Pucker by Melanie Gideon

Author:Melanie Gideon
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-SIX

THE NEXT MORNING I STAND in the entrance of the Refectory wondering where I should sit.

“Thomas,” yells Jesse, waving me over.

I can feel everybody looking at me as I make my way down the aisle. I keep my hands down at my sides, not wanting anybody to see the big wet patches under my arms. I’m nervous and incredibly self-conscious and there’s no such thing as deodorant in this backward world. The rest of my group is already assembled. Dash sits at a table with the other Hosts. He gives me a jaunty salute as if to say, Glad you could make it.

“Where’ve you been?” asks Michael as I sit down. Clearly my tardiness annoys him.

“I overslept,” I say, shooting Dash a dirty look.

I’d slept fitfully that night, not knowing what was real and what was dream. I guess Dash saw no need to make sure I got to the Refectory on time.

I’m starving. Everyone’s already eaten. An empty platter sits in the middle of the table. I look around, hoping to signal somebody to refill it, but the kitchen is closed.

“Here.” Jerome stabs a piece of his sausage with his fork and plunks it on my plate.

“Where’s the coffee?” I ask.

“Over there.” Rose points to Dash’s table.

“You’re kidding me,” I say as it becomes clear only the Hosts are allowed coffee. I groan. This is a disaster.

“Um, excuse me, hello,” says a voice, interrupting my thoughts.

I look up into the brown eyes of a teenage girl.

“I’m Tammi 622,” she says.

She’s pretty. Long blond hair, a smattering of freckles, ears that stick out the tiniest little bit. She hands me a square card imprinted with the number 7 on it.

“Will you accept?” she asks.

“Accept what?”

Jesse leans across the table. “Are you crazy? Who cares what she wants? Just say yes.”

“Okay,” I say. “Yes.” I hand the card back to her.

“No. You keep it,” she says. “You have to give it to your Host.”

Tammi is pushed aside by a petite girl with short black hair and a tattoo of a grapevine that creeps across her neck like a garden snake. “I’m Lina 231. Will you accept?”

I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s clear I’m in demand: for what I’m not sure. I glance up and see Phaidra sitting a few tables away. Nobody sits on either side of her and I can tell why: she’s radiating get-the-crap-away-from-me vibes. She peers down at her empty plate with feigned interest.

I turn back to Lina.

“Well?” she asks.

Her card reads 7:30. So, the number signifies a time.

“What’s happening at seven thirty?”

Lina gives me a funny look. “Are you open to receiving callers or not?”

Callers? These girls are asking me for dates! I glance at Phaidra again—now I’m sure she’s purposely ignoring what’s going on at my table.

“Sure. Why not,” I say loudly, placing her card on top of Tammi’s.

As soon as I say this, I’m plagued with guilt. I’m here to find my mother’s Seerskin; I’ve got no business arranging dates. I reassure myself with the thought that I’ve got to play along, convince them all that I’m here for good.

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