We saunter our way through the halls, down the stairs, until we reach the lower level. The trek from the upper level to the lower level is a long, tiring one, or at least, I’m tired. Elena seems to be just fine, as if she goes up and down multiple flights of stairs on a regular basis.

“How are you not tired?” I question Elena, huffing and puffing the final few steps to the cafeteria.

“What do you mean? Am I supposed to be?” She raises an eyebrow. Another cute thing about her. What’s wrong with me?

“Nevermind then,” I mutter as soon as we step foot in the cafeteria. I grab Elena’s wrist and drag her to the side of the cafeteria so we don’t block any ongoing traffic, and from there, I search for Mari and Sarai, my only two friends. Or, two out of the three friends I have. Elena is my friend, I guess.

I see the two of them off to the side, right next to the entrance to the lunch line, chattering. Mari has their usual sandwich in their hand–probably PB&J–while Sarai appears to be eating some noodles, though it’s hard to tell from being this far away. Hell, I don’t even know how I can see them from all the way over here.

Still holding Elena’s wrist, I guide us to the table Mari and Sarai are sitting at.

“Adelia! Hi!” Mari exclaims as soon as we get to the table, taking our backpacks off and settling down. They peer curiously at Elena. “New friend?”

“Yeah,” I start. “This is Elena. She’s new.”

Elena waves at the two of them shyly, blushing slightly. “Hi.”

“Hello!” Sarai’s sing-song voice rings out. She always loves dragging out words and making the words sound all sing-songy. I swear, she has a way with words. She should be, like, a poet or something.

Mari doesn’t let any time go by before they start their interrogation. “You’re new. Where’d you move here from?”

“Romania,” Elena replies, tucking her hair behind her ears. Nervous habit.

“Ooh, the country next to Hungary? I’m part Hungarian!” Just as Mari says that, their eyes flicker off to the side, contemplating, their complex mind likely wandering to other places. “Don’t worry, though. I know Romanians and Hungarians don’t like each other much, but I’m nice.”

Elena laughs nervously, though she seems to be settling in slightly. I’m happy about that. “Yeah, I’m nice, too. I don’t judge people based on where they’re from.”

“So, where from Romania are you from?” Sarai asks, skillfully getting a twist of noodles–likely Sen Yai, or large rice noodles–and popping them into her mouth. She always brings the best lunches. I guess that’s the perk of having a Thai mom and a Chinese dad–you always get the best food.

“I was born in Cluj-Napoca, but my family moved to Bucharest when I was five.”

“Cool! I don’t know much about Romania, but I do know a lot about Dracula.”

“Oh yes, Dracula. What makes Romania infamous,” Elena says, crossing her arms and looking off to the side.

“You should tell us all about Romania! I want to learn more,” Sarai offers, looking expectantly at Elena.

I clear my throat. Partially to save Elena from this awkward interview-like conversation, and partially so I can get my lunch in peace. “Anyone willing to go to the lunch line with me?”

“But Adelia, it’s so crowded right now,” Sarai complains.

“Please,” I beg. “I can’t go by myself.”

“Fine,” Sarai huffs, pushing her red chair out and standing up. “Just because I’m a good friend.”

We head to the line, which is, obviously, packed–I guess the lunch line in the Upper Gym is closed today. That doesn’t make any sense though, because it’s the first day of school, after all.

“Where’d you meet Elena?” Sarai interrogates, glancing longingly at a pack of Lays potato chips.

“She literally sits next to me in homeroom, and is in all of my morning classes so far,” I reply, grabbing the bag of Lays. Not for me, but for Sarai, of course. Paying her back for coming with me to the lunch line.

“Oh, nice.”

We wait in the line in silence. We went to the other side of the place where lunch is served–that is, the place where there’s a shorter line. They serve pizzas and other junk food. My parents tell me I consume too much junk food, as do my friends, but I don’t care. I have an unhealthy obsession with junk food, and I’m all for it.

“Again?” Sarai sighs, practically reading my thoughts. She’s just weird in that way.

