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"I have heard that." Well, she has. She passes him yesterday's class notes, meticulous and interspersed with bits of Angela's handwriting; this notebook is school stuff exclusively. "My lab partner is sick today, but she'll be back."

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"I wonder what they'll do with me then," he says dryly.

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"No idea." She starts setting up the slides for the observations.

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'John' assists as much as is reasonable.

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Class proceeds. She needs to lay eyes on him regularly to be confident he's not eating people. She doesn't have to talk to him.

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At some point during the lesson - it's hard to tell exactly when - a certain water gun appears among Bella's belongings.

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She looks at it.

She does not smack herself on the forehead.

She just tucks it onto her belt where it belongs, biting her lip.
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Her lab partner smiles slightly.

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Of course he does.

Bella goes on with the assignment. She hasn't had time to check the USB key yet; she's going to have to go back to the house and fetch it after school. She does not know what to make of "John Escott" or "Sherlock Holmes" at all.

One of the laser pointers is tucked up her sleeve, clipped by its pen-cap-like protruberance to a rubber band there; the others are at home waiting for her to find new homes for them for reverse-engineering in case the plans are bust.
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Class ends. Next up: lunch!

'John' inspects the food, complains theatrically, and then gets himself an apple juice "because it's harder to fuck it up when it comes in a bottle" and retires to a table to drink it, discouraging visitors with sarcasm and glaring.
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Bella sits at another table, not with Angela as usual but with some more casual friends. She's mildly entertained by the complaints; that's one way to handle it.

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Apple juice and misanthropy for lunch it is! Two great tastes that taste great together.

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Pfff.

Mike is being annoyingly solicitous to Bella today. She deflects him, gently, as though oblivious; she's known him since kindergarten and she's accustomed to him, but that doesn't mean she wants to go to dinner and a movie without at least four of their other friends along to make it clearly a group thing.

Presently lunch is over and it's time for World History.

Then gym.

Bella doesn't have to swing through the locker room. She does gentle mat-related exercises in the corner; Ms. Finch knows better than to demand that she learn floor hockey.
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By chance, the new student happens to have gym with her.

Ms. Finch takes one look at his outfit - the same rather flamboyant one from last night - and says, "You don't have gym clothes yet, do you."

"Correct," says 'John'.

Ms. Finch sighs. "Fine. You can go sit with Bella." She points. "And please get some gym clothes."

"As soon as I can," he assures her, and goes to sit with Bella.
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"Hello again." She leans to touch the toes on one outstretched leg.

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"Here I am in tragic exile until such time as I obtain gym clothes," he agrees. "I suppose I'll have to get a job. Won't that be exciting."

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"Potentially. The USADI outpost is always hiring but I might die of irony."

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He giggles. "You wouldn't be the only one. Besides, I'm sure they do more than wave a cross."

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"I imagine so. How did you get into town?"

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"Oh, how most people do, of course. They waved crosses. I didn't flinch."

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Bella peers at the crucifix around her own neck. Everyone wears one. The worldwide adherence to Catholicism just about tripled over the course of the few years it took for vampires to be truly common knowledge, but the crosses and holy water work for everyone. "How'd you do that?"

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"It is possible to train yourself out of the habit."

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"It must be staggeringly difficult, for the tests to be so reliable regardless."

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"I have often been accused of excessive stubbornness."

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"Ah."

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