said, his thin voice lost in their cheers. "A lot of students aren't happy with the new cafeteria rules, so we're starting a petition to convince Li to let us spend our lunch periods at other locations."
No response. They hadn't even heard him. And why would they? Victor blushed, hating to be reminded of how he had the voice of a little girl.
"Excuse me!" Victor tried again.
"Spike, let me have some!" yelled a girl with feathered blonde hair.
"Get your own, Angel!"
"Bob!" the girl called. "Spike's being greedy! Make him share! That's what anarchy's about, right? Sharing booze?"
"It's more complicated than that," Bob said. A burly punk with dyed teal hair and a nose chain, he spoke with a deep and rumbling voice that Victor wished was his own. "While goods should be shared, I don't want to use coercion—"
"Sucks to your coercion!" Angel shouted, and then reached out to grab the beer.
Victor yanked the petition papers off the table just in time to avoid the booze that spilled out of the can in the ensuing struggle. The fight between Spike and Angel degenerated into a full-on ruckus at the punk table, while Bob kept shouting something about the importance of "voluntary cooperation as an underlying principle of political anarchy".
Deciding that he wouldn't get much help from the punks, Victor moved on.
Upon realizing that the next table over held most of Lawndale High's so-called Christians, Priscilla realized that she'd made a mistake in taking the right end of the cafeteria. She already had a history with these people, and it wasn't a good one.
Might as well get it over with, she figured.
Priscilla's teeth ground against each other and her fingers dug into the papers as she neared the perpetually happy Rebecca.
"Oh, hi Priscilla!" Rebecca said. "I haven't seen you in a while."
"No, you haven't." Priscilla narrowed her eyes, wondering just how much Rebecca had spent on treating her long blonde tresses. The opening of Ecclesiastes again ran through her mind.
"Well, you're welcome to join us in fellowship since I guess we all have to break bread together now. There's not much room in the table, but—"
"No, that won't be necessary," Priscilla said. "I'm launching a petition against Li's cafeteria rule." She slammed the papers on the table a little harder than she intended to.
"Oh! It is a bit crowded in here, I guess," Rebecca said. She looked to her friends. "I don't know. What do you think, guys?"
"I mean, everyone being here means we can minister to everyone in one convenient location," said the guy next to her, a generically cool looking kid wearing a jade hoodie.
"That's a good point, Ken," Rebecca agreed.
That settled it. "Spreading the Good News, I see. I'm deeply impressed at how you make time between the endless gossip and bragging," Priscilla said, taking back the papers.
Rebecca flinched, though her smile didn't entirely disappear. Priscilla suspected it was etched onto her face. "I'm 100% for the Lord! And, you know, it's not like I've ever seen you witness—"
But Priscilla was already walking away, satisfied that Rebecca had justified her suspicions of the Christian Students Club.
It was with some dread that Victor prepared to renew his acquaintance with Gary, Nate, and Paul. His previous interaction with them still blotted his memory of sophomore year. Nate, at least, hadn't grown up much judging by the way he'd done the milk stunt last Friday—but maybe the others had?
"Um, hello, Gary. Nate. Paul," he said, upon reaching them.
"Ah, if isn't Victor, the master of Toyhammer 40,000," Nate snorted. "Still playing with your plastic army men?"
"Yes," Victor said, trying to make it sound matter-of-fact.
Nate and Gary giggled, while Paul picked at his school-issued mac and cheese with a plastic fork.
"Well, we outgrew army men a long time ago," Nate said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "So begone!"
This was one of those times Victor wished he had enough wit to throw back some barbed response. But given that he wanted their signatures, that probably wasn't a good idea.
"Nate, give it up," Paul said. He adjusted the headset resting on the back of his neck and looked up at Victor. "So, what is it that brings you here?"
"I'm passing a petition against Li's cafeteria rules. I don't think any of us enjoys having to spend the entire lunch period here," Victor explained.
"On the contrary!" Nate interjected. "Li's new dictum lets us observe the ebb and flow of humanity! Not to mention the fact that it puts all the school's lovelies in one place." He rubbed his hands together.
"I, for one, am not as keen with the new lunch regime," Gary countered. "After all, we now must also deal with the school's entire idiot population."
"The only idiot here is Victor," Nate scoffed.
Victor gripped the papers, his face burning. Yeah, he wasn't that smart, sure. But intelligence wasn't even relevant to what he was trying to do!
"Shut up, Nate!" Paul retorted. "Just tell us what you want, Victor."
It took Victor a moment to respond. Paul didn't sound friendly—but at least he was listening. "I'm collecting signatures to try and persuade Li to open up the lunch period. Like it used to be."
