Josephine
The cafeteria reeked of burnt toast and lukewarm macaroni, the air thick with the clatter of trays and shrill laughter. I'd barely sat down, my tray scraping against the Formica table, when Fiona's voice cut through the din.
"Jo, did you see your boyfriend this morning?" Her fork hovered mid-air, pasta sauce flecking the corner of her mouth.
Jessica leaned in, chair screeching against the linoleum. "Who is that woman? Why was she in the car with your boyfriend for so long?"
My jaw tightened. The headache I'd woken with had sharpened into a blade behind my eyes, and their questions—nosy, relentless—twisted it deeper. I'd spent the morning replaying the image: Lucas's car idling by the west gate, that girl in the passenger seat, sunlight glinting off her hair like a warning.
