Dieciseis #2
When are you done playing with sharp objects?
Stop saying cute shit before I throw my fucking phone.
Me:
Probably never, so stop texting me.
Hunter “Pendejo” Wilton:
You gonna go to the cafeteria after class?
Me:
Prolly yes, you fucking stalker.
That’s what people do at lunchtime.
Thanks for mentioning it and making me think about food. Pinche cabrón.
“I’ll say it again for those of you who weren’t paying attention.
” The professor’s voice is loud through his mic, and I look up immediately, like he’s somehow only talking to me.
I immediately feel guilty, like I got caught doing something bad, and shove my phone in my hoodie pocket like I’m hiding away evidence or some shit.
“I’m changing the reading schedule and will have my PA email all of you by tomorrow. Try to pay attention to that instead of whatever kept you from paying attention to today’s lecture. I’ll see you next class.” Oh Diosas , that idiota distracted me and I missed the whole fucking class.
“I was hopin’ he couldn’t see us all the way back here, but I guess he did,” the voice next to me says out of fucking nowhere. I snap my head toward the football player and scowl while staring at his face. Why does he look so familiar?
“His lecture today was borin’ as hell, looks like everyone tuned him out, even you.” It’s his accent. He sounds like Sloane… and he’s got red hair like her, too. Does she have a brother? I don’t know, I’ll have to ask her.
“You went from not knowin’ that your phone was vibrating to not puttin’ it back down all class, I’m Davis by the way. I’m new here, just started.” He sticks out his hand like he’s expecting me to shake it. I just stare at it instead.
“Why are you talking to me?” No one talks to me.
“Why wouldn’t I talk to ya, we’ve been sittin’ next to each other and I’m tryin’ to meet new people,” he answers with a look on his face like it’s fucking obvious. As if.
“I’m not people,” I tell him deadass.
“What are ya then? Your notebook says, Edison,” he chin points while eyeing the permanent marker lettering. This shit is mine, and I put my fucking name on all my stuff.
“I’m no one, and I’m leaving,” I tell him while standing up before grabbing my shit to go. I don’t trust people who act this friendly.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, you goin’ camping with that big bag? Hold on, lettme help ya here,” he says, standing up and tries to take my backpack off my shoulders. I instinctively move out of the way and duck away from him.
“ No me toques, cabrón,” I yell out, as his palms fly up and he takes a step back. “Don’t touch me!” The group of students in our section goes quiet and stares at us.
“I’m sorry, darlin’, I was just trying to help and be friendly,” he says, attempting to defend himself with a look of concern on his face and sincerity in his voice.
“Well, don’t.” Even if this man and Sloane are related, I don’t know his ass, and I don’t give strangers the benefit of the doubt. That shit is reserved for the few people who make my list of individuals I can trust.
I step out of the aisle and push some people out of the way to get to the exit. I can feel them all looking at me. Some bitch is whispering, some asshole is laughing. Maybe at me, maybe at someone else. I hope they all fall down the stairs and break their fucking faces.
I get down the stairwell and push through the doors, leaving the building, and walk toward the cafeteria. My stomach’s growling and I’m upset. I’m hangry times ten.
I rush down the path and think about what I’m gonna be able to eat.
It’s gotta get me through the rest of the day, and I gotta grab something to eat for later that I can pack in my bag.
I have tutoring through dinner time and then another fucking class before I’m done for the day.
And I guess I gotta swing back to the shop because I told tattoo guy that I would.
I get in line to scan my card. Unlike 99% of the assholes who go here, I don’t have a fucking meal plan - limited or unlimited - and have to pay as I go.
And HU makes sure that everyone here fucking knows it.
These prissy fucks gave me a reloadable card like this is some food stamps shit back in New York.
It might as well be blue like an EBT card.
Everyone else has a QR code that they scan in the HU app, so it’s obvious that I don’t have what they have. I can’t imagine being able to come here at any time and eat anything I want. I’ve never been able to eat like that.
Not only does this school go out of its way to make sure that everyone knows my fucking business, but after you scan your code or, in my case, my card, the light above your scanner turns green for unlimited, yellow for limited meal plans, and red for pay as you go.
As if I forgot that I’m the poorest person enrolled in this rich-ass school.
I hate waiting in this line. It’s fucking embarrassing. Especially when these fuckers talk shit or make fun of me when they see the red light. I’m not in the mood for anyone’s shit, and don’t bother looking back. I’m too hungry to fight right now.
I take a breath, remind myself I’m a bad bitch from the BX and have lived through worse. As much as I hate the Bronx, it’s made me who I am. It made me tough enough to survive their fucking stares and degrading comments. I hope all you bitches get pink eye.
I scan my card, and my attention automatically shifts towards the light as I wait for the second it takes for it to turn red. But it doesn’t… it turns green.