I look at her like she’s lost me. “But she’s British, right?”

Layla shakes her head. “No one knows where she grew up. She’s impeccable with accents. The best in the school.”

I stare at Layla. “Did you just tell me something personal about someone?” I can’t help but smile.

“What I told you is that Aarya’s from the Jackal Family, and by your reaction to my analysis of you earlier, I can now say that you’re Italian.”

“I—” I catch myself before I tell her that she’s only half correct—my mom was Italian and my dad’s American. Jackal Family? Something about that feels oddly familiar. “What does that mean, that she’s a Jackal?”

What looks like genuine shock appears on her face. “I told you to stop that.”

I close my mouth, pretty sure that whatever response I give next will be wrong.

“You’re not good enough to go up against Aarya,” Layla says, “and you’ll hurt all of us with your stupidity.”

I exhale audibly. “I honestly don’t know what to say to you right now. You won’t let me ask questions. And you yell at me when I say I don’t know what’s going on. I get that maybe you don’t like Aarya, but if she wants me to have lunch with her, I don’t see what’s so bad about that. Unless you’ve changed your mind and suddenly want to explain it.”

Layla looks at me long and hard. It almost seems like she wants to ask me a question. Then without a word she turns and starts walking faster than before.

“Layla?” I call after her.

“I need to think,” she says, and I have to practically run to catch up with her.

For the next hour, Layla doesn’t say one word to me that she doesn’t have to.

LAYLA WALKS ONE step ahead of me into the cafeteria, which looks like it was modeled after a royal banquet hall. There are three tables. The one at the front of the room seats about twenty and is arranged on a raised platform. And two long tables, seating at least fifty each, run perpendicular to it. All the tables have maroon velvet chairs in neat rows and crisp white tablecloths that are super impractical for a herd of teenagers. There are centerpieces made from sprigs of spruce and white flowers, and from the ceiling hang wrought-iron chandeliers with real candles.

Teachers take their seats at the elevated table and the students politely and quietly find theirs. There is a low buzz of conversation, but nothing like the chaos of my cafeteria.

I follow Layla down the middle of the tables. Each place is set with china plates and silverware that looks freshly polished, something I thought belonged exclusively to movies. As I’m gawking at the fancy place settings, I hear my name. I look up and find Aarya smiling at me from across the table.

“Sit, sit,” Aarya says, and Felix pulls out a chair.