| |
The cafeteria is chaos.
Not like it’s anything abnormal. As usual, lunch is dominated by the yells of a hundred or so teenagers, the clashing sounds of trays being dropped on tables, (or the floor if you’re unlucky enough), the sound of people clapping once a tray falls to the ground, spilling its contents. It’s a cacophony of the clashes, the laughs, and the yells.
I’m too used to it to be bothered.
Once I leave the lunch line, tray in hand, I make my way over to the back of the cafeteria, where my empty table is calling my name. I’m almost at the table when I hear my name being called from a different direction.
“Amina!”
I whip in the direction to see Amber, Leslie, and Olivia waving their hands in the air, gesturing for me to sit at their table. A string of curses flies through my mind. I’ve been able to avoid sitting with them since their offer last week, but now, I’ve been found.
I glance around the cafeteria, and see people’s eyes drift to me, and then to ALO, back and forth like they can’t comprehend what they’re seeing.
I can’t comprehend it, either. Well, I didn’t comprehend it at first, until I realized that I was a charity case to get ALO in Mrs. Clark’s good books, and a prop to help Amber’s campaign for StuCo. Reaching out to isolated, (minority) students looks good on a college resume, I guess.
If I can just pretend I can’t hear or see them, it’ll be great. I’ve managed to skirt past their lunch invitation for the past week, and I think I’ve been doing a decent job. Although, now, called out in the middle of the cafeteria, all eyes on me, it’s hard for me to duck back into the shadows.
Or, really, virtually impossible.
Brett narrows his eyes as I shuffle over to their table, in the way I would imagine my ancestors shuffled in and out of boats, chains binding their wrists together as they were scrutinized.
I shake my head, clearing the dark thoughts away. Luckily, this situation is very much different, despite a similar scrutiny, and the girls aren’t going to kill me; they need me alive to get brownie points with Clark and somehow boost Amber’s chances at president.
The girls shift for me, and Olivia tugs me down so that I’m seated in between her and Leslie, Amber across from us.
The White Bros™ give me looks from the other end of the table, no doubt remembering the whole crime conversation that went down in the juicery the other day. Fortunately for them, that conversation is vaguely replaying in my mind, right next to the Sneaker Store Incident from the weekend.
Eating feels awkward while they’re watching me, so I find myself awkwardly glancing between my sandwich and the curious eyes.
Tyler Thompson clears his throat, eyes scouting my untouched BLT sandwich. “So... is that sandwich up for grabs or—?”
To be honest, I can’t see myself eating, especially if I’m here for the rest of lunch. I glance up at him, sliding the Ziploc bag to him, with a “sure.”
“Hey now,” Brett chuckles, and all attention flickers to him, “We don’t know where her hands have been.”
I’m guessing that comment would’ve gained scattered laughter had I not been sitting right there. Emory makes eye contact from where he’s seated, rubbing his temples.
“Dude, it’s in a Ziploc, I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Tyler replies, laughing as discomfort heats the back of my neck.
Tyler then grimaces, realizing how it sounds. “I mean, I’d eat anything, anyway. Plus,” He looks at me this time with a shrug, “I see you sanitize your hands all the time, so...”
It’s normally in between classes. Sometimes, I slather some onto my hands during class, just because it’s there, hanging off a strap of my backpack.
A nervous tendency.
Eyes flicker to me. I speak up, “Yeah, um, should be fine.”
Tyler takes that as an opportunity to rip the sandwich out of the Ziploc, shoveling it into his mouth.
Amber wrinkles her nose, turning to Leslie who decides to change the topic.
“So, the juicery thing was kind of awkward.” She says, effectively picking an even worse topic, and increasing the tension at the table.
Amber rolls her eyes. “Let’s not talk about that.”
“No, no,” Brett raises a hand to the air. “No, let’s talk about it.” His colourless eyes find mine, propping his chin on his hand.
“Tell me more about black-on-black crime.”
Maybe it’s the exhaustion, maybe it’s the tiredness due to Brett’s choice to antagonize me, maybe it’s remembering the faces of the racists at the shoe shop. Maybe it’s sitting down at this table and not being able to feel more out of place... but my energy is completely gone.
“I don’t think there’s anything more needed to say about it.” I finally say, carefully, slowly.
Brett exchanges glances with his friends. “No, seriously, I want to be educated.”
The faint smirk on his lips tells me that he doesn’t want to be educated, not really. What he wants is to press me for information I’ve already shared, throw around a few scoffs and push me to my breaking point while ignoring the point of every argument.
People like Brett don’t want to be educated, the very concept is absurd to them, because they’ve been taught that they’re inherently right all their life, so who am I to tell them otherwise?
No one. Absolutely no one.
I’m sure that’s what Brett’s grandfather, (who I’m sure has ties to the Ku Klux Klan, but I digress), has told him every day since he was born.
“Moving on,” Olivia says, noting Amber’s annoyance at Brett’s resistance to changing the topic.
“Thank you, Olivia,” Amber says, leaning forward in her chair. “Anyways, Amina here is pretty good at art. I’m hoping she’d help me with my campaign posters.”
My jaw goes slack. This is new.
“I forgot to ask,” she asks, pursing her lips,“but would you?”
Leslie nudges me. “We can help you get on Ms. Daniels’ good side again.”
I was right. Ms. Daniels has a problem with me. She liked me better when I bowed my head, kept my mouth shut. Greatest part of it all is that the entire grade knows it.
“I’m just so preoccupied with schoolwork,” I finally say, glancing at her.
“I’ll pay for each poster if they reach my expectations,” She offers, still noting my hesitance.
I could put money aside, maybe add it to my account for emergency purposes. More importantly, I could write about managing a campaign and being involved in school life in application essays.
