ADDIE

SCHOOL IS fine until we get to lunch.

I mean, it’s not going great or anything. It’s not like the most fantastic day of my whole life. But it’s fine. A lot of kids socialize during the school day, but it’s not like you have to talk to other kids. You go into a classroom, you sit your butt down on a chair, and then listen to the teacher talk for forty minutes. Then you go to your next class.

So it’s fine that nobody is talking to me.

But lunch is different. Because everybody is sitting in groups and talking to each other, and if you’re not with other kids, then you’re some kind of loser who nobody wants to socialize with. And that is me all over today.

Not that I had many friends before. For most of my school career, it would be me and Hudson. We would plot to get the same lunch period so we could sit together, because he didn’t want to be alone any more than I did. It’s funny, because when we were in grade school, Hudson was more of a social pariah than I was. Hudson had a fatal case of the cooties. I was just a quiet kid who had trouble talking to kids I didn’t know, but most students actively tormented Hudson. They made his life miserable.

Today, as I walk through the rows of sticky benches clutching my tray containing a hot dog, crinkle-cut french fries, a few packets of ketchup, and a carton of chocolate milk, I literally do not know where I am going to sit. I make eye contact with a few kids who I used to be friendly with, and they quickly look away.

Hudson is here, of course. But he’s planted himself at Kenzie’s table, his pale hair mussed as he tilts his head toward her, deep in conversation. Hudson is for real Kenzie’s latest boy toy. He has officially arrived, and he has not taken me along for the ride. I can’t blame him.

I wish he would at least start speaking to me again though. “Addie! Addie, over here!”

I swivel my head to see who is calling my name. It’s Ella Curtis, who I only know because she’s the skinniest girl in the junior class by at least ten pounds. Ella and I have barely said a dozen words to each other in the last

two years, but now she’s sitting at one of the benches, waving vigorously to me. She’s not the sort of person I would ordinarily eat with, but I’m deliriously happy to be invited to sit with her. I drop down into the seat across from her, dumping my tray on the table as I manage my first genuine smile of the day.

“Hey,” I say. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Ella picks up a french fry with one of her skeletal fingers and licks the ketchup off it but doesn’t take a bite. “I felt bad for you, just standing there because nobody wants to sit with you.”

I don’t know what to say to that. She’s right, but I feel weird acknowledging it. But I’m glad there are people who are still speaking to me. Maybe my mother is right. Maybe everybody will eventually just forget about it, and it won’t be a big deal anymore.

Ella flips her long, stringy brown hair over one shoulder as she looks in the direction of Kenzie’s table. I turn my head just in time to see Kenzie resting her blond head on Hudson’s shoulder. “Hey, do you think they’re dating?” she asks me.

“Dunno,” I mumble. I take a bite of my hot dog, which tastes processed, even for a hot dog. It’s basically rubber.

“Hudson is so hot.” She has finished licking the first french fry and she puts it down. She picks up another fry and starts licking that one. “They make a good couple.”

I grunt in response, and I hate to admit that I agree with her. They look good together. Kenzie’s golden-blond hair even complements Hudson’s hair color, which is also blond, almost white.

“Didn’t you, like, go out with him last year?” she presses me. I shake my head. “No.”

It was never like that between the two of us. Hudson and I became friends in grade school because we both had dads we were ashamed of. His situation was worse though—at least on the outside. My dad is gone now, but in those days, he used to pass out drunk in our living room in a pool of his own vomit, but at least nobody at school saw it. Hudson’s dad, on the other hand, was the janitor for our elementary school. He was frequently seen pushing a mop and bucket through the hallways and yelling angry curses at kids in Polish.

The two of us bonded, and even when we got to middle school and Hudson’s dad was no longer around to be a constant spectacle, we stayed

best friends. Even when we got to high school and Hudson started to be the kind of kid who turned girls’ heads and also made a name for himself on the football field, he was loyal to me. Until one day…

Anyway, I don’t want to think about it.

Ella is now licking a third french fry. I’m fascinated by this. It’s like she’s eating ketchup for lunch, and the french fries are merely a vehicle for the real meal. To be fair, I used to do that when my mom made me celery and peanut butter. But what kid wants to eat celery? French fries are french fries though!

“I freaking hate the first day of school,” Ella says. “Actually, I hate school in general. It’s so lame that we have to come here every day and be forced to learn stupid things that will never be important again.”

“I guess.” I don’t mind the learning part of school. That’s not why I didn’t want to come here today.

“Like trigonometry.” She crinkles her freckled nose. “Like, bro, when will that ever be useful in life? Seriously, it’s such a waste of our time. Who do you have for trig?”

“Mrs. Bennett.”

She groans. “She’s a total bitch. She gives, like, a ton of homework, and her tests are super hard. That’s what I heard anyway.”

Great. And math has always been my weakest subject. This year is already off to a fantastic start. “I have Mr. Bennett for English.”

That gets a giggle out of her. “Okay, that might make up for it. Dude, Mr. Bennett is hot. There is a serious hotness discrepancy between those two. Like, how did he end up marrying her?”

I don’t know what to say to that. I only vaguely know what either of those two teachers look like.

“But maybe he’s not your type.” Ella winks at me. “Maybe you would prefer somebody who looks more like Mr. Tuttle.”

My heart drops into my stomach. This is the last thing I want to talk about. “Not really.”

“Seriously.” Ella puts down the french fry she was licking and leans across the table, her eyes wide. “What was it like being with Mr. Tuttle? That sounds so gross.”

I drop my eyes, avoiding her curious gaze. “Nothing happened with Mr.

Tuttle,” I mumble. “I never said it did.”

“Uh-huh.” Her voice is dripping with sarcasm. “So how come he got fired then?”

“I don’t know.”

A lump forms in my throat. I don’t want to talk about this. Instead, I focus on the container of chocolate milk. There’s a joke written on the back of the carton. What does a cloud wear under his raincoat?

“Oh, come on.” She winks at me. “You can admit it. Everyone knows it anyway.”

I lift up the carton of milk to see the answer to the riddle. Thunderwear. “He’s so old,” she continues, her sharp voice cutting through the thrum

of activity around us. “He’s got to be, like, fifty or older. He looks like Santa Claus! I can’t believe you did it with him. Seriously, what was that like?”

It hits me now. Ella doesn’t want to be my friend. She just wants to hear the gossip about me so she can tell everyone how gross it was that I hooked up with Mr. Tuttle and she got to hear all about it. I knew there was a reason that I never wanted to be friends with Ella.

“Excuse me,” I say.

I stand up from the table, grabbing my lunch tray. I’ve barely eaten any of my food, but I’m not that hungry anyway. And I’m not going to sit here while Ella pumps me for information about something that never happened. I toss the contents of my tray into the garbage, leaving Ella at the table.

She doesn’t even try to get me to stay. I hear her giggling to herself as I walk away.

On my way out of the cafeteria, I pass Kenzie’s table. She’s deep in conversation with her friends, but I realize Hudson has been watching the entire interaction. His pale blue eyes meet mine for a split second, then he looks away like he always does these days. He has officially decided we will never speak again. Maybe if that hadn’t happened, none of this crap would’ve gone down with Mr. Tuttle. Maybe I wouldn’t be the school pariah.

In any case, I storm out of the cafeteria and sit in the library at a table all by myself, waiting quietly for sixth period to begin.