Shelby shrugged off Luce’s hand. “Should I be impressed by that part of your résumé, too?”
Luce was just about to ask what it was Shelby had heard about her when she felt a warm hand on her shoulder.
Francesca, the teacher who’d met Luce at the door last night, was smiling down at her. She was tall, with an imperious bearing, and was put together with a style that came across as effortless. Francesca’s soft blond hair was cleanly flipped to one side. Her lips were glossy pink. She wore a cool fitted black sheath dress with a blue belt and matching peep-toe stilettos. It was the kind of outfit that would make anyone feel dowdy by comparison. Luce wished she’d at least put on mascara. And maybe not worn her mud-crusted Converses.
“Oh, good, you two connected.” Francesca smiled. “I knew you’d become fast friends!”
Shelby was silent but rustled her paper. Luce just cleared her throat.
“I think you’ll find Shoreline a very simple adjustment, Luce. It’s designed that way. Most of our gifted students just ease right in.” Gifted? “Of course, you can come to me with any questions. Or just lean on Shelby.”
For the first time all morning, Shelby laughed. Her laugh was a gruff, gravelly thing, the kind of chortle Luce would have expected from an old man, a lifetime smoker, not a teenage yoga enthusiast.
Luce could feel her face pinching up into a scowl. The last thing she wanted was to “ease right in” to Shoreline. She didn’t belong with a lot of spoiled gifted kids on a cliff overlooking the ocean. She belonged with real people, people with soul instead of squash rackets, who knew what life was like. She belonged with Daniel. She still had no idea what she was doing here, other than hiding out very temporarily while Daniel took care of his … war. After that, he was going to take her back home. Or something.
“Well, I’ll see you both in class. Enjoy breakfast!” Francesca called over her shoulder as she glided away. “Try the quiche!” She waved her hand, signaling to the waiter to bring each girl a plate.
When she was gone, Shelby took a big slurp of her coffee and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Um, Shelby—”
“Ever heard of eating in peace?”
Luce banged her coffee cup back into its saucer and waited impatiently for the nervous waiter to put down their quiches and disappear again. Part of her wanted to find another table. There were happy buzzes of conversation going on all around her. And if she couldn’t join one of them, even sitting alone would be better than this. But she was confused by what Francesca had said. Why pitch Shelby as some great roommate when it was clear the girl was a total hater? Luce milled a bite of quiche around in her mouth, knowing she wouldn’t be able to eat until she spoke up.
“Okay, I know I’m new here, and for some reason that annoys you. I guess you had a single room before me, I don’t know.”
Shelby lowered the paper just below her eyes. She raised one giant eyebrow.
“But I’m not that bad. So what if I have a few questions? Forgive me for not coming into school knowing what the hell the Nephermans are—”
“Nephilim.”
“Whatever. I don’t care. I have no interest in making you my enemy—which means some of this,” Luce said, gesturing at the space between the two of them, “is coming from you. So what’s your problem, anyway?”
The side of Shelby’s mouth twitched. She folded and set down the paper and leaned back in her chair.
“You should care about the Nephilim. We’re going to be your classmates.” She flung out her hand, waving it at the terrace. “Look out at the pretty, privileged student body of the Shoreline School. Half of these dopes you’ll never see again, except as the object of our practical jokes.”
“Our?”
“Yes, you’re in the ‘honors program’ with the Nephilim. But don’t worry; in case you’re not too bright”—Luce snorted—“the gifted track here is mostly a coverup, a place to stow away the Nephs without anyone getting too suspicious. In fact, the only person who’s ever gotten suspicious is Beaker Brady.”
“Who’s Beaker Brady?” Luce asked, leaning in so she didn’t have to shout over the rough static of the waves crashing on the shore below.
“That grade-A nerdo two tables over.” Shelby nodded at a chubby kid dressed in plaid who’d just spilled yogurt all over a massive textbook. “His parents loathe the fact that he’s never been accepted into the honors classes. Every semester, they wage a campaign. He brings in Mensa scores, results from science fairs, famous Nobelists he’s impressed, the whole shebang. And every semester, Francesca has to make up some bunk unpassable test to keep him out.” She snorted. “Like, ‘Hey, Beaker, solve this Rubik’s cube in under thirty seconds.’ ” Shelby clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Except the nimrod passed that one.”
“But if it’s a cover-up,” Luce asked, feeling sort of bad for Beaker, “what’s it a cover-up for?”
“People like me. I’m a Nephilim. N-E-P-H-I-L-I-M. That means anything with angel in its DNA. Mortals, immortals, transeternals. We try not to discriminate.”
“Shouldn’t the singular be, you know, nephil, like cherub from cherubim and seraph from seraphim?”
Shelby scowled. “Seriously? Would you want to be called a nephil? It sounds like a bag you carry your shame in. No, thanks. Nephilim it is, no matter how many of us you’re talking about.”
So Shelby was a sort of angel. Strange. She didn’t look or act the part. She wasn’t gorgeous like Daniel, Cam, or Francesca. Didn’t possess the magnetism of someone like Roland or Arriane. She just seemed kind of coarse and cranky.
“So it’s like angel prep school,” Luce said. “But for what? Do you go on to angel college after this?”
“It depends on what the world needs. A lot of kids take a year off and do Nephilim Corps. You get to travel, have a fling with a foreigner, et cetera. But that’s in times of, you know, relative peace. Right now, well …”
“Right now what?”
“Whatever.” Shelby looked like she was biting the word. “It just depends on who you are. Everyone here has, you know, varying degrees of power,” she went on, seeming to read Luce’s mind. “A sliding scale depending on your family tree. But in your case—”
This Luce knew. “I’m just here because of Daniel.”
Shelby tossed her napkin on her empty plate and stood up. “That’s a real impressive way to pitch yourself, Luce. The girl whose big-shot boyfriend pulled some strings.”
Was that what everyone thought about her here? Was that … the truth?
Shelby reached over and stole the last bite of quiche off Luce’s plate. “If you want a Lucinda Price fan club, I’m sure you can find that here. Just leave me out of it, okay?”
“What are you talking about?” Luce stood up. Maybe she and Shelby needed to rewind again. “I don’t want a fan club—”
“See, I told you,” she heard a high but pretty voice say.
Suddenly, the girl with the green scarf was standing before her, grinning and nudging another girl forward. Luce glanced past them, but Shelby was already far away—and probably not worth catching up to. Up close, the green-scarf girl looked kind of like a young Salma Hayek, with full lips and an even fuller chest. The other girl, with her pale coloring, hazel eyes, and short black hair, looked kind of like Luce.