Queta and Gerald walked in, dressed plainly.

The sight of them elicited disdainful scowls from many of the women in the restaurant.

“Isn’t that Queta Smith? She came here, to Surati?”

Next, a group of four or five girls and guys entered as well. As they walked past the table where Gerald and Queta were seated, some of them stopped in their tracks to stare at Queta in surprise. A playful spark flitted through those eyes.

“Linda…oh, hey, everybody…” Queta blushed as she greeted them, setting her food down and clutching her dress nervously.

Linda was fetchingly made-up and wore a form-fitting little black dress that only barely covered her butt.

Her female friends were clad in similarly risqué fashions, while the guys had piercings which announced their considerable social statuses.

It should be fair to assume that these were Queta’s classmates.

They had such teacher training courses at Gerald’s university too. You get all sorts in there.

Some were rich brats who’d failed to qual