Junior Class Trip
Next up, we’re grabbing lunch nearby before taking the subway thirty blocks to the Met.
Mr. Sanderson gives us permission to find someplace to eat, as long as we stay within a three-block radius of MoMA. I have some almonds and a soy protein bar in case I can’t find something to eat, but I really hope we do.
Max, Grace, Alex, and I discover a pizza parlor with a brick facade. The booths are green, the floors brown tile. It smells like grease and olive oil, sort of like Niko’s.
Plenty of cafes in Tennessee are decorated like this, but when you walk into a place like Davy Crockett’s in Manchester, you know everybody and they know you.
This New York pizza parlor is very different. I want to know who these people are and where they came from. I imagine some are tourists, but others dressed in suits and dresses appear to be on a lunch break from a law firm or hedge fund. Other people wear plumber and electrician uniforms. I spot a few New York City cops and bus drivers too. Back in Manchester, it feels like almost everyone is white or Latino. New York is far more diverse.
A sign on the wall says: GO EVERYWHERE, TALK TO EVERYONE, EAT EVERYTHING.
We walk up to a counter, where I count ten different kinds of pizza. Two men are behind the counter taking orders and reheating slices once people have made their selections.
“Do you have vegan pizza?” Alex asks.
The worker nods. “Coming right up.” He goes into the back and comes back with a single slice, which he slips into the oven to heat up.
“Yay, Alex,” I say, dancing in place. “Yay, Alex. Vegan pizza. Yay, Alex.”
This makes him laugh. “I remember when you used to do a celebratory dance for just about everything I did.”
“Oh yeah? What was your favorite?”
“Probably that time I found a parking spot right in front of the school, so you did a cheer for me. Or wait, what about the time Mom gave me that black Polo hoodie I had been wanting? You did a dance for that too.”
“If you get into your baseball camp, I’ll do a dance.”
“Now I really can’t wait.” Alex’s infectious grin makes me giddy.
Max clears his throat behind me. “Lu, your food is ready.”
The worker passes me a slice of pizza on a super flimsy plate. Grease seeps through the paper onto my hand as I make my way over to the register to pay.
Once we all have pizza, the four of us sit in a cushy booth.
With one hand, Max holds his slice of cheese. With the other, he is snapping pictures of us on his phone.
We’re digging into our pizza when Max’s phone dings. “Aw, Caleb sent a picture from down by the Hudson.” He flips his phone around to show a photo of Caleb and Nick in front of the Intrepid aircraft carrier, squinting in the sunlight.
The caption reads: We miss you!!
I smile at the screen. My boyfriend is very cute.
But he hasn’t texted since he sent the blushing emoji and eggplant emoji, which was at least an hour ago. This worries me. But come to think of it, I haven’t texted him either. Under the table, I type a text to Nick with a kissy face emoji, to make sure he knows I’m thinking of him.
I bite my bottom lip, feeling guilty about spending time with Alex. And for enjoying it.