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course, Etta knew it wasn’t any of those things.
    Olivia had cried, twice that Etta had heard, late at night as Etta lay staring at the ceiling. They were soft sobs, so low and sad that Etta couldn’t bring herself to say anything to her new roommate. But, as it turned out, hearing a person weep in the night made it impossible to envy her in the morning.

Chapter Five
    Etta stepped into the dining hall a few minutes later. When she glimpsed Olivia sitting at their usual table next to Poppy, tension melted from her neck and shoulders. Olivia was so messy in most ways that her perfect posture always took Etta by surprise. Olivia’s hair was coiled into a loose twist at the nape of her neck.
    “Excuse me,” a voice came from behind Etta.
    Etta spun around and was standing face to face with Chase Quinn. “Hi Chase.”
    He said nothing.
    Etta stepped out of his way, and he strode past her, his red hair disappearing into the swirl of people moving about the room. Etta remembered a few sentences from her critique of “Ancient Soldier,” and a hollow ache spread through her stomach and into her chest. She wrapped her fingers around the doorframe. Why had she been so cruel?
    Etta looked up, and Olivia was waving at her and grinning. Etta smiled and propelled herself toward their table. She plunked her book bag on the floor and winced at the scrape of her chair as she yanked it out.
    Poppy blew on her beef stew—a medley of shredded meat, carrots, potatoes, and green beans—that might look appetizing, except that morning Carl had mentioned that he’d be covering the grounds again, leaving Candy to prepare lunch.
    “Where’s Jor?” Etta asked.
    Olivia produced a slice of French bread from the basket on the center of the table and extended it to Etta. “Either the lid fell off Carl’s salt shaker, or Candy’s cooking today.”
    Etta groaned. She thought about telling Olivia and Poppy about Carl’s whereabouts, but focused on unwrapping a pad of butter instead. “You don’t know where Jor is?”
    Olivia shook her head and tore a piece of bread off her slice. She rolled it between her palms, forming a ball.
    Maybe he’s mad at you for sitting with Robert North yesterday,” Poppy said.
    Etta opened her mouth to discount Poppy’s comment. Did Poppy have a doctorate in saying the wrong thing to people? Then Etta thought of the way Jordan acted before he disappeared from their porch yesterday. “Are you and Jor fighting?”
    “Of course not. Listen . . .” Olivia lowered her voice. “I’m about to burst. I have some gossip.” Her dark eyes jetted back and forth. “But you have to swear on your lives that you won’t tell anyone. Promise?”
    “On our lives?” Poppy raised a thin eyebrow and grinned. “Wow, this must be good.”
    “It is,” Olivia whispered and glanced behind her. She set the bread ball, which had taken on a grayish hue, next to her stew and leaned forward. “Do you promise?”
    Etta nodded and inched her chair closer to the table. Olivia glanced over both shoulders again, and Etta reached for the glass of ice water in front of her. She was salivating, partly from hunger, but mostly from the suspense Olivia seemed to be reveling in creating. She took a gulp and plunked the glass down too hard. Water sloshed over the sides. Etta yanked on her napkin to mop up the puddle, and her spoon clattered to the floor. She closed her eyes. “Please just tell us, Liv.”
    Poppy shoved Jordan’s spoon toward Etta. “By the time Jor gets here, his soup will be a big slimy salt lick anyway.” She giggled. “A slippery stewsicle.”
    “That’s disgusting,” Etta said with a groan.
    Poppy stuck her tongue out and bulged her eyes, pretending to lick a Popsicle. Etta laughed.
    Olivia leaned forward. “So you guys have to promise you won’t tell anyone . . .”
    “Okay,” Etta said.
    “Because if you do . . .”
    “You’ll slaughter us in our sleep.” Poppy giggled again.
    Olivia narrowed her eyes