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Cindy is up before Zip is this morning, which is unheard of for a Saturday. Zip wonders at that for a moment, but when she stretches and sits up, Cindy looks startled and says, “Is it that late already?”
“I, uh, I guess. Did you sleep?”
“No, I stayed up working on this essay.” Cindy scowls at it and rakes a hand through her hair. “I’ve done enough, I guess. Maybe I should go to bed now.”
“Are you hungry?” Her usual offering of oranges and a bagel stands, of course, but Zip has that fluttery speedster butterfly feeling and her words are pouring out fast. “Because if you want to – and I mean, only if you really want to – well-you-could-go-to-breakfast-with-me-if-you-want –”
It’s a testament to her familiarity with Zip’s speech that even as exhausted as she is Cindy can understand her. She musses her hair again and says, “Give me a minute to get my shoes on.” Zip blinks, realizing that yes, Cindy is still in her clothes from yesterday, apparently never having changed into pajamas.
Zip throws on her favorite shirt and her usual shorts and ties her shoelaces three times, like always, for luck, but since Cindy agreed to go she’s already pretty lucky this morning, right? Right. By the time she’s ready, Cindy is, so they leave for the mess hall.
It’s so weird walking to the mess hall. She can see it from here, screen door left open as always, but she lets Cindy set the pace and tells herself she’s not shaky with hunger or nerves, thank you, it’s just the change of routine that’s making her feel off kilter.
Cindy hands her a tray when she grabs one for herself – Zip has hers half filled before they get to fruit and pastry section, which Maks is manning. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet and grinning. He leans over to address Cindy, looking very serious for a moment. “Are you Zip’s Mistress Citrus? Because if you are, this is an unprecedented honor, I assure you!” Cindy looks nonplussed but accepts the fruit he hands her. Zip is blushing but isn’t quite sure why. Maks shoots her a thumbs-up before they turn to find someplace to sit and eat.
They sit side by side at an empty table. She’d looked for Mal, but didn’t see him – he was probably having breakfast with his mom – and Cindy said that Ofelia was probably in the pool already. Cindy’s elbow bumps hers as she digs her fingers into the orange peel. Zip tucks into her grits and scrambled eggs, acutely aware of the girl beside her. She asks about Cindy’s paper and thinks that oranges smell different, better, on Cindy’s breath than they do on her fingers.