The Geek Revolution ✓

04 | mathematician

SUBTLETY IS NOT TERRENCE'S STRONG suit.

I paused for not even ten seconds to peruse the cafeteria, examining the room for a suitable group to sit with. I can't find Leah and her friends anywhere — a sneaky suspicion tells me they're probably camped out in the band room, or maybe the classroom where I have Music. On the back wall of the cafeteria is a blue and gold crown — the emblem of our school.

Terrence spotted me and shot his arm into the air. 

"Soph! Sit with us," he offers, looking around to the four other people at his table, smiling.

From my point of view, it looks like they sit at the cleanest table in the cafeteria. It can still pass for white, whilst all others have gum stuck on top, stains and dirt marks. Terrence's long table also breaks the rule of having a minimum of eight people sitting there. There are five seats, all occupied.

Two things come to mind: where I am going to sit, and how important these people must be to have such a privileged eating situation. Even their food looks better than mine. I mean, at least their curry isn't congealed. That is, I think what was slopped onto my tray is meant to be curry.

Terrence must realise the shortage of chairs at the same time I do.

But, like he's doing me a favour, he reassures my doubt with a confident smile, gets up, and takes a chair from one of the surrounding tables, completely ignoring the girl who's already moving to sit down. My earlier train of thought about being booted out of my homeroom chair rockets to the fore, but this time the humour is gone. 

I just feel cold, and a bit shocked, watching the encounter play out in real life to someone else.

She opens her mouth, indignant, looking about to ask for her chair back. When she sees that Terrence is the one who took it, all the protestation driving her falters. Her mouth clamps shut on whatever demand she prepared to make. Finally, she turns away grumbling to herself, on the end of many pitying looks from her friends.

What the...

The whole confrontation leaves me gaping. I fall speechless, wide-eyed and outraged. Terrence must be some sort of god to these people, if he can take things without asking, and escape without even an objection from the victim.

Or maybe he's the school dealer, and everyone here is hooked on his drugs. I had that sneaky suspicion from how he brought up pot during our first meeting, and his jittering, never-ending energy.

"What the hell was that?" I command an answer, clearly remembering the same fear in the eyes of everyone on the bus.

That stuff Terrence used to explain why everyone seems smaller, somehow, of pranks and friends in high places doesn't nearly cover this degree of weirdness. His friends look like normal teenagers. 

His next words don't cover it either, "She owes me a favour."

Terrence thinks that I believe that, assuaged by that aloof shrug and dazzling smile of his, but inside, I'm thinking the whole thing is bullshit if I ever heard it. Just like Leah's he probably just stumbled. Did she not see his foot sliding out? Does Terrence not see the resentment on the poor girl's face?

In a passing glance, I notice four other people sitting at the table. I recognise Madison Murdoch, and she does the same, with a sickly sweet smile. In the next second, she's already returned to her phone.

The second and last girl at the table has sleek brunette hair and almond-shaped eyes. Eyes that feel like needles on your skin, slim lips and a slender frame. Everything about her is razor-sharp; the navy blue eyeliner – that I've never seen anyone pull off so elegantly – tapered to a point, the thin dangling earring she wears, the vertex of her black V-neck shirt.