"I can't remember what happened that night. I'm not talking slippery details or fuzzy-edged visions; I mean a complete and utter blackout. Like I wasn't even there. Except... I know I was."
Since the death of her boyfriend six months ago, Morgan Cai...
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Going to the cafeteria with Elliot makes me realize I haven't eaten a full-sized meal in weeks.
I've ventured out to grab dinner most days, if only so I don't have to lie to Mom when she asks me if I've been eating enough. But it hasn't occurred to me that my self-serve plate can't count as a normal portion in any universe.
That changes when I'm standing beside Elliot at the hot-food counter.
"What?" I ask, noticing him staring.
We both glance down at my tray at the same time. The small baked potato and side salad I've chosen don't even take up half the plate, but I already know I'll struggle to finish them. My appetite hasn't been right for months.
"Is that all you're eating?"
I check out his tray for comparison. The difference is stratospheric; it's piled high with a big serving of lasagna, two slices of garlic bread, mozzarella sticks, fries, and a salad twice the size of mine (for balance, I guess). Mine suddenly looks ridiculous.
"Yeah," I say defensively. "I'm not that hungry."
"Sorry. That wasn't meant to sound judgy." He grimaces, like he didn't mean to offend, and I feel bad for snapping. "I just figured—it costs one meal credit regardless of what you put on the plate, so why not scam them out of as much food as possible? It's only fair when they're scamming us with sky-high tuition."
I glance back at the counter.
"Sorry. I'll butt out," he says, picking up his tray and moving in the direction of the cash register. As he brushes past me, he adds, "But if I were you, I'd at least grab a few of the mozzarella sticks. They're really good."
Left on my own, I pause for a second. Then I reach over and grab a serving.
When the cashier swipes my meal card, I get a mild hit of rebellion. I know it's just mozzarella sticks, but it's a start.
Elliot is already halfway across the cafeteria when I emerge on the other side of the registers and scan the room. When he asked if I wanted to join him, he didn't say whether it would be just the two of us, so I'm not sure what to expect. But then he stops at a table where a guy and girl are already seated. A niggling voice in my head tells me I'm not in the mood for meeting new people, not after my outburst in the welfare office, but I can't run away now. Plus, I don't want to feel like I'm letting Elliot down.
So I take a deep breath and head in the same direction.
"Hey," he says, as I approach. "Come join. Guys, this is Morgan."
This is when I get my first real look at the two others at the table; Elliot's introduction gives me permission to stare. The girl has striking features, all of them perfect angles: her strong jaw and naturally arched eyebrows are the stuff of envy. Her dark-brown eyes are framed by the longest eyelashes I've ever seen, and the glinting silver stud in her nose complements the metallic detailing in her hijab. Beside her, there's an equally attractive guy, wearing a sports jersey, with long blond hair and a smile that makes me feel a little giddy. I don't notice until the last minute that he's in a wheelchair, and I hope the realization doesn't show on my face.
