Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
By the time lunch rolls around, I’ve had enough. My social battery has run out, and I still have two classes left. Part of the problem is that the closer I get to the end of the day, the closer I get to my problem again: I don’t have a ride home.
Instead of following everyone into the cafeteria, I duck into the bathroom.
I pull out my phone and dial Dad. He’s the only person I want to see anyway.
He’s the only one that won’t poke and prod me to try and uncover my feelings.
He’ll pick me up with no questions asked, and we can sit in silence while we drive home.
He might turn on the radio and listen to a talk show, but that’s okay.
The phone rings. And rings. And rings. Until it doesn’t. “You’ve reached Gregory Jacobs. I’m unavailable. Please leave—”
I end the call, not bothering to leave a message. What’s the point? He won’t call back. Expecting him to answer in the first place was wishful thinking.
My only other option is . . . Mom.
When I dial her number, she picks up right away. “Hi, baby, what’s up? Are you okay?”
Dragging my feet, I begin pacing in front of the stalls.
“I was just wondering if you’d be able to pick me up after school?”
“I have my new group therapy at three,” she says.
She’s tried to talk me into going to her therapy group countless times. “Oh yeah, I forgot about that.”
“I could take you with me,” she says, excitement filling her voice.
I rub my forehead. “No, no. That’s okay. I’ll figure something out.”
“Are you sure? They’d love to meet you.”
I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.
A new idea pops into my head. It might be a little bit of a lie right now, but soon it won’t be. “I have to stay at school later anyway because I have to be a math tutor to make up my volunteer hours. Are you sure you couldn’t pick me up after your group?”
She hums on the other line as she thinks. “I guess I could. The school isn’t too far from it.”
“Thank you,” I say. The tension in my chest releases, and I can breathe again. “I’ll see you then.”
I leave the bathroom and head down to the cafeteria.
The noise coming from it sends a shiver down my spine, making me want to run in the opposite direction. It’s packed with kids forming two lines between the rows of tables. One line is for pizza, and the other is for sloppy joes.
I scan the room, filled with a sea of high schoolers who all seem to have somewhere to be and someone to talk to.
Except for me. I don’t belong here. I’m a lone wolf, and it makes me want to run away.
I like to be alone, but not lonely. There’s a difference.
When someone is alone in a situation like this, everyone else notices.
They pity them and wonder why no one wants to be around them.
I join the pizza line and take out my phone to make it seem like I have something to do while I wait. The line moves inches up, taking its sweet time.
When I finally get to the front, the lunch lady takes the last slice of cheesy goodness and sets it on the tray for the girl ahead of me. All that’s left are empty silver cooking sheets.
“Sorry, we’re out of pizza,” the lunch lady says.
Despite trying to hold it in, I cringe when the soggy bread hits my tray instead.
Then, she plops a scoop of green beans on the side, and not the good kind.
These are the ones that have lived in their canned packaging too long and dissolve the second they touch your tongue—definitely not what I look for in a green bean.
I follow the line around the corner.
On my way to pay for my lunch, I grab a bag of chips, which becomes the only appetizing thing on my tray. The only way to eat the rest will be with a blindfold and a plugged nose.
I scan the cafeteria for a place to sit, but nothing stands out. There isn’t a single person I can sit next to without feeling awkward or unwanted.
At the very back, there’s an empty table. If my memory serves me right, it isn’t a claimed table. Kids rarely sit there, and if they do, it’s usually other loners like me.
I set down my tray on the far end, and sit on the hard bench. I rest my elbows on the table and stare at the disgusting pile of sloshy ground beef. Between that and my worry of people watching me, my appetite is nearly gone.
A lunch box clatters against the table as it’s set down directly across from me.
Sadie slides onto the bench and smiles wide as her hair bounces around her face.
My chest tightens, unsure what to do. Do I tell her to leave? If I did, would it make a scene?
She goes cross-eyed for a second as she focuses on a strand of hair that landed on her nose. Moving it out of the way, she says, “You’ll never guess what I made for lunch today.”
Sadie loves to cook. I’d say she’s a magician when it comes to food because she can turn any combination of ingredients into a masterpiece.
She’s been dreaming of culinary school for years, and she received a local full-ride scholarship right before the beginning of the school year.
At the time, we were both so excited, but also heartbroken that we’d be on opposite coasts if I got accepted into college in New York. Now, the proposed distance is a relief.
I shrug.
She flips the top off her lunch box and holds it out proudly.
I’m not exactly sure what it is since it’s inside three smaller containers.
She takes them out and begins to assemble her meal.
The first container has rice formed into a perfect circle.
