QUACK

Jem's Foul

“Because the line between wrong and right

Is the width of the thread from a spider’s web.”

                                                             -Katie Melua

THIS CHAPTER IS FROM SASHA'S POINT OF VIEW

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Ever had one of those moments, where everything seems to go on slow motion except you? Like, everywhere around you, things are moving in half-steps and you’re watching it all. That’s what that day, that moment, felt like.

I think I had my eyes on you all the time. I try without success to see this from your point of view: how you felt then, what you were thinking.

I couldn’t save you then, so I vowed to myself I would save you every single time after that. 

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I come to the cafeteria a little earlier than everyone else. I have finished my French quiz and I am pretty sure I tanked that thing, but it doesn’t matter. I am hungry for the meatball subs and the Tater Tots. I want to gorge myself while nobody else can see, so that when Jem and the rest come strolling in, they’ll see me sipping on a diet soda and nobody will be any wiser.

I set my AP Chemistry notes open in front of me, trying to memorize molecular structures like my life depended on it.

Ethan comes scuffling into the cafeteria, looking like a lost puppy. He sees me and the empty table I am occupying but I am pretty sure he will not sit here. I glance at my watch and decide it is early enough to have him sit with me before any of the others come.

I can always say I am helping him with something, or that Mrs. Courtly wants me to help him. I won’t be lying either way.

“Ethan,” I say, calling him over.

His feet dance a little bit on the floor because he can’t decide whether he will come over, so I wave at him to come near. I am thinking there aren’t enough people in the cafeteria that will have the guts to tell the popular crowd one of their own is opening the tightly-sealed doors. I am hoping that they are too busy wishing that this is a privilege that will be offered to them, too.

“Why don’t you sit with me today?” I ask him, patting the empty chair beside me.

He blinks at me. “Why don’t I let your boyfriend yank on my underwear until my groin is chafed raw?” he says flatly. “Why don’t I let Jem and Greg and the rest of the team shove me into the Dumpster behind woodshop?”

I feel my face grow warm on behalf of Jem and Greg and the rest of the team, as it seems they are collectively called.

Being on the inside opened you up to seeing everything up close and in high definition. I have witnessed firsthand the kind of things Jem and his friends can do to the ones who aren’t one of us. I have seen how everyone else gets shoved beyond the line that separated them from us. I have been toeing this line for so long I have no idea anymore what side I am in.

“I promise they won’t do anything like that,” I tell him, and he weighs his options. How this lunch plays out will probably dictate the rest of his week, the rest of his month. Hell, even the rest of his entire senior year.

“Fine,” he says.

I smile invitingly at him and he sets his bag down on the chair beside mine. I watch as he goes to the lunch line, presses his hands on the glass wall of the salad bar sneeze guard. Loretta, one of my favorite lunch ladies who also happens to be one of the parishioners in the Basilica of Our Lady of Perpetual Help where my dad works, hands him his food. Ethan says his thanks then he stares down the straight lines of yogurt and Jell-o, before finally taking a red one. He picks up a carton of milk before walking back to me.