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“All right, remember, everyone,” Isobel heard Mr. Swanson say when the lunch bell rang, “projects and their presentations are due this Friday, that’s All Hallows’ Eve, as I’m sure I don’t need to remind you.” He smiled as everyone began to file out, his voice growing louder over the groans, Isobel’s among them. “I hope for your sake, though, that I don’t find them too terrifying. And just so you can’t say I didn’t tell you so, a no-show without a doctor’s note equals a no-grade. That goes for both you and your partner.”
In the hall, Isobel stopped, looking right and left. At no sign of his green jacket or black hair, her heart sank all over again. Where was he?
Isobel entered the lunchroom with unwavering tunnel vision.
Get in line. Get food. Pay. No eye contact. No talking.
After exiting the food line, she went straight to the empty table she’d ignored last time and set her tray at one end without so much as a glimpse in the crew’s direction, or the goths’, for that matter. She wasn’t going to give anyone the opportunity of shooting her so much as an ugly look today. Instead she’d keep her eyes on her tray and her focus on eating, and she’d direct her mind toward surviving the next twenty minutes.
As she lifted the first forkful of salad to her mouth, another tray hit the table, clanking down right in front of hers. Isobel lowered her fork and looked up.
From behind her owlish glasses, Gwen glared at her. “What’s the matter with you?” she asked. Wadding up her broom skirt, hiking it enough so that she could feed her skinny spandex-clad legs under the table, she slid onto the bench seat across from Isobel.
Isobel opened her mouth, not sure what to say. Was Gwen seriously going to sit with her? An overwhelming sense of gratitude welled up inside of her, nearly bringing a sting to her eyes. It was the nicest thing anyone had done for her in more than a week.
“What, were you dropped on your head as a kid?” Gwen railed. “First you hang up on me.” She held up a hand and ticked off fingers. “Then you don’t call me back, then you don’t even show up at your locker this morning to say why you didn’t call me back!”
Isobel chanced a look toward the floor-sitting group that she thought Gwen normally ate with. She received a few curious glances from some scraggly bearded guys and more than a few sneers from the bandanna-wearing girls.
“Hey, Earth to Isobel.” Gwen banged her spoon against Isobel’s tray. “Why the snap-crackle-pop didn’t you call me back?”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I forgot.”
“Well, I’m about to ‘Oh I’m sorry’ forget to tell you what I found out this morning.”
“Uh. What?”
Gwen grinned. Looking self-satisfied, she folded her arms. “No, I’m not tell—” but she stopped, her eyes growing round. Something over Isobel’s shoulder had caught her attention.
“Oh my.”
Isobel twisted in her seat. A hush fell over the entire cafeteria. All eyes focused on Mr. Nott, the assistant principal, who’d entered through the double doors, Brad on one side of him, a dark, familiar figure on the other.
“Oh, no,” Isobel said. She pressed both hands against the table and pushed herself up to get a better look. At the sight of him, a thrill of excitement mixed with nervousness surged through her. She scanned him, taking an inventory of all appendages and searching for any sign of bruises or blood or evidence of a fractured skull. His face still looked as perfect as it had the previous night, smooth and calm. Brad, however, stood scowling, his shoulders tensed, his hands clenched into fists.
The two boys broke away from Mr. Nott and strode in opposite directions, ignoring each other as well as the countless stares. Brad headed for the crew’s usual spot, while Varen, bypassing his own table, moved straight for her.
“Holy granola. He’s coming over here,” Gwen whispered, hands flapping, knocking over her yogurt cup.
Isobel took in a sharp breath as she watched him approach.
A brown paper lunch bag hit the tabletop. “Mind if I join you,” he said. It wasn’t a question. Gwen, in a flurry, scrambled to move down one seat.
“Hey,” he offered to Gwen as he slid onto the bench next to her, directly across from Isobel.
“Shalom,” she said, raising a hand.
“What the hell is that?” asked Varen. He nodded at Isobel’s tray.
Isobel sat stunned for a moment, her brain flatlining when she felt his knee brush hers. “Uh.” She shook her head. Why couldn’t she think straight? She glanced down at the soupy contents of her plate. Just tell him what it is. Simple. Look at it and say what it is. “Sloppy Joe,” she managed.