Learn to Fly

Chapter 7: The Night We Met

CONTENT WARNING: This chapter contains depiction of rape. Proceed with caution.

~

Friday, February 1st.

The third marking period has begun, which means my third period class has switched from Introduction to Business to Digital Photography. It's been about two weeks since the class started and I'm absolutely loving it. Finding good subjects, taking pictures and editing them, it's a lot more fun than I was expecting it to be. Maybe I should ask for a camera when my birthday comes around.

The other perk of this class is that Zack's in it. Although we've chatted a few times before in Art, we've been talking a lot more since this class began, and like with Jocelyn, we're on good terms. This is a good sign, a very good sign. My friend group is beginning to repair itself and I'm slowly bringing myself out from the depths of the social pyramid. The next step to fully repairing it is trying to talk to Riley, but I doubt that'll ever happen. I haven't tried to speak to Amanda ever since she ditched me. She's turning into a clone of Riley with the way she's pretending I don't exist and acting like we were never friends. Oh well, I can't really say that I miss her.

~

My cafeteria strategy has changed since Amanda abandoned me. First, I refuse to go through the lunch line for any reason, so I can avoid that uncomfortable little moment of stepping out into the lunchroom. That moment where you feel like every single person is looking at you, closely studying you and trying to figure out if you're a friend, an enemy, or just a random loser.

I've started bringing lunch from home again. The school food sucks and I don't want to have to keep eating that crap. I asked Mom the other day if she could buy lunch meat, snack cakes, and little bottles of water or lemonade. She came home from the store with all kinds of stuff I could take to school with me. I've got a feeling it made her happy.

I try to work on my homework while eating, but even if I have my earbuds in, the cafeteria chatter is extremely distracting and I'm unable to stay focused on it for long. Instead, my source of entertainment is observing the other students, watching them as they walk by and discuss classes, clubs, and relationship drama.

My gaze occasionally wanders over to Amanda's table. Her and the rest of the girls sit in a perfectly arranged formation. Some junior girl I've never seen before has moved into my old seat. They nibble on carrot sticks, olives, and small squares of cheese, spread hummus across wheat crackers and drink some kind of fancy fruit juice. God, how can they stand to eat that healthy every day? Although given that my lunch for today consists of egg salad, a cherry-flavored Kool-Aid Jammer, and two Cosmic Brownies, I definitely don't have any business making fun of what they're eating.

I can't help but wonder if they ever talk about me. I can see them laughing hard about something, but I'm sitting too far from their table to make out any of their words. I bite into my sandwich and a bunch of crumbs fall onto my hoodie. Maybe they're planning another project. Knowing their track record, it'll either be another food drive or just them making more posters. They never seem to do anything else.

Riley takes a seat at the end of my table with Hannah, the new girl who moved up here from Georgia. They don't pay me any attention. I think I see Riley sneaking glances at me, but I'm probably wrong. Hannah wears dark blue jeans and a Gap sweatshirt, Riley wears a checkered black and blue skirt, white polo shirt and a black blazer. They're also laughing about something, but I can't make out their words either.

There are a good amount of people like me scattered among all the happy teenagers. Loners, Outcasts, there's loads of different names for them. But unlike me, the other loners at least have enough social power to be able to sit with each other. Looks like I'm the only one sitting alone. Huh, just like on the bus on the first day. But unlike in the beginning of the year, I've grown okay with sitting alone.