As we walk between the tables, I spot a broad-shouldered guy and a long-haired guy watching us approach. They exchange a few words, and it’s obvious I’m the topic of conversation.
Just as we pass the broad-shouldered guy, his chair moves backward and smacks into my leg. Across the table, his long-haired friend smirks.
“Ow. Watch it,” I say, rubbing my leg.
The broad-shouldered guy stands up, and he’s a good six inches taller than me. “It’s not my problem if your reflexes are bad,” he says. He’s got an Italian accent similar to my aunt Jo’s, and his tone is just short of threatening.
Layla must hear it, too, because she looks from me to him like she’s trying to sort something out. “And it’s not her problem that you’re too big for these chairs, Matteo,” she says calmly.
My jaw drops. Layla didn’t say boo to Aarya or Brendan and Charles, but she’ll mouth off to this huge guy? Matteo, I think. Italian for “gift from god” or, as it happens, “tax collector.”
He lifts a playful eyebrow at Layla, but when his gaze returns to me, it’s not gentle. I get the sense he knows something I don’t and he’s not happy about it. Gift, shmift. This guy’s a tax collector. “You’re lucky you’re with Layla.”
“That I know,” I say lightly, and I catch a glimpse of approval in Layla’s expression.
He walks past me and his shoulder knocks into mine hard enough that I stumble backward.
“He’s all bark,” Layla says.
“Sure,” I say, pretending it doesn’t bother me as I watch Matteo walk away. “But what’s all the hostility about?”
I turn back to Layla, but she’s walking again and I need to pick up the pace to catch her.
“Everyone is testing you,” Layla says. “Give it a couple of months.”
She stops at a chair across from her brother, whose eyes are just as hard to meet as always. I audibly let my breath out. Months? No chance. My conversation with Ash about how no one leaves for the holidays replays in my mind, and my unsettled feeling cranks up a notch. I suddenly feel the need for some air and a place to quietly think.
“Is there a bathroom down here?” I ask Layla.
“Through the door to the right.”
I walk back between the tables, careful not to make eye contact with anyone so I don’t provoke any more aggression. I’ve never felt this way. My town is friendly. My school is friendly. There probably isn’t a person in all of Pembrook I don’t know by name, address, and pizza preference.
I open the door and slip into the quiet hallway, walking a little way down from the guard who stands outside the dining hall. I lean my back against the stone for a moment and close my eyes. This is the first time in my life that I haven’t been excited about meeting people, when I’ve wanted to be away from the crowd instead of in the middle of it. I could go outside, maybe sit in that garden. I shake my head. That would take too long and I’d probably freak Layla out that I was messing up her schedule.