“Yes again. All day, every day, if I could,” I counter, grabbing the best-looking pizza I see. For the record, all of the pizzas look extremely undercooked, but this one doesn’t. Or at least, kind of…

“Are you and Elena friends?” Sarai questions, examining her cuticles. Though I know she doesn’t mean anything bad by it, she’s kind of annoying me. It’s sweet, the fact that she and Mari have been so protective over me since the end of last year, with all the drama that happened. But still, it’s a little much for me sometimes.

“Yeah, I guess. We got along quite quickly, pretty much as soon as we started talking. We just clicked.”

“What do you think of her?”

Huh, what a weird question.

“I mean…she’s super nice. I really do like her. She’s a bit shy, but once you get to know her, she starts to open up a little. She also seems very sweet, at least so far. Yeah, overall she’s just a nice person. And super caring. And thoughtful.”

Though Sarai doesn’t say anything, I can tell what she’s thinking: crush, maybe? 

Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I’m just going through the initial rush of adrenaline when making a new friend, if that’s even a thing. God, I’m so full of shit.

After a few more minutes of waiting, and after grabbing a caffeinated blue raspberry sparkling ice, we reach the cashier, and as soon as I pay–a grand total of $9.50 (overpriced, I know)--we make our way back to the table, where Mari and Elena are chattering about happily. Elena seems to have fully settled in.

“Hey,” Elena says, patting the seat next to her, wanting me to sit next to her. Sarai takes her seat next to me, on my left, with Mari being next to Sarai, making our little arrangement a sort of semi-circle. Used to be a full circle when you were with the Old Friend Group.

Shut the fuck up.

Sighing, I begin to dig into my pizza, savoring the cheesy and tomato-ey goodness. This pizza, surprisingly, is well-cooked. At least, for Clearview High School standards.

“The lunch here looks…good…” Elena comments, sounding very unconvinced after glancing at my pizza.

“What?”

“Looks a bit undercooked. Is that even safe to eat?”

I look down at the pizza, unsure of what Elena is talking about. Sure the pizza does look a bit pale but… “I mean, this is good, considering it’s made at the school. I’ve seen and eaten much worse.”

Elena shudders. “Hm. Okay. Guess that finalizes my decision: I’m not buying lunch from this school if I can avoid it.”

We all eat in silence for a few minutes, until I break the silence. “So. What were you and Mari talking about while Sarai and I were at the lunch line? More about Romania?”

“Yeah, she kept asking me questions about what it’s like growing up there,” Elena replies, spooning some reddish-pinkish-looking soup into her mouth.

“Um.” Mari starts. “I don’t know how you feel about these things, but I use they/them pronouns.”

Elena looks up and instantly turns red. “Doamne–I mean, God, I’m sorry! I should’ve asked about your pronouns. All of you guys, actually. I didn’t do that back in Romania because people aren’t as open-minded there as they are in the States. But know that I do support people like you, unlike the rest of my family and most of my country.”

“It’s okay! Don’t worry about it! If anything, I’m just happy you’re supportive,” Mari replies. “Oh and, if you mess up, that’s okay! The effort is what counts.”

“Yeah. As for my pronouns, I use she/her,” Sarai chimes.

“Me too,” I concur.

“Okay. Me too,” Elena replies, closing the container with the soup. “Are there a lot of queer people in this school? Just curious.”

“Yeah,” Mari replies, then looks at me specifically. “We used to be friends with most of the ones in our grade, or at least Adelia was, until last year…”

“Mari,” I hiss. “Not now. I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Talk about what?” Elena overheard.

“Oh um,” I’m not sure about where to begin. “There…was drama last year. That’s all. I don’t want to talk about it now. I just want to hang out with you guys and yap about dumb, trivial things.”

“Reasonable,” Sarai concedes, taking a sip out of the straw of her apple juice box. “Me too, though. Let’s not think about last year.”

“Okay…” Elena replies, seeming to be unsure of what to do with herself.

“So…how was everyone’s summer?” Mari questions, trying to make up for the unintentional awkwardness they caused.

And from there, we do keep yapping, until the bell rings.

 ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

“I have gym,” I whine, standing up and putting my backpack back on.

“Me too!” Elena replies, sounding very happy. “I mean, I’m not happy about having gym, but I’m happy that we’ll go through hell together.”