Then she adds a layer of chard chicken breast, then some colorful vegetables.
Her final touch is a sauce and some sprouts on top.
She shakes her head and sighs as she eyes it. “It’s never as good when I reheat it.”
She’s got to be kidding. Compared to the sloppy joe in front of me, that looks like a Michelin five-star dish.
I poke at my food with my fork.
“What are you ea—” She grimaces a little when she looks over. “I figured you’d get the pizza.”
I click my tongue and nod. “Yeah, I wonder why on Earth I’m eating this? It’s not like the answer is obvious.”
Her mouth twists in thought as she glances back and forth between her food and mine. Then, she shoves her lunch toward me. “Eat this instead.”
I push it back. “No.”
She reaches for mine. “I’ll eat this. It can’t be that bad.”
“You eat yours, and I’ll eat mine.” I grip the tray, keeping it in front of me. My breaths are becoming ragged because the more I see her, the more I see my brother in my mind. And that’s the last thing I want to think about.
She sighs. “Come on, Becca. Just let me do this for you. I’m trying to be nice.”
My fist hits the table. “If you want to be nice, then get lost!”
Her jaw drops, and within seconds, tears prick at the corner of her eyes.
I’m still holding the tray with so much pressure that, when she lets go, the tray flies toward me. The sloppy joe and green bean mush collide with my chest and slide down to my pants with a wet thud.
I shriek, jumping up.
My throat goes dry as the entire cafeteria quiets. Everyone is looking at me, and I forget how to breathe.
Heat rises on my neck as pins and needles shoot up my hands.
Sadie is covering her mouth, and her eyes are wide with horror.
Whispers echo around me.
I don’t know what to do, so I do what I do best.
I run.
I bite the inside of my cheek, trying not to cry. I won’t do that in front of everyone.
I frantically splash my sweatshirt with water, trying to get the grease from the sloppy joe out, despite knowing it’s a lost cause without dish soap. The only thing I’m accomplishing is making the mess more noticeable now that I’m soaked.
I wince at myself in the mirror. So much for wearing mascara. Now, I have raccoon eyes from rubbing the tears away. Grabbing a paper towel, I try to scrub it off too. I manage to get most of it, but not without replacing the black for red, irritated skin.
There’s a knock on the bathroom door.
It’s Sadie. I know it is. But I don’t want to talk to her.
“Go away!” I yell.
There’s another knock. “Are you okay?”
I pause at the voice.
It’s Caleb.
Staggering back from the mirror, I stare at the door. Why is he here, of all people?
I saunter toward the door. “What do you think?”
“Just open the door.”
I crack it open slightly, not wanting to show off my horrific appearance just yet. “What?”
In his hands is a bright blue athletic shirt with one of those annoyingly positive quotes on the front—Make Today Awesome. “I brought an extra shirt for weights, but you can use it.” He holds it out. “I didn’t wear it yet. I promise it’s clean.”
“You want me to wear that?” My nose scrunches up.
He holds it out to me with a gentle smile. “Yup.”
It’s definitely not something I’d ever wear by choice, but right now, it looks way more appealing than the grease-smeared sweatshirt I have on.
I open the door enough for my hand to poke through and snag the shirt. Once it’s pulled through to the other side, I slam the door shut again.
“Come out soon because I’m going to wait for you,” he says.
“Why?” I ask, pulling my dirty sweatshirt over my head.
“Because I want to make sure you’re okay.”
I’m anything but okay. I want to go home. I want to eat a pint of ice cream and then sleep for at least four-to-six business days.
The blue fabric is light and soft as I slip it over my head.
It’s cool against my skin, sending goosebumps up my arms. It’s a few sizes too big for me and reaches down to the bottom of my thighs.
Today, it’s a blessing, as it covers up the water splotches on my pants.
Even though the bright color is already giving me a headache, it does look better.
My only complaint is that I can’t hide the ginormous white letters on the front.
I wad up my sweatshirt and stuff it under my arm. Then, I open the door again.
Sure enough, there he is, leaning against the wall. He straightens when I walk out.
I move past him like I’m on a mission.
He hurries up beside me and takes my wrist to spin me back around. “Wait a second.”
I narrow my eyes. “What now? You wanted to make sure I’m okay. Well, I am.”
He shakes his head. I hate the way he stares at me like he can break down all of my walls. “No, you aren’t,” he says.
My face is getting hot again, and my eyes start to burn. I rip his hand off my wrist and let it fall to his side. “I’m not a problem you need to fix.”
“I’m just trying to help,” he says.
My jaw wobbles. “Well, you aren’t.”
I turn and walk away.
This time, he lets me go.