“Class. At least pretend to independently read,” Mrs. Kaiser scolded again. Luckily, it wasn’t just me talking this time. Thorton was having a full blown conversation with the girl sitting in front of her.
“I know an easier way.” His eyes were lit up with excitement.
Great. I was being pegged for a cheater on day one, and now I had met the skeevy kid. Add that to my list of great accomplishments.
I decided to play along, see what valuable information was to come of it. “You do?” I asked.
“Oh yeah.” He nodded, scrunching up his nose. I took a good look at him. I couldn’t tell much about his height, since he was folded into a desk, but I could tell that his hair made him appear a good foot taller than what he probably was. It looked rather unruly except for the fact that most of it was pushed back by a tie-dyed bandanna. I had caught the faint smell of cigarette smoke being masked by cologne when he leaned towards me.
He had ripped out an entire sheet of paper and slid it towards me. On the very bottom, in very fine handwriting, was a phone number.
“Dude. The other two hundred girls in this school don’t want you, and neither does she,” another student walking through the aisle grumbled at him. He grabbed the sheet off my desk, crumpled it up, and tossed it at the bandanna guy’s head.
“Asswipe,” the guy sitting next to me muttered under his breath. I hated confrontations, and I knew if I was going to be in high school, I’d have to get used to them. Luckily the boy who threw the paper was already at the front of the classroom. He was no longer paying attention to us. I watched as he rolled his eyes and winked at a girl in the front row while he sharpened his pencil. Gross. She laughed and looked away.
I turned back to my cheater propositioner. “You can give that back if you’d like.” I nodded towards the paper which was balled up on the corner of his desk. He picked it up, arched his arm, and sent it sailing right into the trash can in the front of the room.
“Forget it.” He had already turned back to his book.
“I’m Abigail, by the way,” I ventured. He ignored me, pretending to read, or maybe actually reading. It was hard to tell what kind of work a cheater was putting in.
I stared at the clock. Three hours down, four more to go. I added the descriptions of both people I had just met to my list.
I was grateful when lunch finally rolled around. I had landed myself a solo in choir class, which actually helped to perk me up. I, Abigail Henderson, was good at something.
That moment of happiness went to crap when I learned that I would be having lunch without Matt or any of the people I had met that day.
At least choir was right above the stairs leading down to the lunchroom. I was one of the first people to arrive. There were a few people starting to trickle in, spreading their brown paper bag lunches out on various tables.
It was only two weeks into the school year for those who had started on time. Starting late meant that friends and enemies had already been made for many. I was willing to bet that people knew exactly where they did and did not belong when it came to the lunchroom.
Clutching the white floral lunch bag my dad had packed for me, I found a smaller round table with four chairs. That way, if I was in the wrong spot, I was only pissing off four people instead of a whole row of them as I might at some of the long rectangular tables. I shook the contents out of my lunch bag and was surprised how neatly everything was packed away. I was finally organized, something I had always aspired to be.
“Ahem.” Someone right behind me was clearing their throat.
That had happened quicker than I thought.
“Hi.” I looked up and plastered on what I hoped was an innocent-looking smile. Surrounding my table were four girls in school spirit wear. All of them kept their hair in neat buns without a single strand of hair sticking out.
“This is our table.” A girl who towered over the rest of the group spoke up. Ah, the leader. She had what appeared to be a gym bag slung over her right shoulder.
“Oh.” I wasn’t sure of my next move.
“The Varsity Volleyball team sits here. You’re not on the varsity team and you don’t even look like you play volleyball.”
I took offense at that comment. My new body was actually in pretty good shape. I wasn’t wearing the right clothes, though, so maybe that's what she meant.
I resisted the urge to ask for a seating chart and packed up my lunch instead. I muttered an apology and walked away, well aware that their eyes were following my next move to see who the new kid would try and join next. Social hierarchy is such a beautiful thing, I thought bitterly as I surveyed my surroundings.
