slammed my locker door.

Lunchtime.

Shelton and Hi intercepted me en route to the cafeteria. We trudged down the hall, a sorry-looking group.

The morning had begun with a school-wide assembly. Speakers had droned on about the need for energy conservation. I thought I’d qualify for Medicare before they finished.

The four of us had huddled near the back, breathing only on ourselves. Nervous. Hoping to avoid infecting the entire student body.

Because of the program, both lunch periods had been combined for a special buffet menu. Organically grown vegetables. Free-range chicken. For the first time that year I hadn’t packed a lunch.

Shelton still felt lousy. So did Hi. No new reactions, but the lingering sickness did nothing for their spirits.

I felt crappy too, but kept it to myself. At least I hadn’t attacked another rodent.

Ben was waiting at the cafeteria entrance. We entered as a group.

The line was long, but moved quickly. After purchasing our selections we commandeered a table in one corner, near an emergency exit.

I dug into the veggies. Carrots. Snap peas. Buttered asparagus. If this option became standard, I’d never brown bag again.

I was chasing a pea across my plate when a strangled whine interrupted my thoughts. I looked up just as Shelton dropped his fork. His hands flew to his head and his lids slammed shut.

“No,” he muttered. “Not here.”

“Shelton, are you—”

The clatter of Ben’s fork caused me to turn.

Ben’s eyes were vacant. Spit bubbles foamed at one corner of his mouth.

“Ben?” I said softly.

No response.

“Hey! Blue!” A little louder.

Across the table, Hi dropped his utensils.

“Chicken,” he whispered. Then his hand shot out and swept veggies from his plate. Zucchini and squash splattered the tabletop.

“Hi? Hiram?”

Oblivious, Hi grabbed a chicken leg and stripped off the flesh. Shoved it between his jaws.

Beside me, Ben gnawed a drumstick, grinding both meat and bones with his teeth. I watched juice dribble down his chin and dampen his shirt.

Horrified, my eyes scanned the room. So far, no one seemed to have noticed the drama playing out at our table. That wouldn’t last. Hi and Ben were making a mess.

I was debating a course of action when Shelton clamped a chicken breast with his teeth and shook it savagely.

My eyes dropped to my own plate.

SNAP.

Boiling oil rushed through me. My brain jumped the tracks.

Oh no.

The odor of poultry overrode all other sensations. On instinct, I stuffed a piece of chicken into my mouth. The taste was indescribable. Drool covered my tongue.

Stop! STOP!

Closing my eyes, I dug my nails into my palms. Hard. Until it hurt. Willing my higher centers to regain control.

Blinking away the haze, I looked around.

The boys were shredding meat with their hands and teeth, all manners forgotten. Then I saw it.

Shelton’s irises glowed deep saffron yellow.

I checked Hi, then Ben. My heart thudded madly. Their eyes shone with the same golden radiance.

Dear God in heaven!

The boys continued gorging, unaware of the Lion King scene they were making. I had to do something. Our table was a disaster of strewn utensils, shattered bones, and smeared veggies. Someone would spot us at any minute. We’d be the joke of the school forever.

My mind blanked. The fingernail trick worked for me, but I didn’t know how to call the others back. Without a better idea, I did the one thing I knew would clear the room.

Against every principle, everything I knew to be right, I pulled the fire alarm.

A piecing wail blasted from the PA system.

I jumped away from the little box, already feeling guilty.

The false alarm continued to scream out, blaring, refusing to be ignored.

Still slammed, my ears were hypersensitive. The pain was almost unbearable. A moan rose from my throat. The boys pawed their ears in agony, food forgotten. Shelton fell to the floor and curled in on himself.

The other students jumped to their feet, aware of the Bolton routine and knowing this wasn’t a drill. With a clatter of trays and a few screams, the anxious mob rushed the front doors. In their hasty retreat, not a single person glanced our way.

In seconds we were the cafeteria’s only occupants.

“Let’s get out of here!”

I blasted through the emergency exit, desperate to escape the mind-splitting sirens.

SNUP.

Midway across the yard my knees buckled as if gunshot. I fell to the grass, rolled twice, and lay still.

Slowly, awareness reasserted itself. Running teachers. Huddled students. My friends lying nearby, panting, speechless.

Gradually, my body returned to normal. For long moments no one moved.

I spoke first.

“Did you guys like the chicken?” I asked. “Mine was a bit dry.”

Dead silence.

Then nervous laughter rose around me.

It was music to my bruised ears.