College is my way out of the stifling suburbs, it’s my ticket out.
Of course I’ll be back occasionally, to check in on my parents and Claudie, but I won’t ever live in Elkwood again if all goes according to plan.
It also helps that Mrs. Clark is bound to stop giving me a hard time if I’m surrounded by ALO, her treasured girls.
“Okay.” I decide, and the grins slide onto the girls’ faces while Tyler munches on the BLT, a blank look on his face.
“It’s a deal,” Amber says, locking eyes with me, a note of finality to her tone.
This should be interesting.
***
When Amber Wesley had said that it was a deal, I hadn’t thought that I’d end up back in the juicery, sitting around a table as the three girls work out campaign strategies for Amber.
Maybe I thought that everything would be communicated through text, or they’d backtrack from the whole idea, allowing me to become the not-so-invisible girl again.
They didn’t backtrack.
They aren’t the most authentic, not the most kind, likely prejudiced, but they stick to an agreement.
Really, it feels like more of a collaboration. More like I’m a contractor, offering my services to ALO so that we can aim for the big goal of getting Amber into StuCo for the coming election.
“I’m thinking something like this,” Amber shows me a picture on her phone. “This palette,” She swipes through shades of blues and greens, “or this one,” She swipes through pinks and burgundys.
I nod.
“I’ll send them to you, along with the slogans I want on the posters.” She shifts the phone away, and greenish eyes are finally revealed to me.
“Okay,” I say, slipping my phone out of my pockets and onto my laps.
“We just need a wow-factor on Amber’s posters,” Olivia says, waving both hands in the air.
“Then we’ll send the money and everything else will follow. You know the drill.” Leslie adds, before swiping through her phone and showing something to Amber who giggles.
I purse my lips, my fingers drumming on my laps.
Amber catches my eye, glancing up from Leslie’s phone as the two other girls start making teasing comments, something about how Millie’s clothes didn’t fit right in her post, or how John is all over way too many girls’ pages. Their conversation drifts back to Millie’s post in an instant.
Amber grabs Leslie’s phone from her with a cackle, while typing aloud. “Ugly as hell.”
“No,” Leslie grabs her phone back, fingers flying across the keyboard. “Those stretch marks are actually nauseating.”
“Okay,” Olivia giggles. “Tell her to lay off the deep fried Oreos.”
Cackles break out from their voices as they type the message, Olivia’s hand covering her mouth. Something gross curls up in my stomach, as Amber catches my gaze.
“You can...” She nods towards the exit, and I’m more than ready to head out. My time here is done, and everyone in the space is aware of the fact. I rise to my feet, slinging my backpack over my shoulders.
Nausea builds up in my stomach.
“Bye,” Olivia says, wiggling her fingers before the three of them go back to hovering over Leslie’s phone.
I push through the exit doors, heading onto the sidewalk when I hear my name.
Again.
I have no idea what’s going on today.
My eyes dart in the direction it came from, and it’s Yasmine, dressed in the standard Elkwood vest with a long sleeved shirt underneath, the kilt with leggings beneath, and a grin that rivals the moon.
I give her a smile, and she speeds up to me,
“This is my route home,” She says, falling into step with me.
“Same, I just go around the corner up ahead.” I reply, in an easier tone than I’m used to speaking in. Words seem to come with ease.
“Cool,” She nods, squinting into the distance, raising a hand to shade her face from the bright glare of the sun.
“I thought what you did at the juicery was pretty cool,” I say, uncharacteristically continuing the conversation.
She waves a dismissive hand, a smile rising to her lips. “Dishing out facts is my favorite pastime here.” She tucks a black wave behind her ear. “Plus, I usually don’t say anything when I do hear them saying ignorant things to you.” She pulls her mouth into a line. “And I apologize for that.”
“You don’t need to apologize,” I say, lips pursing.
“Well,” She starts, fingers gliding over the golden chain around her neck. “I hold myself to a higher standard than that, unfortunately.” A laugh. “I know how it feels to hear people say things like that, so it doesn’t look great if I turn a blind eye when it happens to others.”
My mouth forms a small ‘o’, but I don’t say anything more as our sneakers tap along the grey pavement, and wind rustles through the trees.
“It’s rough,” I say, clutching the straps of my backpack, letting out a dry laugh. This town is rough, this school is rough. It’s been so incredibly rough, lately.
“Agreed,” Yasmine nods, and we come to a stop as we reach the intersection.
Her eyes widen as if she remembers something. “You were sitting with Amber, Leslie, and Olivia?”
“Yeah, it’s...” I glance up at the sky, painted in a palette of blues, “A collaboration of some type, I guess.”
“How is it?” She asks, an amused look appearing on her face, tracing her features, her raised eyebrows.
“I honestly don't know. Not great, but not terrible, so that’s something.” I finally say.
“If you’re not sitting with them tomorrow, maybe you could sit with us.” She proposes with a shrug.
I think of the table she shares with the Gamers and the Asians. I could sit with them and Yasmine seems keen on it, I guess. That being said, I don’t interact with members of that table all so often. I bring my bottom lip beneath my teeth.
I’m not sure what to expect.
“It’s fine if you’re not up for it.” Yasmine says, “Just...” She purses her lips. “Let’s see.”
“Alright,” I nod, glancing in the direction of my house.
“Well,” Yasmine nods, glancing in the same direction. “Looks like this is where we part.”
“Yeah,” I wave a hand, letting a tender smile slide to my lips, “See you.”
She gives me a military-style salute. “Bye.”
Then she’s off, heading off in the direction of her own house, and after a few moments, I whip around, heading in the direction of the white villa, something inside me almost wishing I could walk with her for just a little bit longer.
