“I’M STARVED,” ANDREW SAID.
“So let’s get Marcia and go to lunch.”
They went to the library and threw things at Marcia, little bits of fluff and crumpled-up pieces of paper, until the librarian shooed all three of them out.
“Thanks a lot,” Marcia griped as they walked to the cafeteria.
“You’re going to ace all your exams anyway,” Sara said. “Like always.”
“Seriously, you study too much,” Andrew said.
“I do not,” Marcia said.
“You make yourself sick with anxiety,” he said.
“Chance favors the prepared mind,” Marcia said.
“Chance is just ‘chance’ by definition,” he said.
“That’s a facile argument,” Marcia said.
“Whatever,” he said.
They got in line at the cafeteria. Andrew got a cold deli sandwich, Sara a burger and fries, and Marcia a salad.
“And you always say ‘whatever’ when you know I’m right. I hate that comeback. It’s not even a real response,” Marcia said once they were seated.
“It’s the perfect response. It dismisses the speaker. It dismisses the whole argument. If you don’t care, you can’t lose.”
“It’s mean and sarcastic. It’s a cheap way to step back and refuse to engage.”
Marcia half stood up as she spoke, closing her little hands into fists as if readying herself to pound on the cafeteria table. A few kids sitting near them giggled. Andrew glared at them before he continued. “But isn’t that what being a teenager is all about? The privilege of not giving a shit?”
“So that’s victory? To not care, to not be invested?”
“A pyrrhic victory, for sure, but still a win.”
“Now you’re just screwing around, which is a lesser form of sarcasm.”
“Or a higher form.”
“Come on, knock it off,” Sara said.
Sara disliked it when Andrew and Marcia argued, especially when they threw around words like facile and pyrrhic. Marcia was the valedictorian, Andrew an effortless and lazy B student, but Sara had to work hard to maintain her own B average.
“Can I have some of your fries?” Andrew said.
“Go ahead,” Sara said.
“Do you have any salt?”
Sara dug around her tray and found a mini salt packet. She tossed it to him.
“So, how’s the speech coming?” Sara asked.
Marcia waved her hand in response.
“Don’t ask,” Andrew said.
“Don’t you have to turn that thing in, like, tomorrow?” Sara said.
“Technically. But graduation is still two—no, shit, a little over a week away,” Marcia said. She began chewing on her fingernails.
“Marcia, chill,” Andrew said. He placed his hand over her torn cuticles.
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one—”
“Just thank everyone ever and get out of there,” Sara said.
“Or pass out kazoos and lead the audience in a round of ‘Pomp and Circumstance,’” Andrew said.
“Or flash your bra—”
“Or your panties—”
“Or give the speech in Korean with, like, no explanation.”
“Or declare your undying allegiance to some obscure band.”
“And then drop the mic.”
“The possibilities are endless!”
Marcia finally laughed. “I’ll run it by Mr. Gonzalez tomorrow,” she said.
“Good plan. He’s cool,” said Sara.
Marcia frowned as she pulled the sprouts off her salad. Then she left to get some milk. Andrew made a stick figure out of Sara’s fries. He drew a face with ketchup and decorated it with curly sprout hair.
“That your girlfriend?” Sara asked.
“My dream girl.”
Sara smirked at this, then took the fry girl’s torso and popped it into her mouth. Marcia returned with three chocolate milks and three straws.
“Thank you,” Andrew said as he reached for one of the milks. Marcia liked surprising them with little treats every once in a while. Chocolate milk never failed to delight.
“Oh, Marcia. You’re a peach,” said Sara. She tore the wrapping off the straw with her teeth and blew it gently. The headless tube drifted down across the table and out of sight. “Andrew’s making a pond at Avella. We should break in and go night swimming,” she said.
“Break in to Avella? We’ll get shot,” Marcia said.
“I’m sure Andrew has an in,” Sara said.
“I have no in,” Andrew said.
“No big jangling set of keys?” Sara asked.
“Why would you want to go swimming in a man-made pond anyway?” Marcia asked.
“Even if it is nighttime,” Andrew added.
“Oh, I don’t know. I just thought it would be something silly and fun to do during our last summer together.”
“Oh,” Marcia said. They finished their lunch in silence. The din in the cafeteria grew quieter as kids left for their classes. Marcia began packing up her bag.
“Wait for me, okay?” Sara said.
Marcia liked arriving early to her classes. She had a little routine of setting up her desk, sharpening her pencils, and even checking her pens for ink. Sara preferred drifting in just under the wire.
“She likes making an entrance,” Marcia had once complained to Andrew, but Andrew knew better. Sara, with her curly blonde hair and phenomenal body, was one of the prettier girls in their school. She generally made an entrance whether she intended to or not. Her wanting to go in late was actually an attempt to break Marcia away from her spastic little habits.
“Sara, let’s go. I don’t want to be late,” Marcia said.
“All right, all right.” Sara put their leftover food and wrappers on her tray and grabbed her bag.
“I got that,” Andrew said, reaching for the tray.
“Thanks,” the girls murmured as they got up.
Andrew watched them as they left for class. Marcia had a focused walk. Her steps were brittle and nervous compared to Sara’s loose and graceful stride. He and Marcia were smarty bookworm types with fucked-up families. They found solace in each other’s loneliness and awkwardness. Sara was different; there was nothing awkward about her. She was vivacious and confident. Her mom was working-class and single, so Sara never quite fit in with the popular crowd, which tended to be preppie and sporty and well-to-do. She took great pleasure in the fact that the guys who used to make fun of her secondhand clothes now pined after her first-rate looks. She dated a lot, fooled around a little, but her heart was untouched.
Sara had befriended Marcia freshman year after defending her against the type of people that bullies harmless nerds, and then the three of them became almost inseparable. Their little triad was disturbingly like a family, Andrew mused. He and Sara hovered protectively over Marcia, who was practically parentless, Andrew was like a brother figure to both, and Sara was instinctually mothering. Andrew had never sought friendships beyond the trio, nor had they. They were a self-contained unit, the only members of a gang of three, and they needed no one else. In a few short months they’d go in separate directions. It was hard to comprehend the idea of life without them always near. At the same time, a small part of him was looking forward to something new.
He turned his attention back to the tray of trash. It was his free period, which meant he could do one of three things. He could report to the library, aimlessly wander the halls, or continue to stare at the garbage in front of him.
Or he could go ahead and keep stalking Laura Lettel.