Engraved

Ch. 4) Tuck: to push/fold/ or conceal

Stephanie's Point of View:

After three gruesomely boring classes of physics, calculus and literature, it was finally time for lunch. Where was I to go in such a big school? While the others hurried to find their friends and claim their sitting spots, I stood up hopelessly carrying my lunch sack that Aunt Lori had packed me. I sighed, How could a 16 year old like me, be lost in a school? I mean it seems like I'm in such a corny high school drama - but I wasn't. And this was real life.

After about 3 minutes of wandering around, I spotted Ryan all the way on the other side of the quad. I ran to him,

"Hey, little man!" I said enthusiastically.

"Steph, I'm not little. Stop calling me that." Ryan wined as he started to eat his lunch.

"So am I keeping your friends away? I'll go away if I am." I said as I took about out of my sandwich.

"No, I like eating alone but you can stay here with me though." he replied.

I didnt say anything after. All that was left of our conversation were sounds of chewing food. Ryan threw something out of his sandwich,

"What did you throw Ryan?" I asked.

"It was nothing. I hate tomato seeds." he replied.

I shrugged, "Oh."

Ryan's Point of View:

I was secretly happy that Steph came and sat with me. It's nice seeing my cousin again. And honestly, I dont like eating alone but I told her that to seem like I wanted to not have friends. I wanted friends but they were hard to make now. Oh sure, everyone thought that it was easy for me, Ryan Kabowski, the big shot rich kid, the son of Mark Kabowski, creator of one of the largest sport item distributors in the world; but it was not easy for me to make friends. Oh sure, I had friends like Devin and Ross at school but after my dad died, a part of me shut down, I didn't feel like talking to anyone, not even my mom. For any of you who have experienced a death of a friend, family member or pet; I'm almost sure that you understand my pain. And some people prefer to talk after a tragedy like that, while others - like me, don't.

I want to get better, I really do. My counselor told my mom that I had depression last month; and then they prescribed me medication. So, now I'm suppose to be taking theses oval shaped, beige pills that are suppose to make me feel "happier". I refuse to take them. I just dont want to be fake happy I want to be real happy. Mom tucks them into my sanwiches; under the turkey, above the tomatoes. I throw the pill out every time; been doing that for the last month.