Dad scratched his head. “Did we not mention that?”
“You led with the lunchbox,” Mom reminded him.
I hardly listened to the ensuing back-and-forth about which of them was the more skilled communicator. What mattered was that I wouldn’t be alone in the wilds of Millville High. Anjuli and I had spent most of our lives in the same classroom, the only girls in our grade. We hadn’t actually spoken since the last day of school, but that was fairly typical of our summers. She traveled the world visiting family, while I stayed in Millville, rereading. Perhaps this dramatic shift in our lives would bring us closer?
My expression must have brightened, because Dad pointed triumphantly at me. “You see? I knew Mary would rise to the occasion. When you think about it, this has the potential to be an exciting adventure, rather than a catastrophic loss!”
Mom patted his hand. “Well put, dear.” She stood, rolling the exercise ball she used as a chair under her desk. “We should give Mary space to process.” Her hand rested briefly on the top of my head as she moved toward the door.
“The lunchbox offer still stands,” my father whispered as he followed.
I watched the door close, feeling a twinge of wistfulness that I’d let them slip away instead of drawing out my time in the spotlight. But that would have required me to pitch a fit, and histrionics were beneath my dignity—particularly if I wanted to be taken as seriously as my older sisters.
Besides, the first wave of trepidation was already receding. In its place my pulse thrummed with a sense of newfound possibility. A plot twist of this magnitude had to signalsomething. A fork in the road. The start of a fresh chapter. It was like the part of the book where the heroine receives an invitation to visit someone’s country estate. There would be people to meet, a chance to see and be seen, organized socializing. Though probably not croquet or masquerades.
All my life I’d been waiting my turn to be the one with important stuff happening. Maybe this was it at last—my time to take center stage. I wasn’t sure exactly what that might entail, but one thing was certain: a fetching new lunchbox was only the beginning.
Dear Diary,
The good thing about Millville High is that it’s not a germ-ridden penal colony masquerading as a boarding school, à laJane Eyre. I’m pretty sure I can cross corporal punishment and starvation rations off my list of worries, not to mention waking up next to the corpse of my only friend.
Although if Anjulihadsuccumbed to a picturesque nineteenth-century illness, it would explain why she’s not returning my calls. I had to find out from her mom that the only class the two of us have together is lunch, which is disappointing, but at least means I won’t have to brave the cafeteria alone.
M.P.M.
Chapter 2
My first impression of Millville Highwas kaleidoscopic. Fragments of color and sound swirled around me, the new faces and snatches of conversation overlaid with an aroma best described as Overcrowded Candy Store: bouquet of fruity chemicals and nervous sweat.
It may seem chaotic,I told myself as the sea of humanity swept me in the direction of my next class,but there’s bound to be an underlying logic. Perhaps it would take a few weeks to learn the steps of this new dance. All I needed was to bide my time until I figured out how to join in without tripping over my own feet.
When the bell rang for lunch I hurried to the cafeteria, eager to compare notes with Anjuli. After several fruitless surveys of the cafeteria’s outer ring, I finally spotted her, sitting at an otherwise empty table. That part didn’t surprise me. What caused my steps to falter was that she’d positioned herself at the very center of the room. I might be a babe in the woods when it came to the social politics of Millville High, but a morning had been sufficient to notice a distinct class structure. Not so much in the sense of freshman, sophomore, and so on; this was a hierarchy of position. And right now, the crème de la crème had assembled at the heart of the cafeteria.
To insert ourselves among the upper crust on our first day felt presumptuous at best. At worst it would look like we were putting on airs. Getting ideas above our station. Begging for a swift comeuppance. Against this I weighed Anjuli’s rigid posture. I imagined her arriving early to secure us a spot, followed by tense moments alone as she waited for me to appear. Her left arm was crooked protectively around the nearest chair, as though she feared it might be snatched away. Even her hair was on the defensive, the neat braid she’d worn since second grade replaced by a curtain of flowing locks that shielded her face from view.
“Oh,” she said dully when I set my backpack on the table. “Mary.” Her brow knit as she looked me up and down.
As greetings went, this one was morehuh, it’s youthanreunited at last!Perhaps she’d given up hope, resigning herself to a lonely vigil. Either that or it was a subtle way of letting me know I was late.
“I didn’t see you at first, in all the hullabaloo.”
Anjuli’s mouth compressed, suggesting my explanation left something to be desired. I reached for the chair she’d been guarding, but she yanked it away. “Not there.”
Personal space,I theorized, edging around her to take one of the four other vacant seats. Or maybe she was using that chair for storage. I’d briefly considered carrying all my school supplies with me in lieu of braving the dreaded locker combination.
I felt her watching as I unzipped my lunch. “It’s nothing exciting,” I warned, in case the new bag had given her false hopes. “Same old sandwich.” I didn’t mention the apple or granola bar; Anjuli knew my family’s health-conscious pantry as well as I did.
She went back to scanning the room. Which seemed odd, now that I was there, unless she was on the lookout for potential threats. A burst eardrum maybe, given the noise level.
“It’s a lot to absorb, isn’t it?” I whispered.
Her eyes flicked to me. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“The size of the building, the sheer number of people, the mysterious group dynamics. This is a completely unfamiliar milieu.”
A muscle twitched in Anjuli’s jaw. “Do you have to talk like that?”
“I’m just saying, they have acafeteria.” I tipped my head at the line of people carrying orange and yellow trays. At our old school, you could have fed the entire grade with a single pizza, provided it had a gluten-free crust and vegan “cheese.”
