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we’re so quaint, don’t you? Never mind that that’s kind of condescending .”
    â€œWell, why do y’all care if y’all don’t have a Southern accent?” Jacob said. He gave me another sly glance as he scooped broccoli casserole onto his plate.
    This time, I laughed outright.
    â€œUm, that’s not exactly how you use it,” I said. “Y’all is plural, and I am singular.”
    â€œBut you do say y’all?” Jacob asked.
    â€œOf course I say y’all,” I said with a shrug. “How else am I supposed to talk to people? Plural people, that is.”
    â€œUp north we say ‘you guys,’ ” Jacob said.
    â€œWell, that’s just wrong ,” I said, giggling.
    I turned away from him to check out the other vegetarians at our table. Most of them were girls whose style echoed Annabelle’s. They had hair that tumbled romantically down their backs and bohemian clothes. Their eyes were alert, almost hungry. I wondered if they were on the lookout for cute boys and if they counted Jacob as one of them.
    There was also a younger girl, maybe eleven, but you could tell she wanted us to think she was older. She wore a tank top and cutoff jeans and boots laced up to the knee. She’d chalked an electric-blue stripe into her shiny brown hair. She was listening intently to Annabelle, clearly trying to look like she knew what my roommate was talking about.
    â€œ. . . and Sadie, don’t even get me started on GMOs . . . I mean, really, it’s an issue of public health , don’t you think?”
    â€œMm- hmm! ” Sadie said.
    The corners of Jacob’s mouth were doing that twitchy thing again.
    â€œAnnabelle,” he said, after taking a big bite of his lunch, “I’m not sure what public health officials would say about this broccoli casserole. There’s a lot of cheddar going on in there.”
    â€œOh,” Annabelle said, her face falling.
    She looked like she’d never even used the word “casserole” before, much less eaten one.
    â€œI hate to break it to you, Annabelle,” I said, “but you’re in the South now. It’s not tofu country.”
    â€œWhat about salad?” Annabelle asked desperately. “Is it salad country?”
    â€œSure, there’s gelatin salad, ambrosia salad, Waldorf salad, that coleslaw,” Jacob said, motioning to the creamy cabbage that was being passed around the table. “Is that what you mean? You do like mayonnaise, don’t you?”
    As Annabelle’s caramel-colored cheeks went a little pale, Jacob laughed.
    â€œSorry,” he said. “My mom’s always on a diet. The only mayo in our house is this really gross, fat-free goop. She won’t even buy cheese. So I’m kind of in love with this lunch.”
    â€œJust add it to the list of stuff you adore about this place,” I said with a little laugh.
    â€œI better love it,” Jacob replied. “I bagged about two tons of groceries to pay for it.”
    â€œOh,” I whispered.
    Faculty families always got their room and board for free, and their class tuition was heavily discounted. So I’d never thought about how expensive it was for the regular students. Now I felt like a jerk.
    â€œSo . . .” I searched for another topic and decided, lamely, to go the way of the big green V . “What’s your reason for being a vegetarian?”
    â€œIt’s kind of corny,” he said. “My family had a potbellied pig for a while.”
    â€œNo, really?!” I said.
    Jacob laughed.
    â€œI know, it’s goofy, but my dad’s allergic to dogs and cats, and he really wanted us to have a pet,” he said. “So he got us this tiny little pig—Sally. She was really cute, I’ve got to admit. She was white, just like the pig in Charlotte’s Web .”
    â€œAnd then what?” I said apprehensively. I