“Zilphia Kensley?”
“Yes,” I answer, turning back around in my seat.
“I’m Mr. Beaver.” He places an American Governmenttextbook on my desk. “You’re only a month behind, so you should catch up in no time.”
“Thanks.” I face Leah again as he walks away. “Did you have lunch already?”
“No, my lunch block is next.”
“Mine too. Do you want to sit together?”
“Sure.”
After roll call, Mr. Beaver instructs the class to review chapter three and complete the challenge questions at the end.
“Zilphia, you can start on chapter one,” he tells me.
“Okay.” I open my textbook and set to work.
The next forty-five minutes go by at a snail’s pace. I love my country, but damn if this chapter isn’t long and boring. I’m close to pulling my hair out when the bell finally rings. The shrill sound is music to my ears. I almost trip over my feet sprinting to the door. Leah is right on my heels. Guess she’s ready for a break too.
“Wednesdays are always the slowest,” Leah complains, arranging her beautiful micro locs over a slender shoulder. “I call it the mid-week slump.”
I chuckle. “Fitting name.”
We merge with our peers in the stairwell and head to the first floor. My locker is the first stop. I quickly toss the tote bag inside, then we walk down the hall to hers.
She slides her notebook and textbook on the metal shelf before grabbing the cheetah-print lunch bag hanging on the hook. “I pack breakfast and lunch almost every day, since the salad bar is the only vegan option our wonderful school offers. Blatant discrimination if you ask me.”
“What’d you bring?”
“Vegan chicken salad and grilled pineapples,” she answers, swinging her locker door shut.
“Excuse my ignorance, but how the hell can chicken be vegan?” I ask, thoroughly perplexed. “It’s meat.”
I’m not even going to get started on the grilled pineapples.Who decided grilling pineapples was a good idea? It’s bad enough someone thought to put it on pizza for crying out loud.
“Tofu, chickpeas, or another plant-based substitution are used instead of chicken.”
“Oh.” We slip into the fast-moving crowd, weaving our way toward the cafeteria. “What do you put in yours?”
“Chickpeas, cranberries, almonds, celery, and vegan mayo.”
I crinkle my nose. “Sounds very vomit-worthy.”
“Hey,” she growls, her mouth twisting in feigned anger. “Don’t knock it until you try it.”
“Noooo thanks.” I vehemently shake my head in the negative. “The vegan granola bars were pretty good, but I draw the line at vegan meat. I’m a carnivore through and through.”
“I can sway you to the vegan lifestyle,” Leah remarks, arching an eyebrow in challenge.
“Ha,” I bark. “It ain’t happening.”
The instant we step into the bustling cafeteria, delicious aromas bombard my nose. I’m ready to eat my weight in food or until the bell rings, whichever comes first. I survey my surroundings.
No wonder there are three lunch blocks. The room’s crammed tight. Long, rectangular bench-style tables fill the compact space, with circular stools on either side. There’s barely enough elbow room for a couple hundred students.
“Do you want to eat outside?” Leah nods toward the round metal picnic tables beyond the bay windows to the right.
