Unraveling Isobel by Eileen Cook Page B

in the background. “Sharon is being an idiot,” Anita explained to me.
    â€œOh.” I wasn’t sure what to say. Sharon was in our class. She was one of those people who defined the term “class clown.” She’d do anything for a joke. If she’d lived in medieval times, she would have been a full-time jester with bells hanging off her hat and giant pointy shoes curling up to her knees. Anita used tofind her really annoying, but apparently not anymore. “Sounds like you guys are having a good time,” I mumbled.
    â€œIt’s totally not the same without you,” Anita insisted. I could hear people laughing and a burst of conversation swirling around her. While it might not be the same, it didn’t sound like it was that bad, either. “I should let you go. Go make some friends. Call me later, okay?” Anita clicked her phone off before I could tell her anything else.
    I followed the herd of students to the cafeteria and shoved my phone back into my bag. I didn’t know why I bothered to bring it. It wasn’t like anyone wanted to talk to me.
    My mom had offered to pack a lunch for me, but instead I had taken some money and planned to buy something. That was a mistake. At my old school we had a huge buffet that always had at least three options, all of them edible. We also had a salad bar. But Nairne’s hot lunch program was a joke. Prison systems in flea-bitten third-world countries have better food programs. I’m not actually sure what gruel is, but I’m pretty sure that was what they were serving today.
    When I got to the front of the line, I asked the lunch lady what it was and she said, “Hot lunch.” Apparently, that was as descriptive as it was going to get. It was hot and it was designed to be eaten at lunch. Other than that there were no words to describe it. There wasn’t even a candy/chip vending machine in the place, because some hippie contingent on the island had protested against it for being too corporate.
    I looked around the cafeteria, but no one met my eye. I noticed nearly everyone had brought a lunch from home. I held my tray and waited to see if anyone was going to take pity on me, but it didn’t look like it. The place wasn’t that large, which meant I was going to have to ask to join someone else’s table, take my gruel out into the hallway and eat it there, or skip lunch altogether. Then I saw Nathaniel sitting alone at a small round table by the window. I wove my way through the other tables and plopped my tray down. Nathaniel looked up at me.
    â€œMind if I join you?”
    He paused, and for a split second I thought he was going to tell me that I couldn’t. My throat started to tighten up, but then he pulled his tray back to make more room.
    â€œYeah, sure.” He looked back down at his lunch bag and didn’t say anything. I waited for him to ask how my first day was going, or if I liked my classes, or even to make some lame comment about the weather, but he just sat there contemplating his pile of chips.
    As soon as I sat down I could hear a low-grade hum from the rest of the cafeteria. I turned around and everyone was looking at us. Some eighth grader one table over was sitting there with his mouth wide open while he stared at me. He was caught mid-chew and I could make out from where I was sitting that he was having bologna with that bright neon-yellow mustard.
    â€œProblem?” I asked the kid, and he swallowed and looked away. I turned back around and poked my lunch. I wouldn’t have been surprised if it started to fight back. “Good day so far?” I asked, trying to demonstrate how social skills work in polite society.
    â€œOkay.” Nathaniel shrugged.
    So much for our big relationship breakthrough yesterday. He flipped through the book on the table, US history. He was either really into studying, fascinated by the Civil War, or ignoring me on purpose. I gave lunch