So I can hide in the library away from people like you, he thought, but didn't say.
"All right, that sounds—" Paul started.
Nate stood up. "If we are to sign your petition, you must first answer questions three! Question the first: what is your name?"
"You literally said my name already," Victor said.
"Answer or be cast into Gorge of Eternal Peril!" Nate proclaimed.
Victor had had enough. He spun around on his heels and marched to the next crowd. He hated the cafeteria—but he hated Nate even more. Some signatures he could skip.
"Wait, Victor!" Paul called.
Victor didn't care. He didn't have much dignity, but he had some.
Priscilla had just about reached the center table, where the vainest of the vain held court. Quinn yammered away as usual, the rest of her club (or was it Sandi's?) sitting in rapt attention.
With zero signatures on her petition, Priscilla wondered if she should even bother. She never cared about style, and that alone was enough to earn their scorn. And why should she, or anyone else, care about style? Fashion was expensive. The only worthwhile use of money, according to Christ, was to give it to the poor!
Plus, being as tall as she was, finding something that fit tended to be difficult.
Suddenly a little overwhelmed, she walked past the Fashion Club and to the haute-conscious seniors, Tori and Kia, who'd been pushed next to the club by the new crowds.
"I'm sick of this already," Tori said to Kia.
"Seriously!" Kia agreed. "Little Miss Fashion's-Only-Existed-for-the-Past-Ten-Years is really getting on my nerves. We can't even have a conversation without her trying to jump in."
"They're juniors. They should know their place," Tori said.
"And you're not going to see any creativity on their part, they just regurgitate whatever Waif Magazine says. Like hello, girl! I spent hours mixing mod with Motown to get this." She gestured at her bright orange dress, which, apparently, was a mix of mod and Motown—whatever those were. "But Stacy thinks I copied a magazine ad!"
"We seriously need to do something about this stupid cafeteria rule," Tori complained.
"I know. I'm surprised no one's started a petition yet," Kia said.
"Someone has," Priscilla interjected, trying not to slam the papers down on the table as hard as she had the last several times.
There was a pause as Tori and Kia looked up at her. Wordlessly, they took out their pens and signed.
To Priscilla, the two painstakingly neat signatures just underscored the rest of the page's emptiness.
Victor had nothing to show for his efforts so far.
Given that the next people on his route were Daria and Jane, his lack of signatures felt like a particularly dire omen.
Victor stopped in his tracks for just a moment, hardly daring to breathe as the surrounding noise hammered away at his sanity. He focused on Jane: raven-haired, bright-eyed, and so sure of herself.
Did she have any idea how beautiful she really was?
He hoped she didn't. Why would she have any interest in him if she did? He was seventeen years old but looked and sounded thirteen.
Enough. He had to approach this like a soldier in the Imperial Guard—in other words, his duty was to get signatures. So far, he'd failed, but he wasn't out of the fight yet. He still held the line. Getting Jane's attention was a secondary objective.
A secondary objective that he valued far more than his primary objective, but one that was secondary all the same.
Despite being the best of friends, Daria and Jane seemed to be in their own worlds that day. Daria engrossed herself in a book and wore headphones, while Jane sketched some new and wondrous work on a piece of notebook paper. At least Daria listening to music meant he could make his pitch to Jane, alone.
As he walked, Victor's stomach seemed to drop to his ankles, and then drop again past his feet and keep on falling until it reached the Earth's core.
"Excuse me," he said, his voice sounding even more high-pitched than usual, "Jane?"
Jane blinked and looked up from her art, which was comprised of cartoonish ink sketches of stunning creativity: squat businessmen with gouts of flame for hair, an anthropomorphized SUV serving itself gasoline, and a caricature of Ms. Li as a planet orbited by smaller caricatures of various teachers.
"Yo," she said.
Daria paid them no heed.
"Um, I'm passing around a petition to get Ms. Li to change the new cafeteria rules," he said. Focusing on the task at hand made it easier to talk to her. This way, he was a man on the job, not just some smitten would-be suitor.
"Also, I really like the art you're making," he added.
"Aw, you do? Here, it's yours."
She offered Victor the notebook paper.
"Oh, no! I couldn't just take them—they're amazing!"
Jane gave him a look that suggested either confusion or annoyance—he hoped it was the former. "You said you liked them, right? Look, these are just random lunchroom doodles. But hey, if I ever get famous you can hock them on eBay. I won't mind. Helps my publicity."
Ooh, she wasn't just a visionary artist, she also understood business! "On that case, thank you," he said, taking the sketches with a trembling hand and not quite believing it.
