I must’ve gotten everything else right for the rest of Spanish class because Damien didn’t speak up again. When the bell rang, I realized I hadn’t planned how to handle lunch. I couldn’t go to the cafeteria, and I definitely couldn’t take him back to my apartment. 

“Well, see you in algebra,” he said, standing up.

I blinked at him in surprise. No tantrum about not eating together? No catered meal? “You’re going to the cafeteria?” 

“Yeah, that’s where one usually goes for lunch, except anti-social, know-it-alls.”

I frowned at the jab. I didn’t want to admit it, but being barred from the cafeteria was a sore spot for me. It was such a clear reminder that I wasn’t like the other students. “Yeah, and who’d want to eat with them?” I said, packing up my stuff.

I must not have said that flippantly enough because he didn’t leave. He stood there looking at me. I forced a smile as I put on my bag. “I’ll see you after lunch.”

I moved to leave, but he caught my elbow. I stopped and turned tensely to him. I was primed to hit him with my satchel. It had three textbooks in it. It would knock him back and then some. But he withdrew his hand quickly when I stopped.   

“Do you want to have lunch with me?” he asked.

I stared at him dumbly. Shocked he would ask instead of demand that I join him. I wished he had demanded that I eat with him because then I’d be able to say no with ease. Instead his invitation made me realize I wanted to say yes. I wanted to eat with other students. But that wasn’t allowed. I wasn’t allowed.

When I didn’t respond, he grimaced and pulled out his phone. “Do you want Angela to join us? I can call her for you.”

That was thoughtful, dammit and I would like to have lunch with her, but I couldn’t go into the cafeteria. My card would be rejected. I couldn’t handle the thought of anyone seeing that. I’d be so ashamed. I was dismayed when I felt my eyes begin to sting. I couldn’t let him see me cry. I had to get out of there. I tilted my head down to hide my face. “No, go eat with her. I’ll see you.” 

“But what about you?”

I couldn’t answer him. I don’t know why I couldn’t just tell him that I wasn’t allowed to eat in the cafeteria. Everyone knew I was poor, that I was there free, that my parents were employees, but it was like this was just something else that set me apart. It was just another piece of proof that I wasn’t like them. 

“Go have a nice lunch. I’ll see you.” And then I ran from the room. I couldn’t help it. I had to get out of there. My face was hot and my vision blurry. I couldn’t let myself blink. If I did, my cheeks would get wet.  

I heard Damien call my name. His voice made me run faster. I had to get to the apartment. I’d be safe there. I could have my little breakdown and be fine. My hand shook as I swiped my card. I was afraid to look behind me in case I saw him. I made sure the door closed and locked behind me. I ran up the stairs to avoid meeting anyone. My cheeks were wet.

When I reached home, I let myself in and leaned against the wall to catch my breath. It didn’t though. I gulped down air and the panting switched to watery hiccups. I dropped my bag and stumbled over to the couch. I curled up on it and called myself a fool over and over for getting upset about having to eat lunch alone. It was such a stupid thing to get upset over.  

I’d never been super popular, but I’d always had a good circle of friends; Others to sit with and turn to when I felt lonely or bored. I had to give up my circle when I started Noble, but I’d thought I’d be able to manage. Friends weren’t everything, I’d thought. I’d been lying to myself. The thought of going home every day to eat lunch and sitting alone in my room every evening made me want to punch the sofa pillows. I needed friends. 

I eventually got up and went to the kitchen to eat something. I couldn’t skip lunch. I’d be even battier without food. I wondered what Damien had made of my mad dash away. He probably thought I ran from him to not eat with him. It was better than the truth that I couldn’t.

After lunch, I slipped out of the apartment building and back into the class building. I couldn’t look anyone in the eye as I went down the hall. I knew that most of them probably hadn’t seen me run by at the start of lunch, and those that did probably hadn’t made anything of it, but I still felt a touch of embarrassment being back among everyone.

My steps slowed when I saw Damien leaning against the wall outside Prof. Bolkis’s room. When he saw me, he straightened and gave me a challenging look. I ducked my head, intending to walk by him, but he caught my arm as I went past.

I stopped and looked at him. He peered at my face with a frown. His careful scrutiny made me uncomfortable. 

“What?” I demanded, trying not to squirm.

“Have you been crying?”

I could feel my cheeks heating up. Oh no, I hadn’t thought to look in a mirror to see how I looked. I wondered how puffy my eyes were. I silently called myself a fool again. 

“No, are they red? I got some dust in them during lunch.”

He frowned, but let me go. I entered the classroom with him on my heels. We took our seats. But I wanted to hop back up to go to the bathroom and check my face. It was stupid not to have thought about how I looked. I pressed my fingers to my eyes to try and soothe them. Any redness around them would fade and everything would be back to normal soon. I just had to remain upbeat. I pushed any lingering embarrassment and consternation aside. Lunch was over. I was with everyone once again. I just had to get used to eating alone. It wasn’t a big deal. I knew that was a lie. But it was a lie that I had to believe. 

Prof. Bolkis’s arrival pulled my thoughts away from lunch and loneliness. I was curious to see if he would once again treat Damien as any other student. I pulled out my algebra notebook and laid it on my desk. While I was busy searching for a pencil, Damien swiped my notebook.

“Hey, give that back,” I said.

He ignored me and opened it. He turned pages until he came to some blank ones and tore them out. “I need paper,” he said. He slid the notebook back over. He then extended an open hand to me. 

I looked at the open hand, then at his face. “What?” I asked.

“I need something to write with obviously,” he said, shaking his empty hand at me.

I frowned and pulled out another pencil. “I’d have given you the paper and lent you a pencil if you just asked,” I said.

His hand closed around the pencil into a fist. He turned away without thanking me.

I sighed. I wasn’t sure if this was good or bad behavior. It was good that he was showing an interest in class, but his treatment of me wasn’t stellar. I wondered then if algebra was possibly Damien’s favorite class. He’d so far behaved the best in it, and he was now interested in taking notes. I didn’t know why he simply hadn’t said so out in the hall though. 

Ten minutes into class, Damien shoved one of his sheets of paper in front of me. At the top of it, in clean, neat print was written, “I’m sorry.”

I turned and gave him a disbelieving look. He was intently staring at Prof. Bolkis as he went over the homework. Under his note, I wrote, “For what?” When Prof. Bolkis turned to the board, I slid the sheet back to Damien. I had to be careful. The fact that he was apologizing at all, never mind what it was for, was a big deal. But he had to do better than that. 

Damien stared at my reply for far longer than it took to read it. I waited, barely able to keep up with what Prof. Bolkis was saying. Damien finally picked up his pencil and wrote something. He hunched over the sheet so I couldn’t read over his shoulder. I told myself to be patient. He wasn’t going to be reformed in a day. I didn’t need multiple degrees to know that, but this seemed like a huge step. 

Damien finally slid the sheet back to me. His hand lay flat over the piece of paper, covering what he wrote. When he lifted it off, I stared at the sheet for a second uncomprehending. It read: “I’m sorry for this.”