She had stopped just after the cashier and knew she didn’t have it in her to walk down past the rows of kids, chatter, and flying food to try and find an empty table. She might as well walk down a runway with judges on all sides. She silently cursed Camden for not being at school that day, though she had no idea where he was.
The girl was about to turn and head out into the halls, perhaps to eat her lunch down at the foot of her locker or in a toilet stall, when she heard someone call her name.
She looked around and was surprised to see it was coming from a mostly empty table nearest to her. There was a girl with a short brown pixie cut and dangling chandelier earrings that looked really heavy and far too blingy for high school.
Her name was Janice and the girl knew her from their Spanish class together. Janice was a new student and hadn’t found her place in the ranks yet, which was probably why she was even acknowledging the girl. Birds of a feather flock together and all that jazz.
Janice waved, motioning her to come over. The girl looked around, wondering if it was a trick or a trap, but didn’t see anything suspicious. Janice was clearly eating alone and wanted company. The only other people at her table were a bunch of kids who were into skateboarding, and all they were doing was wolfing down their burgers like they had an extreme case of the munchies.
It’s just three steps, make them count, the girl told herself. She threw back her shoulders and tried to walk as if she had feeling in her foot, as if she didn’t limp. Sometimes, if she concentrated hard enough, she could pull it off.
When Janice kept smiling and didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong with the girl, she relaxed and sat down across from her.
“Hi Janice,” she said.
“Ellie, right?” Janice was from Atlanta and had a peachy accent that made the girl envious.
“Right. So…how are you liking Palm Valley?” she asked, grasping for conversation that wouldn’t make her look like an idiot.
“It’s dry,” Janice said, but she was smiling. “But I guess I’ll get used to that. It’s hard meeting people though. Do you find that? You just moved here too, right?”
“Last year,” she said. She didn’t bother telling her that she still had a hard time meeting people. That should have been obvious.
Janice went on about her lack of friends and her life back in Georgia and how much friendlier people were in the South. The girl could only nod, knowing all too well.
The two of them talked comfortably for about fifteen minutes before they realized they’d barely touched their food. While they were chowing down, a group of girls approached their table. The girl didn’t even have to look up to know who it was—the scent of Angel perfume was way too strong.
“Well, what do we have here?” came the haughty voice of Vicky Besset.
The girl kept eating, though her eyes were now on Janice and watching her carefully.
“Vicky, right?” Janice asked, pointing a fry at her. “And I forget the rest of you guys, I’m sorry.”
The rest of Vicky’s minions introduced themselves: Kim, Hannah, Jenn, Debbie, and Caroline. From their ironed hair to their Fendi bags, they were all pretty interchangeable.
“Mind if we join you?” Vicky asked. While Janice obliged cheerfully and moved over, the girl was frozen in place with fear. This was going to end very badly with someone getting very hurt.
Vicky took a spot right beside the girl and leaned forward with her elbows on the greasy table like she had called together a business meeting.
“So, Janice,” she began, tossing her silken brown hair over her shoulder. Part of it whipped the girl in the face. “Since you are new here, we’ve decided to stage a bit of an intervention. You know that it’s important to make friends. You must also know how crucial it is to not commit social suicide.”
The girl cringed. She knew what was coming.
“Social suicide?” Janice asked, eyeing the girl briefly.
“Yes. For example, it would suck if you were to become friends with someone like Ellie Watt. She’s a freak, with parents who are actual criminals, and she’d probably steal your lunch money out from under your nose. She also needs to wear a better bra. Talk about a cow.”
The girl swallowed hard, trying to shove down more than just saliva. Anger was flaring inside her chest and she was so afraid she’d either flip out—something that was long overdue—or start crying. The latter was something she did enough of.
There was a hush that fell over the table, punctuated by a few snickers and giggles from the bitches. But Janice didn’t look too unfazed.
“I don’t really look at a girl’s bra when I’m trying to be friends with her,” Janice said. “I’m not a lesbian.”