Free Alone by Kate L. Mary

something funny to say? Something like: Jacob, but only if he puts a bag over his head.
    Mac doesn’t even bat an eye. “Roman is a huge Twilight fan. He’s read all the books and at least once a month he makes us all get together for a movie marathon. He even has a team Edward shirt that he sleeps in every night.”
    I blink, trying to decide what to say to all that, but Mac doesn’t let up. He goes on and on about Roman’s obsession, and the more he talks, the more I find myself relaxing. Next thing I know, I’m laughing.
    Roman, who is the butt of Mac’s joke, doesn’t laugh, but he doesn’t look pissed off either. He just stands at his friend’s side with a smirk on his face and his arms crossed over his chest as Mac describes in detail Roman’s man crush on Edward Cullen.
    Watching Roman stand quietly off to the side while Mac talks makes me understand him just a little bit more. He’s evolved. Things are different since the infection, and Roman has somehow figured out how to stay himself but fit it into this new life at the same time. Mac is part of that.
    Carmen appears in the hall behind us and crosses her arms, putting on a mock frown. “Shouldn’t you guys be heading up to class?” She’s staring right at Mac.
    Mac’s cheeks turn bright red and he tries to form a few words, but they don’t quite make it out of his mouth.
    Roman laughs and slaps him on the back. “We’re going. Come on, Jules, we’ll take you up to the biggest waste of time you’re ever going to experience.”
    Roman walks off without looking back, and Mac trails behind him. I smile at Carmen before running up the stairs after them.

    Roman was right. School is a huge waste of time. It’s basically just Roman, Mac, Viki, and me sitting around, talking and pretending to read whenever the teacher comes back to check on us.
    “Is this what we do every day?” I ask Viki.
    She nods and shrugs at the same time, rolling her eyes. “Yeah. They have like, two teachers who go back and forth between the classes. It’s stupid.”
    “How many classes are there?”
    She purses her lips and looks up for a few seconds while she thinks. “There’s one class for kindergarten through third grade, and then another for like, fourth through sixth grade. I think. Then they have seventh, eighth, and ninth together. And then us. I think. Whatever, there are four.”
    I have to fight back the smile that threatens to break across my face when Viki talks. It isn’t easy. She’s really nice and bubbly, but a total ditz. I have her pegged as the perky cheerleading type. Every time she gets up from her chair and bounces across the room, I find myself imagining pompoms in her hands.
    Ms. Lloyd pops her head into the room, her eyes scanning the group like she’s counting to be sure no one has left. Since there are four of us, it seems a little like overkill. “Everyone working?”
    We all nod, and Ms. Lloyd mimics it before hurrying off to teach the younger kids. I had the assignments she gave us at the beginning of class done in less than thirty minutes. I’m not sure if I’m done for the day, but I do know she is not qualified to teach high school students.
    To me, Ms. Lloyd looks more like an old school librarian than a teacher. She has her brown hair pulled back in a bun—an actual, real-life bun. It would be completely out of place on her since she can’t be more than twenty-eight years old, except that she dresses like she’s in her forties. The denim skirt she’s wearing goes down to her ankles, and the pink, hideous cardigan looks like something straight out of a movie from the 1980s — complete with shoulder pads—and her glasses are way too big for her thin face.
    My first thought when she walked into the room: cat lady. I find myself smiling as I picture the scene. Ms. Lloyd curled up on her couch on a Friday night, holding a glass of wine and a book while her fifty-two cats roam her one-bedroom apartment. Calling them her babies