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I personally loathe that place.
It’s like a swamp full of snakes and alligators — a big red DANGER written above the doors.
I move toward my willow tree, where I’ve been eating my lunch for the last two weeks. It’s quiet here and there’s no one to bother me. It’s lonely, but somehow, I’ve learned to find comfort in my loneliness.
But today is different.
I come to a halt, when I see someone else already sitting under my willow tree. She has her lunch box on her lap and her math textbook next to her. What is she doing here?
I recognize Lila Garcia from my AP English class. But we’ve never spoken before. I sit in the back, and she sits in the front row, next to the window. Lila is new to Berkshire and she didn’t get in because her parents are rich.
No, she got in on a scholarship. Berkshire Academy has an entrance exam for students in the 11th grade to apply. Outsiders. But I heard the exams are almost impossible to pass, probably to discourage students from joining. Berkshire doesn’t care about these young, hopeful people who are dreaming big.
They only care about their image.
The entrance exam is to make it look like they are accepting of everyone.
The exam has only a 2 percent passing rate and only one of those students ends up with a full-year scholarship. The rest have to pay the tuition fees and most of the time — they can’t.
So while Lila Garcia got in with a scholarship, she will have to find a way to pay for her senior year. Though I have to say — I am amazed she’s made it this far. She has to be some kind of genius to be able to top the entrance exam.
She lifts her head and notices me standing there. Lila raises her eyebrows questioningly, and there’s something about her nonchalance that makes me feel both impressed and uneasy. So I blurt out the first thing in my head. “You’re in my spot.”
She crosses her legs and leans back against the tree, making herself even more comfortable. “I’m sorry, is your name written on the spot here?”
No, but she’s in my spot and she needs to leave, so I can eat in peace. Why is she disrupting my routine like this?
When I don’t speak, she squints up at me in defiance. “I’m not moving. So, you can find yourself another tree. Or you can sit here, and we can eat our lunches without petty drama.”
Sit with her?
Is she out of her mind?
Why would she want to sit with me? Doesn’t she know who I am? Didn’t she hear the whispered gossip in the hallways? Why in the world would Lila Garcia want to associate herself with me?
Almost as if she can read my thoughts, she speaks again, “Look, you’re an outcast and I’m an outcast…” Lila trails off, her gaze sweeping over me and the sandwich I’m clutching to my chest. “We’re not so dissimilar.”
She’s an outcast because she doesn’t belong to an upper-class, wealthy family. I am an outcast for a very different reason.
We are not as alike as she is trying to make it seem.
Lila is lucky she hasn’t experienced Berkshire’s bullies yet. So far, they have left her alone, but if she associates herself with me — they will go after her too.
“C’mon, take a seat,” she encourages quietly. She moves her textbook and pats the grass. “I’m not asking for you to be my friend. But hey, it’s been a lonely few days, and I could use some company. Maybe you need some company too.”
Her words are tempting, because yes — I am friendless and lonely.
I wish I had Maryam with me, but after rehab, she went back home. She has since fixed her relationship with her parents and is now attending a community college for its nursing program. We still talk every now and then, but she’s busy with her classes and meeting new people. I’m happy for her — that she’s out there, living her life, making new goals and achieving her dreams.
But I miss having someone to talk to.
As the days grow colder, I become lonelier.
So, I sit down beside Lila, under my willow tree. She makes a sound of approval in the back of her throat and then goes back to her lunch. She digs her fork into what seems like a taco salad and then brings a forkful to her mouth.
I watch her enjoy her meal from my peripheral vision, but I can’t bring myself to eat my own sandwich. Rehab didn’t magically fix my eating disorder. It has given me ways to cope with it. I don’t binge-eat anymore and I haven’t purged for almost six months now.
But I still don’t like eating in front of people.
