Page 117 of Bite Me

“I suppose it was my turn to be the talk of the town. Can’t let Olivia have all the fun. Speaking of, where is she?”

“Still in go mode, with the big performance coming up.”

“Right. Cinderella.”

We link arms, walking hand in hand to the dining hall. I don’t expect I’ll see Dacre there. I’m not sure how long it will take for him to talk to his grandfather, but it’s got to be a long, unfun process. I tried to get ready quickly and get moving so I wouldn’t think about it all morning.

“I have a lot to tell you.”

“Oh, good. I have the whole morning off to prep for my midterm.”

There’s a long line in the dining hall that, thankfully, hides us well in the bustle and the scent of freshly baked croissants and warm, honey-glazed ham. As soon as I reach for a plate, I feel eyes on the back of my neck. I’m used to being watched, but this is heavier.

Luther and Verity are seated together at a table, both facing the line with their plates empty. They have probably already eaten. Wait. No. Their plates are completely clean. They’re camped out, waiting for something.

“Miss Osborne. You’re late.”

My sister and I both turn. Miss Mulberry is perched in front of us, with her frames falling down the bridge of her bony nose. She’s the associate dean, a member of the board, and clearly standing in front of us for a reason.

“Oh, my apologies. Miss Evangeline Osborne, you’re late.”

“Late for?” My sister’s vacant expression sets alarm bells off in my head.

“You have orientation.”

“For one of my midterms? I’m not part of any clubs.”

“No, the Donor Program.”

We both still.

“I’m sorry. You’re mistaken,” she says. “I never signed up.”

“Orientation starts at 6 a.m. sharp. I received your paperwork on my desk first thing.”

“I . . . I didn’t sign up.”

Ms. Mulberry presents a piece of paper with her signature, and it looks like the little loopy squiggles of my sister’s handwriting. But Evangeline would never knowingly sign up for the Donor Program. She’s afraid of needles and has never had anything nice to say about the program since my mother’s passing.

“I don’t remember signing this. Unless . . . I signed some papers to apply for Doxlothia’s summer program, but there’s a mistake. I don’t want to be in the Donor Program.”

“I’m sorry, your approval has already been put into the system. Come on. We’ll go to the orientation, and it will ease your fears.” She pokes her bony finger into my sister’s shoulder and ushers us toward the door.

“Wait!” I spring into action, trailing behind my sister. “This is clearly a mistake. There must be something you can do.”

This woman has a death grip on my sister’s arm, and nothing I’m saying is swaying her.

I grab my phone from my pocket and text the family group chat, which now includes Parker.

SOS. Someone help me.

That’s all I manage before we reach the office on one of the lower levels of the castle. She leads my sister into a full room of students, all sitting and watching a projector screen while a monotone voice explains the various Donor Program processes.

“Here you will receive your badge, and they will prepare you to be a doner.”

“I want to talk to the dean.” Eva’s voice wavers.

“You can . . . after your orientation.”