Hamburgers are delicious.

One time our whole family, including the dog because Dad brought one home once but then it got smashed by a semi on the highway, one time, my whole family went to Granny’s restaurant for hamburgers up the canyon.

It was my best day.

The windows down.

The music loud.

And a fancy meal.

Cheeseburger, tomatoes, lettuce, onions, thick fries with cups and cups of fry sauce, and a Butterfinger shake to go with it.

Berkeley said, “Can we do this again?” as she took a huge bite of her gummy-bear shake.

And Mom laughed and Dad smiled and said, “Of course we can. Of course we will.”

Of course.

Of course.

Of course.

~

Now there was ketchup on my face but not onions or tomatoes or lettuce because we don’t have those kind of hamburgers at school and fifty thousand people staring at me, and I sat there.

And someone said, “Who threw it?”

And someone else said, “Who is that?” because no one knows who I am.

And someone else was laughing.

Most people were actually.

And I was trying to sit there.

And not cry.

Just sit there.

And maybe start eating my chef salad that I bought for 1.56 plus tax.

Should I keep eating?

Should I stand up?

Should I go to the bathroom?

Should someone come over here and tell me what to do?

Or should they sit there and laugh and talk about it and then go back to their food and their friends and yelling so and so and something and something.

What should I do?

~

Then there was someone.

A lunch lady named Edna who said, “Come on, sweetie.” And she took me to the back of the cafeteria where she and all the workers were.

I left my chef salad on the table without one bite. 1.56 plus tax gone. I wanted to shove it in my backpack but I didn’t have time.

She said, “Are you okay?”

I said, “Yes.”

They were done serving so they were cleaning up and Edna said, “Lisa, throw me a clean cloth.”

Lisa was a lady with braces and she smiled and I smiled back and then she threw the cloth.

While I was wiping my face, Edna was talking to me.

She was saying things like, “Those darn kids.” And, “They don’t have a cell in their brains and when I was your age I got the treatment, too. It was relentless and all because I had headgear. Do you know what headgear is?” and no, I did not know what headgear was but Lisa the other lunch lady did. And then Edna was saying that it was going to get better when I was older. That there’d be a time where I would see those same little-brained kids on the street and point my finger and say look how you turned out and look how I turned out and then I could laugh.

She was telling me all these things while I was wiping my face.

And she was still talking when I looked over to the dishwasher area because a kid yelled something and that’s when I saw Bart.

With a hairnet on his head.

And he saw me.