Odin's Murder

Two nights ago I was pulling night duty with the janitor for causing a “disturbance” in my section block, and tonight I’m surrounded by a hundred half-naked girls and real food, not government surplus out of a can; this is grilled chicken and baked sweet potatoes in foil. Constance is at the end of the food table, wearing a flower in her hairnet and a plastic lei over her apron, cutting up fresh pineapple with a huge butcher knife.

I skip the bowls of things I don’t recognize, and take three rolls out of a basket, shoving a fourth in my mouth.

“Hungry?” The blond from class this morning is balancing her plate and cup with one hand. The pink strings from her bathing suit top tie in a loopy bow behind her neck.

Distraction accomplished. I chew my bread and swallow. “Always.” I pluck a roll from the pile on the table. “You want one?”

“Sure, thanks.” She takes it from me, brushes my fingers with hers. “I’m Danielle.”

“Ethan.” I grab a drink and start back to my table. Julian is gone, probably in line himself. I ask, “You want to sit with us?”

“Thanks.” She smiles up at me. I cram the rest of the roll in my mouth. I’m all about girls, but it’s been a long while since I’ve made conversation with one. “So how’s your group?” she eventually asks.

I remember to wipe my mouth with the napkin. “Good, I guess. They’re a crew of geeks, but that’s

the point, I guess.”

“Sonja Williams was supposed to be on your team, right?”

“The third girl that didn’t show up today? That could be her.”

“What about Sonja?” Memory asks. She sets her plate on the table and sits down next to Danielle.

“Oh, I was asking if she was in your group. We were roommates last summer.”

“She was going to be in our room this year,” Memory says. There’s tension between the two girls at the table, and I’m curious about the no-show chick now.

“Zoe told us she wasn’t coming,” Faye says. She’s wearing a wet-suit under her dress, and her erotic necklace from this morning has been replaced with goggles, nose pinchers and a silver whistle. She sits next to me, Julian on her other side. “Dr. A. told her to let us know.”

“For real? So we’re one down in our group,” Julian says. “Perfect.”

“It’ll be fine, don’t freak.” Memory turns to Danielle. “Any idea where she is?”

“Not really. We’ve kept in touch with emails and Facebook and stuff but as far as I know she was planning to be here.” Danielle pauses, taking a bite of pork. “But, she’s kind of flighty. All over the place. Like her first year here, she was in performing arts, for dance. Last year, sculpture.”

“She really should have told someone. It’s completely irresponsible to leave our group short like this,” Julian declares to no one in particular. “I suppose this could be better, though, in the long run. One less opinion to deal with.”

“Oh, shut up,” Memory says. “I’m not talking about this project anymore. Tonight is supposed to be about having fun.”

He’s about to retort, but she leans across and lays a hand on his wrist, posture tense. “Jules, be careful, there’s a bee.”

We all freeze. One nice thing about brainiacs, they’re smart enough that they don’t start waving their arms around at stinging insects. I follow Memory’s eyes to the left, where one is nosing around in a discarded piece of pineapple.

“Are you allergic?” Faye asks.

Julian nods.

“Do you have your Epi-pen?” Memory asks.

Irritation flashes in her brother’s eyes, but his hand slides to the pocket in his cargo shorts. “Yes, Mom.”

“Bees were a symbol of kings in pre-dynastic Lower Egypt,” Faye says to no one in particular.

Danielle raises one blonde eyebrow, and her eyes flick from Faye to the twins and then to me. I shrug, and ease the bee’s plate further down the table. The bug is more interested in the fruit than human prey.

“I thought you were a vegetarian,” I say to Memory, watching her lick sauce off her thumb. I’m not that kind of photographer, but now I want to be.

She shakes her head. “We don’t eat chicken. Or turkey.”