“Ooooh.” She fluttered her fingers. “I’m so weirded out by the vats of canned vegetables. How will I survive?”
Before I could muster a counterargument, Anjuli’s expression softened into a tentative smile. I waited for the words that must be coming:You’re right, Mary. Itisintimidating. The stress is making me testy.Then I realized the warmth in her gaze wasn’t directed at me.
“Pittaya,” I exclaimed, tipping my head back to see all of him. Our erstwhile classmate had grown several inches over the summer. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”
He dipped his chin, conveyinghelloandyesandI didn’t know you didn’t knowwith characteristic economy of words.
“I saved you a seat,” Anjuli informed him, pointing to the chair I’d been denied.
Objectively I could see how Pittaya would be a higher-status lunch companion, what with the unkempt black hair and brooding mien, qualities that had inspired my mother to dub himHeathcliff Junior. Yet even with the newly impressive height, Pittaya would always be Pittaya to me. The same kid who’d dealt with frequent childhood nosebleeds by dangling streamers of bloody Kleenex from his nostrils.
“How did it go this morning?” Anjuli asked. That the question was intended for Pittaya was evident in the unblinking gaze she trained on his face.
He blushed, a typical Pittaya response to being singled out. “Fine.”
“You would love my New Media class.” Her voice deepened as though trying to match his bass rumble.
“That sounds fun,” I put in, thinking to spare Pittaya the ordeal of a response.
Anjuli scowled at the interruption. “It’s not your kind of thing, Mary.”
“I know.” The wordnewwas enough of a clue. “Still, it’s too bad we don’t have any classes together.”
For the first time since Pittaya’s arrival, she looked directly at me. “We’ve been stuck in the same room for twelve years.”
I swallowed a bite of sandwich that should have been chewed more. “True,” I choked out. “And at least we’ll see each other at lunch.”
She grunted something I chose to take as an affirmative.
“What else are you taking?” People usually perked up when given the chance to talk about themselves.
Anjuli snapped a carrot stick in half. “We’re not seriously going to sit here and talk about our classes, are we?”
“It seemed relevant.” I spoke the words mostly to my water bottle. “Thisisa school.”
“News flash. There’s more to life than academics. Everyone knows the overachiever lifestyle is a trap. Haven’t you been reading all the articles about how toxic stress and anxiety are for teens? The pressure to be perfect, blah blah blah?”
“I guess I missed that.”
“Yeah, well, they were written in this century, so.” A faint huff accompanied this remark, not quite a laugh but close enough to sting.
“Other centuries have a lot to offer. When you think about it.” It sounded tentative and mealy-mouthed. The temptation to kick myself was strong.Way to be scintillating, Mary!
Anjuli gave a dismissive hair toss. “I’m about the now. No doilies for me.” Pittaya glanced between us, a faint pucker to his forehead. “That’s why I’m taking Modeling and Design.”
It took me a second to place the name, given how quickly I’d breezed past it in the list of elective options. “Isn’t that the class where you build stuff?”
“Yes,Mary. I’m going to get my hands dirty and actually create things instead of living in the abstract.” Her slender (and perfectly clean) fingers brushed the back of Pittaya’s wrist. “You understand. As an artist.”
I blinked at this tableau, wondering if I’d accidentally slept through the first six months of my sophomore year and missed certain developments. Like the one where my name now doubled as an insult.
“So what kind of stuff will you make?” I asked, hoping to shift the conversation onto less contentious ground. “Is it about putting together birdhouses and whatnot?”
“I’m not injail. This is a maker space, for skilled artisans. It’s part of how I’m redefining myself.”
“All right if I take this?” an unfamiliar voice cut in.
A boy in blue gestured at one of the unoccupied chairs. Grateful for the distraction, I started to sayplease do... only to feel the words wither on my tongue. The dark-blond curls were a little longer, the jawline a shade more defined, but the eyes remained bright as ever, a near match for the shade of his shirt.I know you, I thought, as our gazes collided.
