“Today, we’ll learn how to prepare appealing meals for your masters.” The Old Timer’s thin indigo lips round into a demonic smile. “Exciting, eh?” He starts yapping about how happy we’ll make our overlords by preparing delicious dinners for them. I start doodling ‘Lessons in Stupid-tude’ over and over in my notebook.

Cissy’s tawny eyes focus on the envelope that half-hangs out of my backpack. “What’s that?”

I keep scribbling away. It looks productive and passes the time.

Cissy clears her throat. “I asked you a question, Myla.” She points at the envelope again.

I yawn. “Oh, that’s our invite for Zeke’s party Friday night.”

Cissy starts hyperventilating. “That’s an invite to where Friday night?”

I stop scribbling and realize my huge error. “Uh, I’ll tell you later.”

The Old Timer finishes his speech on pleasing our overlords. Half the class chit-chat in little groups. One guy snores in the back row.

“Impertinence!” The Old Timer stops twiddling his mustache so quickly, I think he’ll rip it off his face. “Pay attention to your master!” The room falls quiet; the sleeping kid raises his head. If the Old Timer were a cartoon, he’d have smoke coming out of his ears right now.

“That settles it.” Our teacher strides over to his desk, jotting down a quick note. “To punish your lack of focus, we shall have tests all next week.” He slaps his bony fists onto the tabletop. “That means robe-cleaning, foot massage, and groveling etiquette, as well as our lesson for today, meal preparation.”

A long groan erupts from the students; everyone sits straighter in their chairs. The dog-tailed kids stop wagging.

“At last, I have your full attention.” The Old Timer rubs his gray hands together, explaining how ghouls like things spicy, drink cough syrup like wine, and are allergic to fish. Oh, they eat a ton of worms too. “Everyone follow me to the demonstration area.”

The class steps over to a long metal table. Our teacher picks up a huge bowl of wriggling worms in his left hand and a tall bottle of Tabasco sauce in his right. “Who wants to prepare a delicious meal?” He looks like a cross between a black-robed scarecrow and Betty Crocker.

Cissy pokes me in the ribs. “Zeke asked me to go too, didn’t he? Please tell me he did.” She really needs a hobby.

I hip-check her. “Quiet, Cis. You’ll get us in trouble.”

“Myla Lewis.” The Old Timer snaps his gray head in my direction. “Is there something you’d like to share with the rest of those in servitude?”

“No, sir.”

The Old Timer sets the worm-bowl and Tabasco sauce onto the prep table. “Perhaps you believe your special status as Arena fighter means you don’t have to follow class rules like everyone else?”