lunch today. You got an extra couple of bucks? I’ll owe ya.”
“You’re in luck. Today was payday, and my old man gave me a bonus.” He grins and smooths his slick hair back with one hand, then peels a couple of dollars off a wad from his back pocket and hands them to me.
“Thanks, Nick. I’ll pay you back tomorrow. I promise.”
“With interest,” he says as he folds a bill in half and starts using it to pick between his two front teeth. I freeze. He cracks up and gives me a slap on the back as his left eye rotates back into position. “I’m just jokin’.”
The lunch lady gives me an extra scoop of mac and cheese. It’s my favorite, even though it’s the industrial version of that bright-orange crap that comes from a box and probably makes your intestines glow in the dark. I settle in with Nick at a table in the corner of the cafeteria, off the radar from where the jocks and popular kids hold court. I’m popping open my container of chocolate milk and sliding in the straw when I see her.
Actually, the first thing I see is her hair. It’s a wild mane of curls like early this morning, but now she’s added a red bow on the side. It looks as if it’s hanging on to that nest for dear life. The Pink Floyd shirt is gone, replaced by a black vintage Stones T-shirt and a pair of faded jeans with holes in the knees. She’s drawn a happy face on both exposed kneecaps, which is ironic because her mouth is turned down in an Eeyore frown. She’s holding her tray and scanning the room, and the second she locks eyes with mine, she pivots and starts walking toward our table.
Wordlessly, she sits down next to me as if she’s been invited, which causes Nick to raise an eyebrow at me. I shrug. She busies herself buttering her roll by tearing it in half, wiping the patty across the center, then crushing the two halves together and smearing them back and forth to spread the butter out evenly. Next she turns her attention to her fruit cocktail. She picks out every single grape with her spoon and lays them in a neat arc on the side of her tray.
She rakes her fork through the mac and cheese, breaking up the congealed layer of cheese on the top, which in my opinion is the best part. She shakes her milk back and forth vigorously, then peels open the top and sticks in her straw. Bending the tip to meet her lips, she takes a sip and then looks up at us.
“What do you have against grapes?” Nick asks, fascinated.
“They’re disgusting. I don’t eat anything that has skin of any kind.” She stabs her fork into a wedge of cantaloupe and pops the melon into her mouth.
“That cantaloupe had skin,” Nick shoots back and openly stares at her.
“Yes, but the skin is removed to get to the fruit. When you eat a fruit with its skin, it’s been touched, peed on by rodents and insects, stored in dirty trucks and warehouses. I can’t possibly expect it to have been washed properly before it lands on my plate.”
Nick presses her further. “What about strawberries?”
She shakes her head. “Nope.”
“Awwww, c’mon. Most people like strawberries,” he says and glances at me for support. “You like strawberries, Hank?”
“I do.” I take a bite of my mac and cheese and chase it with a swig of chocolate milk.
“I guess I’m not most people,” she says.
That seems to satisfy Nick. He looks amused. “I’ve seen you before.”
“That would stand to reason. I go to school here.”
Nick takes a bite of his roll and says with his mouth full of food, “What’s your name?”
“Peyton.” She stabs another piece of fruit and then dips it in the mac and cheese. I guess it could be gross, but in a way it makes sense. It’s like fondue or something.
“You got a last name, Peyton?”
She points her fork at him and says, “Breedlove. Why, are you taking attendance later?”
Nick raises both hands in surrender. “Do you know this girl, Hank?”
“Of course he does,” she answers before I can even open my mouth.
I’m scared she’ll tell Nick how we know each other so I quickly say, “Yeah. This is Peyton. She’s cool.”
She puts her fork down, turns to me as if Nick isn’t even there, and says, “I was wondering if you wanted to hang