I slid into the bench of our usual window table and uttered profuse and profound apologies to everyone. Elspeth just waved her gnarled hand and without looking up from a pill bottle she was trying to open said, as if she were black and hip, “Ain’t no thang.”
“What is it with this school and everyone and their pills?” I asked handing Carlos my tote bag to place on the bench next to him. The horrible Goth creature was seated again at the table to my right and I wasn’t sure whether or not to include him in my round of hellos. So I lifted my eyebrows and smiled limply. Sydney was busy admiring the many rings decorating Vlad’s fingers before our favorite waiter could toss a strand of Day-Glo orange hair out of his eyes.
“Would you prefer Kvass or Pinko?” he asked.
“Remind me what Kvass is again?”
“A fermented drink. Sort of like beer but tastes more like piss. You’d like it.”
I rolled my eyes. “And the Pinko?”
“Pink lemonade. Shall I put you down for one?”
“Yes, and replace one of those sesame rolls in the Proletariat Platter with a second tofu blini, would you?” Elspeth took my hands in hers. I had broken out in a sweat from racing to get to lunch on time. She felt like she’d been waiting in the walk-in freezer.