“C’mon guys. You won’t be doing anything. Mari and I had gym just before lunch. You guys just sit on the bleachers doing nothing. It’ll go like that today and Friday, then on Monday we’ll probably start doing stuff, and even then you can just walk around. You’ll be fine.”

“Wait what?” Elena sounds surprised. “Really? In Romania, you had to do actual stuff in gym. You didn’t just get to walk around. Oh, this is gonna be perfect!” Elena squeals.

“Right, I forgot about that,” I mutter.

“Well, let’s go before we’re late,” Elena suggests, pointing back to the cafeteria’s entrance.

“They don’t care if you’re late to gym. The teachers always take attendance, like, halfway through the class anyway,” I explain, putting the other strap of my backpack on my shoulder, reaching out to pull my hair from underneath the backpack’s grasp.

“Oh, okay.”

“Well, I have to go to chemistry now. Mari, what class do you have now?” Sarai questions, slinging her messenger bag across her body.

“Algebra. Please save me.”

“It’s not that bad. You just make name tags. You’ll see.”

“Yeah, but I checked the Google Classroom, and I don’t have any friends in that class,” Mari complains.

“Well, I met someone new today; maybe you can too?” I suggest hopefully.

“Maybe,” Mari replies doubtfully.

We make our way through the cafeteria, through the forest of white circular tables surrounded by red chairs, and to the exit.

“Well, Mari and I have to head up the stairs. See you guys later!”

With that, we part ways, Elena walking by my side.

When we make it to the gym, it’s already crowded, so it’s hard to find a place to sit. In fact, we, or I, should say, got so unlucky as to have to sit near the Old Friend Group; there were no other options.

Though I don’t look at any of them, I can feel their stares on me, piercing me like a million sewing needles. Their staring hurts. I’d be lying if I said otherwise. Don’t panic, breathe. In for four seconds, hold for seven, exhale for eight.

It doesn’t work.

I can feel myself start to shake, as soon as Elena and I sit down on the bleachers, though I try to hide it. I get all sweaty–especially my palms–it’s gross, but I don’t know what to do about it. All I can say is that I’m panicking.

“You good?” Just like my other friends, Elena can pick up on these things.

“Yeah, I, uh. I’m just going to go to the bathroom.”

Before Elena can say anything, I stand up and make my way precariously down the bleachers and out the gym. Luckily, the walk to the bathroom isn’t far at all; it’s just in front of the gym, actually.

Stepping inside, I find that no one is in here, thankfully. I end up locking myself up in a stall.

Get a grip, moron. You’re panicking for no reason.

No, not “for no reason.” My reason is valid.

No, it’s invalid. Invalid and pathetic.

Again. My thoughts conflicting, the two voices in my head arguing back and forth. It’s tiring.

I bury my head in my hands, trying deep breathing again. This time, it does work. That is, until someone enters the bathroom.

“...Honestly so weird.”

This voice.

It’s Emily’s.

“Yeah,” a second voice laughs.

Lana.

I need out. I need to get away from here.

Flushing the toilet, though I didn’t even use the bathroom, I step out and make my way to the sole sink, where, of course, Emily and Lana are busy fixing their hair, trying to look like pretty girls. Fakes.

“Excuse me,” I mumble, and the two step back for me to wash my hands. I would’ve just left, but I don’t want these people to think I’m disgusting or something, with walking out of the stall and not washing my hands and all.

I don’t know what’s so funny, but Emily and Lana suddenly start cackling. It makes me a bit self-conscious. Maybe they’re talking about me. Or maybe they’re just having a good time.

I pull out some paper towels to dry my hands, and I catch Emily’s eye in the bathroom mirror. She looks away quickly, but I saw the look of hatred in her eyes. Or maybe I’m just making all this up. Maybe I’m just paranoid.

Passing by, I notice Emily is wearing one of the tank tops I got for her. It’s from Hollister: a purple babydoll top with darker purple flowers and vines twisting this way and that. She’s also wearing these jeans–I’ve never seen them before. They’re medium-washed with white butterflies dotting them. If we were still together, she would’ve told me immediately when she got the jeans, show them off and all. Hell, I probably would’ve been there with her to buy them. Stop. Just leave already. Stop thinking about them.