The rest of the tables had filled up. There was no chance for me to find something alone. I stood on my tippy toes and surveyed the lunch room. Even the emptiest of tables already had a few people at them. No one looked welcoming enough either. I stared for a moment longer, hoping that someone would raise a hand and beckon me over. It didn’t happen. No one even looked at me, as if making eye contact with the new girl was similar to catching a plague or the black mark of being a loser.
I was left with two options. Suck it up and sit somewhere where I could hopefully stay somewhat inconspicuous, or hide out in the bathroom.
I circled around the edge of the lunchroom. A few gazed in my direction and whispered to their friends as I began circling around like a hawk for the second time.
I gave up and found myself standing next to the hot lunch line. The air was thick with the mixture of pizza grease and chocolate chip cookies.
If I took any more steps, I’d have to pass the volleyball table again. From the corner of my eye, I could see them laughing, their perfectly made-up heads close to each other as they gossiped. They had pulled up more chairs to the table to accommodate what appeared to be more of the team. I was so engrossed in thoughts of what it would be like to be on a sports team that I didn’t realize that someone had come up behind me.
A tap on my right shoulder sent me jumping. My lunch bag fell to the ground, the sandwich sliding out of its plastic baggie onto the dirty floor. I looked down. Two pieces of rye bread, some lettuce, and what appeared to be turkey lunchmeat lay strewn about. A tomato even landed on my shoe. A wonderful reminder of how my day had quickly turned to shit.
I turned angrily to confront whoever it was, but they were already crouched over, picking up the remnants of my sandwich.
“I am so sorry.” The mysterious, and quite handsome, stranger looked up at me. “110% my fault, I shouldn’t have startled you like that.”
“It’s okay.” I studied him closely.
“Yeah, but your lunch isn’t.” He smiled apologetically and tried to suppress a laugh as he tossed my sandwich into a nearby garbage. “You’re Abigail, right?” He turned back toward me. “I’d shake your hand, but it appears you like guacamole.” He rubbed his hands together, trying to get my sandwich toppings off his fingers.
I did? That was news to me.
I nodded, suddenly lost for words. I studied him. He appeared to be a teacher. His trendy outfit suggested that he was about as old as I was—I mean, as I had been before I died. He was wearing khaki pants, a pale blue button-up, and a navy blazer type jacket. Several pens were sticking out of his pocket, including a rainbow-colored one that had some sort of feather on the edge. I pegged him immediately as some sort of English teacher.
“Mr. Nash,” he was saying. “I teach Creative Writing, which you have at some point during the second part of your day.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said. I didn’t realize how tightly I was clutching my lunch bag.
He lowered his voice to a mock whisper, “I know it’s not the coolest to sit with teachers, but it’s a big table and we have room.”
I was ready to take what I could get at that point. I followed him to a circular table, roughly the same size as the Varsity one but with a completely different vibe, a vibe of kindness.
There were two other people sitting at the table. One was a woman I recog
nized immediately as the gym teacher. I had passed her in the hallway earlier, talking animatedly about the proposed new rules for volleyball nets. Next to her was a smaller, younger kid.
“This is Miss Fry, gym teacher,” Mr. Nash nodded towards her and she looked up from her salad, flashing me a smile. The irony wasn’t lost on me.
“Welcome,” she said.
“And this is Chase.” Mr. Nash nodded towards the student next to her. “He’s a junior and my TA for the semester. Although we don’t pay him to grade papers during lunch.”
Chase laughed. “It’s better than the alternative.”
Chase had an untouched stack of papers sitting next to him. His hands were busy unwrapping candies out of a bag. I watched him for a moment as he unwrapped three in a row and placed them next to the five unwrapped ones that were already sitting on the table.
He popped them into his mouth, one at a time, until he was down to the last three. “Want one?” he asked, turning his attention towards me.
I shook my head and turned my attention back to Mr. Nash. I had taken an instant liking to him.
