Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 137572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 688(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 459(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 688(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 459(@300wpm)
Isn’t there anything else to talk about today? “More than seen. We share two classes. And … he’s kinda my chemistry partner now.”
Kelsey snorts, then points. “Add ‘lunch mate’ to that list.”
I look up and follow her line of sight, which reveals why she asked if I’ve seen him in the first place. Two tables away, Vann has taken a seat, alone. The girls sitting at the other end of his table look his way, their eyes full of curiosity, lust, and wariness. Vann pays them no mind as he scoops gruffly into his mashed potatoes with a fork, eating them like they’ve done something to him and must pay for their crime. He doesn’t look up at all from his tray.
I suddenly feel for him. It’s obvious he hates it here. I wonder what sentenced him to the punishment of this small town. Well, besides the fellow student he might or might not have murdered.
“My dads think I should do something extracurricular this year,” mutters Kelsey, thoughtfully staring at Vann with no fear in her eyes. That’s something I always admired about her; she fears nothing. I don’t know much about her past other than she used to be kicked from foster home to foster home, until at last Omar and Tyrone King adopted her a year or so ago. Being on the edge of the city limits, her dads had the uncommon dilemma of choosing either Fairview High or Spruce High to send her to, and made the wiser choice. “I don’t want to do a sport. But also, maybe I do. The girls on the softball team are kinda cute. I met one last year, but … she isn’t into girls. ‘Course, some boys on the baseball team might do it for me, too. But they’re more into themselves and the gym.” She snatches another chicken strip, and chomps on it. “Can’t win.”
That’s another commonality that drew us together. My being gay. Her being … into anyone. “You do realize those boys on the baseball team are the same idiots on the football team, right?”
“Oh, I do,” she admits. “Still, Hoyt Nowak’s ass sure looks nice in a pair of tight baseball pants.” She grins, chewing away.
I roll my eyes. “Don’t you have your own lunch?”
“Forgot my money at home. Or I spent it on something else. Who cares? You don’t mind me mooching, right? You can have all the veggies, of course,” she adds as a sweet aside.
I squint uncertainly at her. I wonder if she’s secretly saving up her lunch money for something. “So generous.”
“Will you put in a word for me if I try out for the play? When are auditions, anyway?”
Half my day has flown by, and I still haven’t been to the one place that brings me actual comfort: the theater. Of course, with all my friends off to college or elsewhere, I wonder if I’ll find the same comfort there at all. “Auditions are at the end of the week, I think. Friday. Then everyone waits the whole tortuous weekend before the cast list is posted Monday.”
“Yeah. I think that’s what I’ll do. That’ll keep the dads off my back. ‘Be involved! Make friends! People don’t bite!’ Ugh, my dads just love me sooo much.” She pretends to complain, but she loves her new life here, which I can only imagine far exceeds the quality of her life in the foster system, from what little she’s said. “If I don’t get cast in anything, then maybe I can paint sets with you.”
I smile. “That sounds like fun.”
She seems to read something in my smile. “Hey, don’t worry. All the friends I made graduated last year, too. But look, we’re not alone. We’ve got each other, right? Hey, you didn’t get yourself a drink or any napkins!” she notices. “Stay right here. I’ll be back.”
Kelsey tears off before I can stop her. I smile after her, feeling suddenly like maybe I can bear my last year here at Spruce High. No matter what’s thrown at me during my first four periods, I can always come here to lunch and bitch about it to Kelsey. She needs a friend to confide in, too, and I guess for whatever reason, we’ve come to trust one another over the past year since she moved here, even if we know so little about each other personally. Maybe we should rectify that this year.
“Toby-Toby-Tobes!” comes a voice in front of me, yanking my attention to Hoyt Nowak, who now stands across the table from me, flanked by Julio and Benji, their three shadows covering my tray. “My buddy! My man! How’s your lunch?”
I glare at him. “Go away, Nowak.”
“Tobes! That isn’t how you treat your study buddy! Come on.” He sits down across from me. “Dude, you haven’t touched your mashed potatoes. Is it that you don’t like the taste? Does the gritty texture bug you? Here, I’ll make it better.” A can of soda appears in his hand—or maybe he had it this whole time. “Look, me and the boys do this. I’m gonna help you out, man. Buddies help out buddies, right?” With a hissing crack of the tab, he tilts the can and proceeds to pour the dark, sticky contents of his soda over my mashed potatoes. I don’t even have time to protest. I just sit there and stare while my potatoes become a murky soup. “Hey, can I borrow this?” he asks a girl nearby, then snatches a few packets of mustard, mayo, and ketchup from her anyway, tears them open, and starts squirting them into his mixture. “You’re gonna love this, Tobes, my man. I call it the Nowak special.”