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“It’s not horror; it’s a classic,” Caleb argues.
“Just because it’s on the reading list?”
The bell rings, shrill and loud.
“Outlines detailing the book you chose and the three literary devices you’ll be analyzing are due next class,” Mr. Tanner calls out. “One outline per group. See you tomorrow.”
The classroom erupts in commotion. Students scramble to return to their belongings.
Only four minutes separate each period, making it impossible to linger without receiving a tardy slip. Not that I need any incentive to get as far away from Caleb Winters as possible. And thanks to the fact I’m one of the few who stayed in their original seat, all I have to do is shove my binder back into my backpack and rush out the door.
My hasty departure is tracked by a few questioning glances, but the only one I acknowledge is Cassie’s.
“See you at lunch,” I tell Cassie as I pass her by on my way out. My next class is Calculus, and the math wing is on the opposite side of the building.
By the time Calculus ends, I’ve almost managed to forget my conversation with Caleb. The first of the new year. And thanks to Mr. Tanner, definitely not the last. For attending a high school as small as Landry High, I’ve managed to do a surprisingly good job of avoiding Caleb for the past three and a half years. Up until now, apparently.
Rather than head straight to the cafeteria when the lunch bell rings, I turn in the direction of the library. I spent every lunch period as a freshman, sophomore, and junior among the stacks of books. It allowed me time to perfect assignments my chores rushed me through, with the added bonus of avoiding sitting alone in the cafeteria.
Cassie asked if she could sit with me at lunch the first day of senior year, her first day at Landry High, and I couldn’t bring myself to tell her no. Or admit I’d spent the past three years eating alone in the library.
Starting at a new school is never ideal, but in Landry? Almost everyone can trace their family back for generations.
Newcomers are rare, and they receive a frosty reception. Cassie was the only new student to start here since Caleb arrived freshman year. And she didn’t coast in on the winning combination of ancestry and affluence, the way he did. Cassie’s family is wealthy but doesn’t have any roots in Landry. Money buys some favor—literally—but even after living here for six months she’s mostly treated like an outsider.
Unlike me, Cassie tries to see the best in people. That is the solitary, or at least the main, reason we’re friends. Her unassuming, warm personality has also defrosted a few of our less pretentious peers, expanding our lunch table of two slowly over the first half of senior year.
I’m not retreating back into old habits of eating solo today.
I’m checking Caleb’s claim that he’s the top student in our year.
The library is empty when I enter it, same as every other time I’ve been in here during lunchtime. Mr. Gibbs, the elderly librarian, looks up and gives me a warm smile as I enter, before promptly turning back to his crossword puzzle.
I walk across the beige carpet toward the computer terminals, inhaling the comforting smell of paper and ink.
Unlike the ancient contraption I use at home, the brand-new computer whirs to life as soon as I move the mouse. It only takes a few seconds for the school’s homepage to load. Once I sign into my account my grades appear instantaneously.
Next to class ranking is the number two.
My fingers form a fist as I scroll down through my past semester’s grades. All A’s and one A- in Biology. He must have gotten all A’s.
I exhale deeply, attempting to let out my anger with the air. I turn off the computer and head back into the hallway. This time, I walk in the direction of the cafeteria.
The noise is startling after the quiet library and empty hallway. A long line of students is still waiting to buy lunch. I have to weave through it to get to my usual table. In a twist on the typical stereotype, Landry High’s cafeteria food is universally considered to be quite good. Not that I would know. Bringing a sandwich from home is cheaper.
I finally reach my usual lunch table and take a seat next to Cassie.
“Hey, what happened to you?” she asks.
“Had to stop at the library,” I explain as I pull my lunch out of my backpack.
“You’re not already working on that English project, are you?”
I’m pretty sure Cassie thinks I’m an insane overachiever, which isn’t entirely inaccurate. But my work ethic at school has a lot more to do with the fact that by the time I finish the chores, homework is the last thing I feel like doing.
“Definitely not,” I respond, before biting into my peanut butter and banana sandwich.
“So, what’s the deal with you and Caleb Winters? Did you guys date?”
