DOMINION Bentley Little (accelerated reader books .TXT) 📖

Kevin, then looked down at the paper in his hand.

He blinked.

He’d gotten a perfect score.

He had not missed a single question.

As always, the cafeteria was crowded, and he and Kevin sat on top of one of the round plastic tables in the adjacent eating area outside as they waited for the lines to die down.

“You really know your mythology,” Kevin said, running a hand deliberately through his hair. Like Dion, he too had not studied, planning to wait until the week before the test to crack the books, but unlike Dion he had missed nearly a fourth of the questions, putting him in the low-B range if the teacher graded on the curve.

Dion shrugged self-consciously. “Not really,” he said. “I guessed. I was just lucky.”

“On multiple-choice tests you can guess and be lucky. On short-answer tests you can guess only if you have knowledge to begin with, if you have some names to choose from. I mean, shit, you were the only one to get a perfect score in the whole class.”

It was true, but Dion did not know why it was true or how. He was embarrassed, and he said nothing. He found himself glancing down at the tabletop to read the graffiti penciled on the faded plastic. He looked up as a skinny blond kid in a black heavy metal T-shirt walked belligerently up to them, frowning. “What do you think this is? A pussy convention? You’re sitting on my table.”

Kevin calmly raised his middle finger.

“You think that’s cute, Harte?”

“Not quite as cute as your mama’s titties, but it’ll do for now.”

“Get off.”

“Fuck you.”

“Your ass, Harte.” The kid left, scowling, his own middle finger raised aggressively.

Dion said nothing. He had been silent during the verbal exchange, half afraid that the newcomer might try to pick a fight with one of them or, even worse, return with his bigger, tougher friends, but he let none of his feelings show. Kevin seemed to know how to handle this guy, or at least acted as though he did, and Dion trusted that his new friend knew who could be pushed and how far, knew when to speak out and when to shut up.

At least he hoped so.

“Guy’s a needledick,” Kevin said, as if reading his thoughts. “Don’t worry about him. All talk and no show.”

Dion nodded as if that was what he had suspected all along.

“Hey,” Kevin said. “Check it out.” He nodded toward the cafeteria lines.

Making their way between the tables toward the open double doors were Penelope and a short black-haired girl with thick glasses. “Here’s your opportunity, bud.”

Dion jumped off the table. “You come with me.”

Kevin snorted. “Hell, no. This is your move. You go over there and talk to her alone. I’ll still be here when she shoots you down.”

Penelope and her friend were at the back of one of the lines, and Dion knew that if he didn’t move now, someone else would take the spot behind her. He quickly zigzagged through the crowd of teeming students.

He was in luck. He got in line behind her just as a group of cheerleaders got in line behind him. It had all happened so fast, he had moved without thinking, and now he didn’t know what to do. His hands were sweaty, his stomach churning. He didn’t want to tap on Penelope’s shoulder to get her attention or to speak to her before she noticed his presence, so he simply readied himself in case she turned around, trying to relax and put on a show of comfortable ease he did not feel.

When she did turn around a moment later and saw him, he pretended to be surprised. He cleared his throat. “Hi,” he said. “I didn’t recognize you.”

She looked surprised too, but she smiled when she saw him. She had a nice smile, he thought. A friendly smile. A real smile.

“Hi,” she said.

“My name’s Dion. I’m in your Mythology class.” He knew it was stupid the moment he said it, but there was no way to take his sentence back.

She laughed. Her laugh was warm, casual. “I know who you are. I corrected your paper, remember?”

He reddened, unsure of what to say or how to respond, afraid he would say something even dumber.

“I was really impressed by how well you did on the test,” she added.

“Yeah, well, thanks.”

“No, I mean it. You really know your stuff.”

The line moved forward, and Dion realized with something like panic that it was his turn to say something, but he could think of nothing to say.

There were at least six people between Penelope and the food. This was his one and only chance; he’d better think of something good, or they’d wait the rest of the time in silence and it would be all over. He glanced toward Kevin, who gave him a thumbs-up sign.

What the hell was he supposed to say?

It was Penelope’s friend who saved him.

“I don’t remember seeing you here before,” she said. “Are you new?”

He relaxed. Now he was home free. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m from Arizona. My mom and I just moved here a little over a week ago.”

“It must be tough to come to a new school,” Penelope said.

He looked at her. Was he imagining it, or was there more than just casual interest in her expression, in her tone of voice? She had spoken almost wistfully, as if she understood how he felt, as if she had been there herself.

As if she cared.

No, he was just reading nuances which were not there.

“Yes,” he said. “It is tough. I don’t know anyone yet.”

“You know us,” Penelope’s friend said, smiling.

Dion smiled back. “That’s true.”

“And you know that Kevin Harte,” Penelope said. There was something in the way she said “that Kevin Harte” which implied that she did not like his new friend.

“Well, I just met him,” Dion said.

And then they were through the line and at the food, their opportunity for conversation at an end. Penelope took a covered bowl of salad and a can of