“Excuse me for a moment.” Mr. Nash got up and headed through the doors to the cafeteria. The line was down to just a few stragglers who had gotten to the lunchroom late.
I shook out what contents of my lunch bag had survived the fall. I was thankful to have something to do. All that remained was a bag of barbeque potato chips and an oatmeal raisin granola bar.
“Yuck,” I almost said out loud. Two flavors which I didn’t particularly care for, especially the barbeque, which reminded me of a time I had food poisoning. I let out an involuntary shudder which no one seemed to notice. No one at the table seemed up for conversation. Chase was scribbling away on a piece of paper atop the stack. The writer of that paper would soon be seeing more red than black ink. Something told me that Chase was abusing the power he had been given by Mr. Nash.
Miss Fry was now immersed in textbook, periodically shoveling bites of Caesar salad into her mouth without taking her eyes off the pages even after a piece of lettuce missed her mouth and landed on one.
The scraping of a chair against the floor next to me indicated that Mr. Nash had returned, sparing me from having to start a conversation.
“Here.” He placed a red and white checkered boat on the table. It was piled high with cheese fries. The grease was starting to stain the sides of the container. There was globs of nacho cheese, bacon, scallions, and even a few jalapenos tucked into a neat little container on the side. I was suddenly starving. I didn’t care how unhealthy they appeared to be. My metabolism seemed to be doing okay.
Mr. Nash scooped a few fries onto an extra plate before sliding the boat towards Chase, who gave him thumbs up without even looking up.
“This school has the best cheese fries.” Chase switched out his red pen for a few French fries. It took a moment to realize he was talking to me.
I nodded while I finished chewing. “I bet only heaven’s are better.”
That was the one thing thus far that I was sure of.
The fries were gooey, delicious, and literally filled me with warmth and comfort. I was getting sentimental over cheese fries, recalling the memory of the empty church minus Burt. I wondered if he was still a statue.
I put a hand to my chin, hoping I wasn’t trailing a string of cheese out of my mouth. “Thank you,” I said to Mr. Nash.
He laughed. “My pleasure. I’m the reason you don’t have a lunch. Plus, I haven’t met a student who hasn’t liked the fries here yet.”
I was getting quite good at small talk when it came to my past, which I was still learning about. I told those at the table about how smoothly our move had gone, how busy my father had been trying to make everything right before the arcade opening in a few months, and how nervous yet excited I was to have a fresh start at a new school.
Mr. Nash listened intently, nodding where necessary and asking all the right questions to ease my nerves. I wondered if he had witnessed my lunchroom showdown with the volleyball team.
I couldn’t help but stare at him while he spoke, and I felt myself blush a little. He had just enough stubble of a beard to make it seem purposeful, a strong jawline, and dark blonde hair kept in a basic crew cut. I could see where he ran gel through it and I wondered briefly what his morning routine was like.
Get it together, Abigail, I told myself. You’re not 24 anymore, and the last thing you should be thinking about is your teacher’s jawline.
At least I didn’t look for a wedding band. I congratulated myself on that much as the bell rang a moment later.
“Showtime,” I said to no one in particular at the table.
There was a mad dash out of the lunchroom which caused me to wait near the bottom of the stairs until enough people had filed out so that I could get through.
When there was finally room to walk, think, and breathe, I joined the lingering crowd upstairs. The bright side of being a new student was getting a pass on being late to classes on your first day.
This came in handy as I made my way to where my locker was located. A dark-haired girl whose locker was directly below mine was already there.
“Excuse me?” I asked as I approached, hoping she would move a little to the side without any confrontation.
She stared at me for a moment; then her face brightened. “Hi!” she exclaimed, sticking out her hand. It was the first 100% positive interaction I’d had with a student thus far at this school.
I was taken aback for a moment, waiting for her to say something rude like all the others. She didn’t. I shook her extended hand. “Hello. I’m Abigail.”
