Disclaimer: Not mine. JP's.
Please read and review! Thanks!!! I am so so so SO bad at updating. I apologize. Repeatedly. Anyway, here's the chapter.
Ch. 7 – Another Lunch
Class flew by. It was quickly becoming routine. Enter classroom, spend the better part of an hour decorating the margins of my notebook, and leave said classroom. Not much to it.
As I was getting used to the school, the school was apparently getting used to me. I was old news. There were far, far fewer curious glances from the other students than there had been the first day, and I can't say I minded. Everyone's attention was now focused on Mrs. Pinchak, the newly appointed vice principal.
"I heard she murdered Mr. Benson to get the job," the maple-haired girl, whose name I found out was Julia, told the posse in the lunch line. With great enthusiasm, I might add.
"Yeah, she caused heart failure in an eighty-something-year-old man," said the black-haired one. Bella.
"When did he die?" I asked.
"End of last year. It was big news then. All anyone talked about for a while," Bella told me. "The school had a whole assembly and memorial service and everything."
"But then the dean got divorced, and Jennifer in eleventh grade got pregnant, and the whole thing sort of blew over," said Julia, with a solemn nod of approval from Amanda.
I reached the end of the line and took out a five to pay the lunch lady stuck rotated to cashier. Come to think of it, no lunch lady job slot is really worth having.
"Um, I told Jake I'd sit with them today," I said with an apologetic smile.
"Jake?" asked Carrie, the blond. The four of them looked at each other and started giggling. I chewed my lip patiently until they were finished.
"Well, enjoy yourself. And we'll be expecting details," said Amanda. More giggles. I politely half-smiled, then took evasive action, heading over towards Jake. Sitting with him were two faces I didn't recognize, and Nick. I felt myself smile a little bit.
"Hey, you remembered!" said Jake, grinning up at me as I took a seat next to him.
"'Course I remembered," I said.
"This is Peter, and David, and Nick," he told me, gesturing respectively toward a boy with shaggy red hair and green eyes, a boy with shortish brownish hair and bright blue eyes, and Nick.
"We've already met," Nick told Jake, and I nodded gratefully in a way that felt very nonmelike. Jake glanced at us uncomfortably for a moment before taking a generous bite of his pizza.
"So what do you think about this new vice principal person?" Peter asked. I rolled my eyes. Guys are just as capable of gossip as girls are; they just don't label it.
"She seems sort of tall and blond and… imposing," said David. "But I guess that's sort of her job as vice principal. To impose."
"Well, I think Lakewood Prep used to not have a vice principal, back when it was still really small," said Jake. I snorted into my orange juice. I couldn't help it. His definition of "normal-sized" did not really coincide with most other people's on the planet. Jake looked at me, blinked, and grinned. "Yeah, I know. But they got on fine without one."
"Maybe not, if they ended up getting one," David pointed out. There was an uncomfortable pause before he turned to me and asked, "What was your old school like?"
"Um, you know, normal, I guess," I said, oh-so-coherently. "It's been too long. It's gotten blurry." It had gotten blurry. I strained to remember something. Anything. I could see generic white walls, rows of green lockers, faceless masses of people busily walking somewhere. I remembered my teachers, what classes I took, the campus. But when I struggled to remember any specific moment, any detailed memory, I failed. It was all slipping away so fast.
"Melanie?" asked Nick. The word registered in my brain a moment after I heard it, and I looked up at him. "You were gone for a moment there."
"Yeah, I was just… thinking about Maine," I said, pulling myself together.
"You must miss it there," said Jake, suddenly sympathetic. "Your friends and your house and everything." I frowned slightly. That wasn't it at all. I didn't say anything.
"Why are they staring at you like that?" asked Peter, who was gazing over my left shoulder towards the girl gaggle. They were giggling and staring over at us in a completely non-obvious kind of way.
"No idea," I said, turning back towards my plate and shoving a french fry in my mouth. A thin, perfectly crisply, perfectly seasoned french fry. Probably imported directly from Belgium.
I glanced up at Nick, who hadn't really said anything this whole conversation. He was gazing across the room at the wall, which wasn't really a wall. It was a huge window, divided into a couple different panels. It was weird how clear it was. There wasn't a single smudge. If not for the lining of the panels and the reflection of the cafeteria lights, I wouldn't have known there was a window there at all. Outside was the park in the middle of the school. From the cafeteria, you wouldn't know it was a school. All you'd see is some trees, a path, some fountains, and lines of detailed columns on either side, supporting a red brick building.
"Gosh, I'm not looking forward to the history paper. I'm gonna be in such a pickle when we have to write it," said David, pulling me back to earth. Actually, he said something a little more unsavory than that, which I won't repeat here in its unedited entirety.
