The hallways are packed as usual. I shoulder my way to locker 127.
Here goes.
The combination lock opens after some fiddling, the parka from over my arm and the lunch Archie packed me (I keep telling him not to) are shoved in. I toss my small backpack over my shoulder and make it to my next class, miraculously, without incident.
Gavin and Brea are laughing about somethings stupid on the right of the classroom and I grab the open desk in front of them.
“Hey Ry!”
“Hey.”
“Morning,” I reply.
English comes and goes before you can say “Emily Bronte is overrated”, and the next couple of classes follow suit.
Lunch rolls around by noon and I’m staring at the bag in my locker.
Spiders spiders spiders.
I sigh, and grab the bag, tossing it in the trash on my way to the cafeteria.
Sorry Archie.
Liv, Arlo and Gavin are all at the table.
“Where’s Brea?” I ask, dropping into a chair next to Gavin.
“She went home to feed her hermit crab. ”
“Ah.”
We make pleasant conversation and I pull out my sketchbook so it at least looks like I’m doing something, but it doesn’t help.
“Ryan, where’s your lunch?”
“I left it at home.”
“Again?”
“Yeah…I’m not entirely functional in the mornings.”
Idiot.
“You want me to buy you something?” Liv offers. She’s rich-well, her family is. I suppose she is too, though. She feels this weird pressure to be the financial support for our little clique. Tries to pay for dinner whenever we go out, etc. One time, I had mentioned how annoying it was that my gym shoes were falling apart and grumbled that I’d have to eventually buy a new pair. The exact fucking shoes were waiting in my locker, only brand new the next day. She still thinks I don’t know. Everyone else thinks she pities us and that she’s trying to...I dunno, establish authority? Which is untrue. It might be to make up for her severe case of unremarkablitis, an affliction suffered by many others in this stupid school. She’s a good person, though, if not the sharpest blade in the arsenal.
Well that was an interesting analogy-
“I’m good, thanks Livia.”
“No problem.”
Please don’t slip a cookie into my pocket or something.
Everybody eats, but they all seem slightly uncomfortable.
Shit, what did I do. Still fucking things up for everyone.
But lunch ends soon (thank god) and I suffer through math. I have never felt such a strong urge to commit arson.
Italian and Science over, all that’s left is gym.
I can’t believe I’ve managed to survive this long. Maybe I’ll be okay today…
Nope.
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