“Alyssa. Let me get out of your way so you can get your stuff,” she said, locking up her locker and scooting over. I thought she was going to take off right away, but surprisingly she stood there, looking up at me. “What class do you have next?”
“Oh,” I said pulling my crinkled schedule out from the pages of my Government book. “Looks like Creative Writing is next.”
“Awesome!” She snatched the schedule excitedly from my hands. “Oh, my God, you’re in Mr. Nash’s class too. He’s uh-fricken-amazing. Seriously,” she said.
“Oh yeah?” I asked nonchalantly. “Why’s that?”
“I think it’s just him as a person,” she said. “He makes sure that students are actually learning and enlightened simultaneously. Not an easy feat when the class is filled with a bunch of bozos and boozers,” she said with a laugh. “Not to mention, he’s a looker.” She winked before shifting her backpack to her other shoulder. “Wanna walk together? I’m in that class too.”
I quickly shut my locker, clicking the lock into place, before following after her. I liked Alyssa already. Her big personality already seemed like such a welcoming contrast with the other kids at the school. I had to jog to keep up with the wide strides she was taking, her legs nearly twice the length of mine.
“Mint?” she asked, turning to me as I fell in stride with her.
“No, thank you.” I was out of breath when we approached Mr. Nash’s door. His warm smile at the lunchroom table popped into my head. “Actually, I’ll take one.”
She shook one into my hand as we reached the door.
“Lyss! Someone shouted from behind us. “You got gum?” It was the cheating bandanna kid from my previous class. The stench of cigarette smoke that surrounded him was heavier this time.
“Good God, you smell like an ashtray, Noah.” She waved her hand dramatically in front of her face.
Ah, so he did have a name. He just didn’t want to give it to me.
“Shut it,” he laughed. “Just give me the gum.”
“Hi,” I said again to him, hoping to prompt more of a response than I had gotten out of him before.
He looked at Alyssa and back at me. “You befriended the new girl?”
She shrugged. “Our lockers are next to each other.”
He studied me one last time. “Noah,” he said with a head nod before we entered the
classroom. That was the progress I had hoped for.
“Are there assigned seats?” I whispered to Alyssa, who nodded as she began walking to the front corner. I hovered awkwardly near the door.
“Abigail!” someone shouted from the back right corner. Oh, good Lord. Matt was standing in the back, one leg propped on his chair as he waved his hands dramatically to get my attention. “You get to sit by me!”
Mr. Nash’s class was in a different layout than the other ones. Instead of rows, the desks were clumped together in four-person groups, a more intimate setting than I had witnessed so far. Unfortunately for me, I had to take a seat right next to Matt, whom I hadn’t fully forgiven yet for his antics earlier. He didn’t care, and immediately launched into a quick rundown of how Mr. Nash’s class operated.
I looked around as he spoke. There was a large and impressive handcrafted oak desk near the front. Mr. Nash had slipped in unnoticed by me and was now sitting behind it, talking animatedly with his hands to a student who was laughing in return.
“And that’s crazy, right?” I nodded to whatever Matt was saying, realizing that I hadn’t listened to a word he’d just said.
All around the walls of Mr. Nash’s classroom were posters of the literary greats, including some more obscure people I didn’t recognize. The whiteboard up front had the remnants of words that had been written and erased over the course of the semester thus far. Mr. Nash wrote a lot, that much I could tell.
There was something off to the corner of his room that caught my attention. It appeared that there were countless Polaroid pictures held up by strings attached to a wooden pallet. They were gorgeous. There were lighthouses, gardens, and even a golden retriever leaping off the pier as the sun set in the background. Whoever took them had a real talent.
“Class.” Mr. Nash’s voice quieted the room, putting an end to Matt’s chatter. “Let’s get started.”
He was now standing behind his desk, leaning forward so that his hands were planted squarely in front of him.
“That means you, Mr. Lee.” His attention turned to someone standing near the group of seats next to me. It was Darrington. He was leaning towards someone’s desk, chatting with a pretty blonde girl.
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