Poppy Sanders's Story

Poppy casually made her way through the camp, her hair like a beast and a smile on her face that screamed mischief.
She was late for cadwells class but that was okay. She didn't plan on joining in. Poppy knew the person who would be accompanying her wouldn't appreciate jumping around.

Saddling up to an open window Poppy popped her head inside. The room smelt musty and felt humid. It was the place of a person who'd been lying in bed for too long, a day and a half too long. In the dim light she sought out the mound beneath a heap of covers with a foot sticking out of one end and a bit of hair out of the other.
Taking note of the tablets and water on the side she cleared her throat and smiled brightly.

"Tabbi..." she cooed.

Silence.

"Oh Tabbi..."

Her friend had been ill and had spent the whole previous day in bed. Poppy couldn't fathom why she needed to spend any more time festering in her room. Didn't she know by now that the best medicine was a daily dose of vitamin P.Sanders? Trying to jolt the window open wider Poppy wiggled her way through some more and out stretched her arm to tickle the visible foot.

"Use me as bait?" Sinclair repeats, frowning at Lukas, having finally recovered from his giggle fit, "Ok. Fine. I'll do it. You'll see." He pushes his chair out and stand, picking his way through the other desks and chairs to the front of the class. "But please remember" he says over his shoulder, grinning,"That if I die, Lukas made me do it." He glances across at Keating as he gets closer to the desk, but their teacher's face betrays nothing, so he carries on. He stops a few feet away and crouches down to the rabbit's level, "Well, hello" he coos at it. The rabbit stares back at him, and he tries to remember back to the rabbits his little sisters kept in the garden back home; had they all had the same wide, black eyes as this one? Another glance in Keating's direction, and he reaches out to pet it between the ears, tentatively. It doesn't seem to mind that, and he throws the others a triumphant grin over his shoulder.





Tabbi can hear someone, through the fog of half-sleep, calling her name, but she doesn't have the energy to acknowledge them, so she just plays dead. The hand on her foot is harder to ignore, though; she's always been horribly ticklish and her feet are a particularly sensitive spot. She sits, bolt upright, "Stopitpoppy!" she says, so quickly that it becomes one long word. She looks at Poppy, grumpy, "What do you want? Haven't you heard that I'm on my death bed?"