Orion didn’t say anything back. He just stood there with egg literally on his face and blobs of porridge clinging to his hair, pale and bewildered. Everyone around was darting uncertain looks at him. I stood up and said to Todd, “You’d sail right out of here, enclave boy. And let the mals eat the kid in the room next to yours instead of you. That’s what you’d do. But yeah, have a go at Orion. Sorry, did I miss why you have more of a right to live than anybody he’s saved? More than Mika? How long did it take for him to stop screaming when you shoved him into the dark? Do you even know, or did you just plug your ears and look the other way until it was over?”

The whole room had gone so deathly quiet I could hear Todd’s gulping as he stared at me bloodshot. Everyone was probably holding their breath not to miss a single nuance of this magnificent escalation of gossip. I picked up my tray and turned round to Orion, who looked back at me still shut-down, and I told him, “Come on. We’re getting another table.” I jerked my head to Aadhya, too, who was gawking up at me herself, and she scrambled up and grabbed her own tray and fell in with me, darting looks at my face sideways. Orion did come after us, moving a little slowly.

The only empty tables left were bad ones, far at the edges and right by the doors or under the air vents—obviously nobody had left the cafeteria a second early with this excitement going on—but as we were passing him, Ibrahim blurted into the still-total silence, “El, we have room,” and waved some of the kids at his table to slide over and make space for us. The senior bell went off then, and we sat down surrounded by the sudden burst of activity and noise of all the seniors jerking into motion at once, shoveling in the last of their food and grabbing their things to rush out. Todd went out with them, weirdly separate from the rest, a ring of space left round him.

Orion sat down on the end of the bench, empty-handed. Yaakov was on the other side across from him; he picked up his napkin, hesitating, and I reached out and took it and shoved it at Orion. “You’re a mess, Lake,” I said, and Orion took it and started wiping himself clean. “Can anyone spare anything?” I put one of my own rolls in front of him, and then one after another every single one of the kids at the table started passing something down, even if it was just half a mini muffin or a section of orange, and a kid at the table behind us reached out and tapped me on the shoulder and handed me a carton of milk for him.

The conversation at our table was completely dead at first; with Orion right there, nobody wanted to talk about the only thing anybody wanted to talk about. Aadhya was the one who got things moving; she finished drinking the milk from the bottom of her cereal bowl—in here that’s standard, not bad manners—and wiped her mouth and said, “Any of you doing Sanskrit? You’re not going to believe what El got. El, you’ve got to show them,” and I was even more grateful that I’d petted my book so much and put it in the special sling, because I’d forgotten about it completely for a few seconds, and if I’d had it in my bookbag, I am absolutely sure it would have vanished on me.

“Baghdad enclave!” Ibrahim and two others yelped instantly, the second I pulled it out—all the kids who know Arabic can spot books from the Baghdad enclave three shelves away—and since they couldn’t talk about the real news, mine did for second-best.

I had languages after breakfast, and Orion had alchemy. He put the rubbish from his piecemeal breakfast on my tray and bused it for me, and then just as we were going out the door, he said quietly, “Thanks. But I know you didn’t mean it.”

“I did too mean it,” I said, irritated, because now I had to work out why I did. “Someone’s always got to pay, but why should Homicidal Todd get a leg up on anyone else? You’re stupid for letting down your side, but you’re the one who wants it to be fair. Go to your lesson and stop looking for a cwtch.” It irritated me even more that he actually shot me a grateful look before he headed for the stairs.

Predictably, an Arabic worksheet appeared on my desk the instant I sat down that morning. There wasn’t a single word of English on it; the school didn’t even give me a dictionary. And judging by the cheery cartoonish illustrations next to the lines—most notably a man in a car about to mow down a couple of hapless pedestrians—I had the strong suspicion that it was modern Arabic, too. I should’ve got a book on Classical Arabic out of the library before going to class. When you’ve been exposed to a language you didn’t really mean to start, you’re better off giving in and just establishing some boundaries. I’d just been a bit busy yesterday.

I’d already been resigned to my fate, though, and a Saudi girl who’d been at Ibrahim’s table that morning had a booth near me; she lent me her dictionary in exchange for a promise to proofread her English-language final paper. I copied out the alphabet into my notebook first and then started slogging away on the worksheet, copying out every word I looked up. And for a silver lining, I also couldn’t understand a single word of the venomous tirade that the booth voice poured into my ears in between grudgingly telling me how to pronounce and . I imagine it was full of particularly juicy horrors.

There was a lot of other non-magical whispering going on around me the rest of the day, among the other kids. It occurred to me, much too belatedly, that I’d just graduated from pathologically rude bitch to enclave-hater. It’s not that we don’t all know that it’s unfair, but nobody says so, because if you say so, enclavers don’t invite you to join them on the better side of the unfair. Orion’s shine might have gone off, too, if enough enclave kids had decided that Todd was right. Maybe the two of us would end up sitting alone. That would be epic. My unpopularity massive enough to drag down Orion Lake himself.

It didn’t look good when I first got to the cafeteria at lunchtime. None of the enclavers who’d been making up to me lately said a word; no more study group invites from Sarah today. But as I came off the food line, Aadhya got there from shop with three other artificer-track kids and waved to me on her way into the line. “Save us seats, El?” she called across the room. Nkoyo and her pals, who were a few kids behind me, heard her; I don’t know if that made the difference or not, but she said, “I’ll get us water if you do a perimeter,” and though Jowani and Cora exchanged slightly anxious looks, they followed her lead.

By the time I’d set the perimeter and we were sitting, Aadhya and her crew were there, and they’d even got me an extra piece of cake to say thanks, the way you normally do when you ask someone to save you a place. Not that I had any personal experience before now, as people had always previously made their excuses if I asked them. Liu came, too, and sat down quietly on my other side. She was still carrying a faintly shell-shocked expression, incongruous with the actual color in her face, which had shifted at least ten degrees over on the spectrum from undead to just pale; even her hair had hints of brown in it under the sunlamp. “Did you do a UV potion, Liu?” one of Aadhya’s friends said. “You look great.”