"Oh, my God, I know," said Jake. "Fifteen freaking pages." (Again with the editing.) "About history. I'm going to die."
I sighed quietly to myself and chewed my pizza slowly. I didn't want to think about school right then; I got enough class in class. Why do we have to eat in a cafeteria, I wondered, when we have that whole mini-park out there? I thought of all the things I could be doing right then, instead of what I was doing. I sighed, again.
"Hello? Earth to Melanie?" I heard Jake say. I blinked and looked at him. "What's got you so distracted?"
"Chocolate chip cookie dough," I told him. "I'm really in the mood for some right now." Nick looked up at me with a weird, sort of discerning look. I pretended not to notice.
"So what are you doing this weekend, Melanie?" asked David. I shrugged.
"Same thing as most weekends, I guess. Sleep in. Sit at home, bored. Watch TV. I don't know."
"Because there's gonna be a party at David's house on Saturday. If you want to come," said Jake.
One thing you may not know about me is that parties and me don't mix. I've never been the partygoer type, and I doubt I ever will meet that social standard. It's not that I have anything against music or dancing or people or fun or anything like that. It's the combination of them all at the same time that I can't stand, especially in small, cramped rooms where you can't take more than a step in any direction without bumping into someone.
"Mmm, I don't know. No. I don't think so," I said, forcing extra politeness into my tone.
"Oh, come on. If we can drag him to it, we can drag you too," said Peter, gesturing toward Nick.
I glanced over at Nick, surprised. I mean, sure, I'd only just met him, but he didn't really seem like much of a partygoer either. He sort of half-shrugged, as if to say, "Not my choice. They're dragging me."
"I really am not the type that functions well at parties, or really any type of festive event. Ever," I said, sticking with the politeness, which hopefully didn't sound too strained.
"Mmm, tried that one," said Nick, offhandedly.
"Of course you can function at parties. Everyone can, with the right mindset," Jake told me eagerly. Again I was struck by his canine resemblance.
"Yeah, I don't have the right mindset, though. That's the problem."
"We'll help you loosen up. It'll be fun," said Peter.
"Not for anyone within a ten yard radius of me. For them, it will not be pleasant."
"Tried that one too," said Nick. I turned and frowned at him.
"You're being very unhelpful, you know that?" I said, still frowning at him in an accusing way.
"At least if you come, I'll have someone to wallow in boredom and discomfort with," he pointed out, oh-so-bluntly.
"How selfless of you," I said, still glowering. He did not, as I hoped he would, shrink away at all at my glare. His dark eyes gazed back into mine, his face remaining as statue-solemn as it ever was. My fingers sort of twitched reflexively under the table.
I broke his gaze and sighed. I actually would be sitting around the house being bored on Saturday anyway. And Nick, who seemed to share my feelings on parties, would be there, so we could, as he said, wallow together. Tandem wallowing. Something like that.
"What time?" I asked, defeated. Jake, David, and Peter grinned.
"Seven pm 'til whenever everyone leaves. Forty-seven Lancaster Avenue," said David. "There will be food."
"And drink," added Peter. My eyes narrowed a fraction.
"And music," continued Jake, and I blinked. Sighed. What had I just gotten myself into?
I poked at my empty plate with my fork, still hungry, and disappointed in myself for giving in so easily. I could've put up more of a fight.
"Hey, Mel," called Carrie. "Oh! Hey," she said to the guys, pretending to notice them there.
"Mel?" asked Jake, grinning. Nick had that odd, interested half-smile again.
"I was wondering if you'd copied down the Spanish homework?" she said as a question. "I missed it."
"Um, yeah." While I reached down, fumbling for my planner, she smiled and giggled, looking around the cafeteria. Way to be obvious about it, I thought, rolling my eyes.
"Hey, you going to the party this Saturday?" Peter asked her. "David's place. Seven."
Carrie giggled again. "Yeah, of course. It okay if I bring them along too?" she asked, motioning with her head toward the rest of the Girl Gang. Peter nodded, smiling.
"It's in the workbook. Page twelve to thirteen," I said, interrupting their flirtfest. Carrie looked down at me, apparently having forgotten I was there.
"Oh. Thanks," she said. "See you there," she told the guys, with a slow smile. I rolled my eyes again, and looked involuntarily over at Nick. He was staring at his plate. I released a breath I didn't know I'd been holding, and the bell rang.
I stood up quickly, determined not to be the last one out of the cafeteria again. I sprinted (or as close as I could come to sprinting without alarming the other students and/or faculty) toward the trash can, then back to the table for my backpack, then for the door. I wasn't the last this time, but I was by no means the first, or even near the beginning. Somewhere towards the end of the middle third of people, I'd say, or towards the beginning of the last third.
As I walked to my math class, I silently vowed to myself to make it out in the beginning third of people by the end of the semester, and I smiled.
