She lived to meddle.
Silver should have recognized the warning signs the second Americus slid into the seat across from her in the dining hall, her tray loaded with enough food to feed a small army. The plate overflowed with golden fries that were still steaming from the fryer, and two desserts balanced precariously on the edge—a slice of chocolate cake and what looked like bread pudding drowning in caramel sauce. It was the kind of meal that suggested either celebration or the need for serious comfort food to fuel an elaborate scheme.
Riley followed more cautiously in Americus's wake, carrying a modest bowl of salad with the suspicious expression of someone who'd learned not to trust the dining hall's more ambitious culinary attempts. Her careful approach to institutional food was the opposite of Americus's enthusiastic embrace of anything that looked remotely edible, a contrast that somehow perfectly captured their different approaches to college life in general.
