IT’S TWELVE FIFTEEN ON MONDAY AND I’VE BEEN dreading this exact moment since I woke up this morning. The lunch table.
I would love to sail right past and sit with Kat and Mary, but Mary doesn’t even have the same lunch as me, and Kat never eats in the cafeteria. And the main reason I have to sit at our lunch table is because if I don’t face them today, I’ll never be able to sit at the table again. That’s my table, and Ash and Alex and PJ, they’re my friends too. I will go in with my head held high, nose in the air. Untouchable. Rennie and Reeve can’t hurt me because they can’t touch me.
This is what I tell myself as I walk into the cafeteria. Thank God Ash is with me. She and Derek got back together sometime over the weekend, so she’s even more bubbly than usual. I’m wearing my best I-couldn’t-care-less-about-you outfit—that high-waisted bandage skirt Kat bought me, plus a silky black blouse with lipstick print that I tucked in, plus sheer black stockings and suede platform booties.
Mercifully, Rennie and Reeve aren’t sitting down yet. Maybe they won’t show. I eat the Cobb salad my mom packed for me and listen to Ash chatter about how romantic Derek was when he asked her to get back together. “He showed up at my house with flowers, and he would not take no for an answer, Lil,” she says, sighing happily.
“What kind of flowers?” I ask. My heart’s not in it, but I’m at least trying.
“Pink carnations!”
That he probably got from the gas station on the way to her house.
“So sweet,” I say. Then Ash spots Derek in line for food and she runs over to him.
I see Rennie and Reeve heading toward the table; Rennie’s got her arm linked in Reeve’s. Even in heels she only comes up to his elbow.
I keep focused on my salad, and I don’t look up when they sit down. I just dip each individual lettuce piece into my honey-mustard dressing with my fork. If I keep at it, I won’t have to look up for all of lunch.
Then Alex comes walking over. I wonder if he and Reeve are still mad at each other or if they made up already, the way boys do. Or maybe he hates me too now, for the thing with the pizzas and for holding Reeve’s hand in front of him. I hold my breath as he sets his tray down and sits in the seat across from me. “You look nice,” he says, taking off his cable-knit sweater.
I smile at him gratefully. “Thanks, Lindy.” Thank you so much.
At the other end of the table, Rennie’s practically sitting in Reeve’s lap. She’s whispering and cooing to him, and he puts his arm around her.
I keep concentrating on cutting my lettuce into tiny pieces and dipping each one into the dressing.
Derek plops down with a tray full of french fries and says, “Yo! Did you guys hear about how Mr. Dunlevy got a DUI over the weekend?”
“Yeah, I heard,” Rennie says. “Coach Christy was pissed. I mean, he gets paid extra to teach us driver’s ed.”
I take another bite of salad. Chew. Chew. Chew.
“Lil, weren’t you and Reeve in driver’s ed with him last year?” Alex asks. “Did he ever smell like booze?”
I shrug. Reeve shrugs too. Neither of us says anything.
“Huh,” Alex says, and there’s this slight edge in his voice. He’s looking at me, and then he jerks his thumb in Reeve’s direction. “You were so chummy-chummy at your party on Friday. And now you can barely stand to look at each other. What gives?”
I almost choke on the piece of hard-boiled egg in my mouth. It tastes like dust.
Lazily, Reeve says, “Lil and I remembered that we don’t actually like each other,” and Rennie smiles a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile, which makes me see red.
Across the table, Reeve’s and my eyes lock for a second, and it’s like the rest of the cafeteria goes silent; it’s only us looking at each other. And then it’s over. Reeve shakes his head and chuckles. Like he couldn’t care less.
After lunch, I’m walking to my next class when a sophomore girl comes running up to me with a thick manila envelope.
“Lillia, you don’t know me, but . . . I was hoping you could give these to Rennie for me. She said she wanted them in an e-mail, but my computer broke and it was just easier to print them out. I haven’t seen her yet today, and I don’t want her to think I’m slacking.”
“Okay,” I say slowly, and take the envelope. It’s heavy.
“Thank you!”
I quickly duck into the bathroom and open it. It’s stuffed full of pictures from homecoming. Sophomores arm in arm posing, sophomores on the dance floor. Sophomores shooting the homecoming court from the gym floor.
Yeah, Rennie’s on yearbook committee, but only to make sure no bad pictures get in of her. What would she care about these pictures of other people? You can see Rennie’s sparkly silver dress in a few of the shots, see us all in the background, but mostly we’re just blurry.
I shove the envelope through the slats in her locker door, not even caring if some of them rip.
