irk (luke hemmings)

two

Lucas.

Lucas Robert Hemmings.

That was his legal name.

Or, at least, then it was. God knows what he's called now, but that's what everyone called him back in the day.

Seven years ago, he was that one kid in Saint Mark's K-8 Catholic School everyone envied. He was that kid who had perfect grades, perfect parents, and a perfect life. He was that kid who won every contest, wanted everything he could get, and had parents who bought him whatever he wanted, whenever.

He was that kid in middle school that drove everyone insane.

But for me, it was more than just that.

Whether he realized it or not, fifth-grade Lucas Hemmings completely and utterly ruined my life.

And it all started with a plate of overpriced cafeteria spaghetti.

Actually, to be precise, it started with not only the innocent spaghetti, but two eleven-year-old-kids, a red lunch tray, and science-fair project that promoted saving the environment.

I mean, what could possibly go wrong with that?

But apparently being at the wrong place at the wrong time causes a strange sort of harmony, so that when one fell, they all fell.

"Sorry!" I remember saying that day over and over again to a million different people. It didn't help either that I was in the middle of the worst possible social scene I could ever be in.

The cafeteria.

So there I was, minding my own business, although still managing to bump into every person I came across. My hands remained clutched onto a piece of cardboard I'd been working on nearly the entire summer, and I was beyond nervous for my huge presentation later that day. I was currently on my way to the auditorium for the science fair and nearly made it there safely too, if not for him and his annoying red tray filled to the brim with spaghetti.

And marinara sauce.

That was the first time I had ever encountered Lucas. I'd heard about him before but never actually met him until that day: January 11th, 2007. There were many rumors circulating around about his parents' infinite amount of wealth; and perhaps the most popular one of all was that his parents had enough money to rig all the school competitions for him to always win.

Yeah, that included the science fair, geography bee, and any type of award imaginable.

He won all of them, regardless of whether it was pure talent or money that got him there.

So of course I had to stumble across him, the snobby rich boy with everything you could ever want at the tip of his fingertips, the brain of a twenty-five year old, and the manners of a five-year-old, at the wrong place and the wrong time.

"My spaghetti!" He cried as he lost balance of his red lunch tray, sending spaghetti splattering against our school-required uniforms, the tile flooring of the cafeteria, and... My science fair project.

"Your spaghetti? What about my project?" I remember shrieking, a tear nearly escaping from my eye. Not my finest moment, I have to admit, but I did work really hard on that project.

It was all about endangered animals, going green, saving the planet. So hopefully you can understand why I was more than just a little upset.

"Oops." Was all he said in response.

And then began to walk away.

"You idiot!" I yelled at the back of his crisp uniform, too overcome with emotion as I dropped to the ground to revive my project.

As I suspected, ruined.

Luke paused, turning back to face me. His blue eyes narrowed, annoyingly flipping his blond hair out of his eyes. "What did you just call me?"

Now, I'm not too proud of what happened next. But one thing lead to another, and somehow Lucas and I ended up in the principal's office with meatballs in our hair and red tomato sauce smeared from cheek-to-cheek.

My mother was called in, and so was his.

And therefore it began.

Punishment.

As if it wasn't bad enough that the entire grade witnessed this total wipeout of self-control. It was so bad that our classmates started calling us the 'Spaghetti Ninjas,' a title that traveled with me all the way until my junior year of high school.

For some odd reason it really bothered me (me, being the shy girl I was/still am,) but of course Lucas seemed to love the attention. You could tell by the dimples on his cheeks whenever someone mentioned it, his shining eyes.

He clearly loved being called a ninja even though he clearly wasn't one.

For me, however, it was the most scarring experience of my childhood. Well, at least one of them, anyways.

The second one happened later, although not too much later.

It was in the car, driving home from school the same day, when it occurred. My mother was furious at me for causing such a scene in front of all the parish kids, but after taking away all my dessert for a whole week and yelling at me for ten solid minutes, I think she saw she was getting absolutely nowhere.

So after awhile she finally settled down and formally apologized, admitting that she loved me and that I really was her daughter.

And in that same moment, her life ended.

Out of nowhere, a huge Pepsi truck, slipping on the thin layer of ice (it was January, after all,) swerved out into the middle of the street, colliding with our car.

The impact wasn't as bad in the backseat as the front, but I still don't know how I survived with just one broken arm. I still remember seeing the huge Pepsi logo hovering inches above our car just moments before the accident.

But the weirdest thing is: if I hadn't forgotten to turn in my project earlier, if Lucas had walked down that hall moments later, if I had gotten out of that cafeteria seconds before, or if Lucas simply didn't buy his lunch that day, my mother wouldn't have had to drive to school that day to pick me up.

If I had proceeded with presenting my project as planned, Lucas would have gone about his merry way, bragging about his new video game or toy or whatever, I would've taken the bus home, and my mother would have still been alive the next day.

So, in a bizarre and messed-up way, little Luke Hemmings helped ruined both my personal and social lives, all in the same day.

And in that same bizarre and messed-up way, you could say that that certain plate of spaghetti helped seal the deal, too.

However, the entire situation was not the spaghetti's fault. And I'm not saying that I didn't cause the downfall of my own fate either, but it is what it is.

I still hate Lucas, the other Spaghetti Ninja, or whatever stupid nickname he likes to be called nowadays, because of that sliver of a role he played in destroying my life.

Because whatever it was, it wasn't just an accident.

And the worst part? He got a brand-new, tormet-free fresh start two days after that, leaving our small little Pennsylvanian Catholic school to move to New York. It wasn't even the fact that he left that bothered me, but instead it was the timing.

If only he had moved two days earlier, everything would have changed. I would not know anything about him, what his personality was like back then, or who he is now.

But seven years ago he left me completely alone to suffer through the loss of my mother, a broken arm, an F on my science fair project, and a long seven years filled with spaghetti jokes.

And I hadn't seen or heard from him since, not until now.