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Authors: Nadia Simonenko
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it's never going to happen. Just like every day, I'll be sitting alone at the table in the corner.
...the table at which, for the first this year, someone else is currently sitting.
Isaac looks up and smiles at me, and I suddenly feel cold. I haven't talked to him since he helped me clean up in the hallway after Sarah dumped garbage on my head.
I’m briefly annoyed at his intrusion. As dumb as it sounds, the empty table in the corner is all I have. It's my place—my own little spot in a sea of unwelcoming students—and he's invading it. I'm not sure I trust him, either. One of these days, he's going to be just like the others—he's going to pull some terrible, cruel prank on me, and I can't even imagine what it'll be. Will he put something disgusting in my already unbelievably foul lunch? Maybe he'll just shove me around like some of the other guys do. That seems most likely.
Jesus, why am I even thinking like that? I chastise myself. Isaac's never been anything but nice to me, and it's completely unfair of me to treat him like this. I cautiously sit down across from him, casting him a wary eye all the same.
"Nina, right?" he asks, smiling pleasantly at me. I nod.
"What was your name again? Was it Isaac?" I ask.
I already know his name but I feel like I have to say something . He nods in reply and gives me a smile so warm and inviting that my brain starts to do strange things to me. My hands don't seem to know where they belong anymore and I force myself to look away as my face flushes unexpectedly.
It feels strange talking to him. I should be ignoring him—treating him with disdain, the way everyone else treats me—but something about him almost compels me to like him. I don't want to have anything to do with the other students, but with Isaac... I just can't talk to him. It's as if my tongue just stops working when he's around. Why do I get this way around him?
"So," he starts again. "How's everything?"
My tongue still won't move, so instead I shrug and shove a forkful of stroganoff into my mouth. The noodles are so rubbery that I can barely chew them, but I'm almost thankful for the terrible food right now. It'll buy me enough time to figure out what to say.
"Have Sarah and her lap-dog of a boyfriend lightened up on you yet?" he asks, unfazed by my silence. He’s trying his best to be personable, but it's not exactly a fun subject for me.
"Not unless pushing my face into the water fountain counts as backing off," I finally answer, shaking my head.
Isaac frowns but doesn't say anything. Instead, he reaches into his brown paper bag and pulls out his lunch—a bologna sandwich and a bag of cashews. I haven't had bologna in God only knows how long, but right now, it looks so appetizing compared to my own lunch that it might as well be prime rib.
Isaac catches me looking at his food, shrugs awkwardly and mumbles, "It’s not real meat, but I like it."
My face turns red in panicked embarrassment as I realize I'm staring at his sandwich. I wasn't judging his food—I just... oh, I don't even know what I was doing. When you spend all your time either sitting alone or cowering before bullies, you sometimes forget how to be a normal person.
"Bologna isn’t real meat?" I blurt out, trying my best to come up with a good recovery. "My grandfather used to tell me stories of the majestic herds of bologna beasts thundering across the plains of Montana."
Great. Now I sound like a lunatic, too.
Isaac almost chokes on his sandwich and covers his mouth as he laughs, and I feel the tension in my shoulders relax a hair. It somehow makes me feel... almost proud that I made him laugh, as if it's some sort of accomplishment or something.
"I’m afraid I have bad news for you, Nina," he tells me once he can finally breathe again. "Everything you know about bologna is a lie."
Just as I’m about to continue our charade, a boy in a yellow polo
...the table at which, for the first this year, someone else is currently sitting.
Isaac looks up and smiles at me, and I suddenly feel cold. I haven't talked to him since he helped me clean up in the hallway after Sarah dumped garbage on my head.
I’m briefly annoyed at his intrusion. As dumb as it sounds, the empty table in the corner is all I have. It's my place—my own little spot in a sea of unwelcoming students—and he's invading it. I'm not sure I trust him, either. One of these days, he's going to be just like the others—he's going to pull some terrible, cruel prank on me, and I can't even imagine what it'll be. Will he put something disgusting in my already unbelievably foul lunch? Maybe he'll just shove me around like some of the other guys do. That seems most likely.
Jesus, why am I even thinking like that? I chastise myself. Isaac's never been anything but nice to me, and it's completely unfair of me to treat him like this. I cautiously sit down across from him, casting him a wary eye all the same.
"Nina, right?" he asks, smiling pleasantly at me. I nod.
"What was your name again? Was it Isaac?" I ask.
I already know his name but I feel like I have to say something . He nods in reply and gives me a smile so warm and inviting that my brain starts to do strange things to me. My hands don't seem to know where they belong anymore and I force myself to look away as my face flushes unexpectedly.
It feels strange talking to him. I should be ignoring him—treating him with disdain, the way everyone else treats me—but something about him almost compels me to like him. I don't want to have anything to do with the other students, but with Isaac... I just can't talk to him. It's as if my tongue just stops working when he's around. Why do I get this way around him?
"So," he starts again. "How's everything?"
My tongue still won't move, so instead I shrug and shove a forkful of stroganoff into my mouth. The noodles are so rubbery that I can barely chew them, but I'm almost thankful for the terrible food right now. It'll buy me enough time to figure out what to say.
"Have Sarah and her lap-dog of a boyfriend lightened up on you yet?" he asks, unfazed by my silence. He’s trying his best to be personable, but it's not exactly a fun subject for me.
"Not unless pushing my face into the water fountain counts as backing off," I finally answer, shaking my head.
Isaac frowns but doesn't say anything. Instead, he reaches into his brown paper bag and pulls out his lunch—a bologna sandwich and a bag of cashews. I haven't had bologna in God only knows how long, but right now, it looks so appetizing compared to my own lunch that it might as well be prime rib.
Isaac catches me looking at his food, shrugs awkwardly and mumbles, "It’s not real meat, but I like it."
My face turns red in panicked embarrassment as I realize I'm staring at his sandwich. I wasn't judging his food—I just... oh, I don't even know what I was doing. When you spend all your time either sitting alone or cowering before bullies, you sometimes forget how to be a normal person.
"Bologna isn’t real meat?" I blurt out, trying my best to come up with a good recovery. "My grandfather used to tell me stories of the majestic herds of bologna beasts thundering across the plains of Montana."
Great. Now I sound like a lunatic, too.
Isaac almost chokes on his sandwich and covers his mouth as he laughs, and I feel the tension in my shoulders relax a hair. It somehow makes me feel... almost proud that I made him laugh, as if it's some sort of accomplishment or something.
"I’m afraid I have bad news for you, Nina," he tells me once he can finally breathe again. "Everything you know about bologna is a lie."
Just as I’m about to continue our charade, a boy in a yellow polo
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