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She directed her finger to a table full of jocks and cheerleaders and was basically the opposite of any table I ever sat at. The scrawny poor kid whose dad was fucked up didn’t sit at the popular table.
But this was a new school.
There were always new schools, but this was the first I’d ever been hugged up on by, who was clearly, the head chick at the school. Something happened the summer I turned fifteen. I looked different and actually filled out the clothes my sister, Sloane, got us from the secondhand clothing stores. My dad wasn’t the one to buy us clothes.
My dad didn’t do anything.
Of course, Cissy invited me to sit at her table and pointed out everything along the way. We had the Model UN kids who were basically future politicians and influential figures, and if one didn’t happen to get a seat at the table with the it kids, the Model UN table was a close second. They weren’t as popular as the popular kids today, but they would be one day because they were projected to rule the world.
And yes, she actually said that.
We also had the chess kids, the mathletes, and anyone else who could be considered smart or would, I don’t know, actually change the world one day without bullshitting their way through it with words and politics. This was the table I’d normally be sitting at, but I was never under any circumstances allowed to sit there.
According to Cissy.
Cissy wanted me close. Cissy grabbed my arm, and Cissy waved at her other cheerleader friends when we got to her table. I didn’t want to sit at the table with Cissy. Sure, popularity would be a nice break after being treated like a social reject for most of my life, but Cissy Armstrong kind of freaked me the fuck out. It was like my psycho flag went flying.
I started to sit with Cissy, not really given much of a choice, but feet away, I noticed another table. A girl sat there, and I noticed her because, well, she was the only one sitting there. All the other tables had people in them.
Not hers.
A redhead, she sat staring out of the window. It’d started to snow in New York City, and she stared at it from a table that had no lunch.
She just stared.
Cissy immediately noticed me staring at the table, and when she did, she smirked. In fact, she’d gone from sugary sweet to full demon in the face.
And so, my psycho radar was wrong.
I actually got chills when she stopped full stop before our table, her arms crossed, her grin evil. She tipped her chin. “Oh, and we definitely don’t sit with her. She’s a fucking freak.”
I nearly cringed, but all Cissy did was bump a short laugh.
“Hopeless,” she exclaimed, unprompted. “Her dad died, and like, it’s sad but she’s gone full zombie since it happened.”
She tsked her tongue, actually tsked it like she hadn’t said that girl’s dad died and she had the audacity to be sad about the fact.
“She’s also, like, a total burnout,” Cissy continued. “So, no, we don’t sit with her.”
We don’t sit with her. Like this was some fucked-up lunchroom hierarchy and she called the shots.
I supposed she thought she did.
And with that, I eased my arm away. Needless to say, I’d seen all I needed to see when it came to this chick.
“Bruno? Where are you…”
I didn’t stick around to watch Cissy’s mouth part. Instead, I sat at the redhead’s table. She wore all black and had a face full of freckles. They were freckles I saw once close up because she didn’t wear any makeup outside of red lipstick. It made her lips bright and just as bold as the auburn waves on her shoulders. She also didn’t automatically smile at me just because I was a boy and sat at her table.
If anything, she sneered.
Her reaction was the complete opposite to Cissy, who basically forced her tits in my face the moment she got assigned to show me around the school today. She was class president and something I got to hear all about as she used any excuse she could to touch me, or rub up against me. I had to admit, at first, I liked the attention. I wasn’t used to it and definitely not from the popular girl in school.
It was fake, though, phony just like Cissy, and even though this girl snarled at me when I sat down, at least I knew that response was genuine.
Not taking offense to it, I gazed away. I immediately opened my milk and started eating my lunch, but that was when the huff sounded from across the table.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
