The Cliche Gone Wrong

Chapter Twelve

I think this is the best night of my life.

I can't stop looking around the table over and over, my position at the head of the table giving me a prime people watching opportunity. My head is practically on a swivel as dozens of things compete for my attention at once. My eyes flicker down to the little boy sitting to my left and the big smile on his face as he proceeds to list everything he has done at school this week, although most of the other people are continuing on with their own conversations and not giving him their undivided attention. I try to listen to everything he's saying, not wanting him to feel alone or unwanted, but the little girl on his left is doing the same exact thing; their high-pitched voices competing to see who can talk the fastest.

Every few seconds I look back over at Killer who sits closer to the other end of the table, but she isn't giving me the time of day. She listens attentively to her mom's in-depth summary of how her workweek went, every once in a while interrupting her mom to command the two little children to eat. A young boy sits next to Killer's left, scarfing down his food as if he is in a desperate hurry to get somewhere. I try to avoid eye contact with the girl sitting to my immediate right, although she obviously isn't doing the same. Her chin rests in her hand as she stares at me boldly, not even looking away to lift her fork to her mouth.

I clear my throat as I look over at her, squirming from her intense gaze. "Hi."

She blushes profusely and finally looks away, her fluffy hair nearly falling into her bowl as she dips her head down. I look back over to the two little children, trying to figure out what I missed in their conversation.

"And then Keiko called my bantu knots man-buns!" The little girl exclaims, banging her fist on the table. "And I told her that they weren't man-buns and that she was stupid for thinking so. But then she started crying and said she was gonna tell the teacher on me. So I told the teacher on her instead! And then..."

The boy bangs his fist on the table too, causing my attention to shift midsentence. "...made the basket! All the other kids were jealous too but I told them there is no way they could ever be as good as me because I'm the Bear for a reason."

I smile at the boy, watching how smug he looks despite the fact that no one is really paying too much attention to him. How is it that he doesn't mind? Does he not care that his parents don't give him any attention?

"Okay everyone!" Mrs. Hayes calls out from the opposite head of the table, clapping her hands together three times. All conversations cease as we give our attention to her. "30 second summaries. Bug, Go!"

The little girl beams at being chosen first as she immediately launches into a condensed version of the story she was telling in earlier, expanding to include a couple of other key events that she didn't tell me about.

"Time!" Mrs. Hayes calls out, an amused smile on her face. "Bear!"

The little boy starts talking now. I'm so confused, trying to figure out what the hell even is going on. I look to Killer for help but she is too busy staring at her little brother, something remarkable close to pride shining in her eyes as he recounts recess in first grade.

"I also learned how to count by 5s!" He exclaims. "Look! 5, 10, 15, 20, 2—"

"I can do that too!" The little girl erupts, a prominent pout on her face. "5, 1—"

"It's not your turn Rowan," Mrs. Hayes scolds before she turns back to the little boy. "And that's very good, Bear. K, you're up."

The preteen drones on about his day, not nearly as excited as his younger siblings. He doesn't even use the full 30 seconds, eliciting a frown from Mrs. Hayes and Killer, but they don't push him.