"Hey, Daria," Jane said. Daria looked up and took off her headphones.
"Yeah?"
"This kid here—"
Kid? Oh, God, of all the ways she could have referred to him, why did she pick that?
"Victor! My name's Victor, by the way!"
"Right. Victor here's passing around a petition to get Li to end her stupid cafeteria rule."
Daria's eyes turned back to her book. "Please. The only way Li will ever roll anything back is if she's paid to do it, or if something threatens her. Your petition isn't a bribe or a threat, so it won't do anything."
"Hmm," Jane said. "I'm not seeing a lot of signatures here, either. As in, I'm not seeing any."
"We only just started—" Victor began to say.
Their eyes met. Victor froze up and hope he didn't look like the deer staring into headlights that he basically was at this point.
"Sure, why not," Jane finally said. "Come on, Daria. At least we can mildly annoy Ms. Li."
"Fine," Daria said.
Daria didn't even look as she reached into her jacket and took out a ballpoint pen, which she used to scribble her name. Jane signed the space below.
"Here you go."
"Thanks!" Victor said, taking it back.
"Good luck," Jane said, sitting back in her chair and looking up at the ceiling.
Too nervous to stand around any longer, hardly believing what had just happened, Victor walked away to report his meager win to Priscilla.
"With a whopping four signatures between the two of us, I'm sure Li will look at our petition. And then toss it in the wastebasket."
Victor had no choice but to agree with Priscilla. "It is only our first day. Maybe we could try again tomorrow?"
Not that he really looked forward to the idea.
"They've closed their ears to us," Priscilla said with a jagged voice, making a sweeping gesture that took in the entire lunchroom.
"I may have come off as a little too timid," he admitted. "I can try to sound more commanding."
"Timidity's not your only problem," came a new voice, scratchy and feminine. "You both kind of suck at presenting yourselves."
Victor wasn't sure how they hadn't noticed the speaker step up to them, what with her bright red newsboy cap awkwardly perched on a mass of frizzy orange hair. She didn't exactly blend in.
"Who are you?" Priscilla demanded.
"Kelly LeMoyne, reporter for the Lawndale Lowdown. I noticed you making the rounds with your petition. There's definitely a story there—but you need to do more. Way more."
Okay, thought Victor. This was good. Some advice.
"I don't read the Lowdown," Priscilla said. "I don't know anyone who does."
Kelly smirked. "Since when do you know anyone?"
Victor stifled a laugh.
Kelly kept going, heedless of Priscilla's scowl. "Now, I can write a good story out of this petition—but you need to get more people involved."
"I agree. How?" Victor asked.
"Don't go around trying to get each person's signature. Instead, what you want to do is talk to the popular students, the ones whose opinions actually matter. Get them on your side, and they'll talk their friends into signing for you."
Victor and Priscilla turned to each other.
"I think Kelly has a point."
"I guess," Priscilla said, sounding like she was forcing herself to say it. Then she glared at Kelly. "Why are you so eager to help?"
"I don't like this new cafeteria situation any more than you do. Plus, if you pull this off, I can get an inside angle on the story."
Priscilla drew back. "I guess I can accept that.
"Also, you really need to stop shooting yourself in the foot, Priscilla. You barely give the other person a chance to talk."
"Wait," Priscilla said, "just how long were you following me?"
Kelly waved her hand. "That's not important. As for you," she turned to Victor, "you aren't aggressive enough."
"Wait," Victor said, "how were you following both of us?"
"Anyway," Kelly continued, speaking faster, "you two should work more closely together—you'll balance each other out that way."
Or compound each other's flaws, Victor thought.
"You said we should go after the popular students. Who specifically?" he asked.
"Boy, you two really have been hiding under a rock. Kevin and Brittany, obviously."
"It's not as if the entire school follows those two," Priscilla said, her face stormy.
Kelly showed her palms. "No, but their opinions do matter. Tell you what: I'll get you a list of some other notables and give it to you tomorrow morning before school, at the front gate. So, you two capiche?"
Victor and Priscilla both nodded.
"Great! I'll be in touch." Kelly turned around and gave them a backhanded wave.
"That may have been what we needed," Victor said.
Priscilla knitted her brow. "She just wants a story she can spin."
"Considering that we can't even fill a single page worth of petitions, I don't see how our situation could any worse with her help."
"It can always get worse. Just ask Job."
Vincent blinked. "Job? Wait, that's a Bible story, right?"The bell rang. "Read the Bible and find out," Priscilla said, before turning around and leaving.
Under normal circumstances, Victor might have been disappointed. But he wasn't.
Because he'd talked to Jane.