by Alexandra Nugent
Chapter one
“Willow, can you come here for a second?” I slowly stumble down the stairs with my book, holding my fingers in between the pages so that I don’t lose my place. I spotted my mother waiting for me in the kitchen.
“Yes, mother? You called for me?” She looks stressed, staring at a stack of bills.
“I just wanted to make sure you had your lunch money for the new school term,” she says, handing me a few crumpled bills. “It’s not much, but…”
“It’s okay, Mom. I’ll make it work,” I say, trying to sound confident. But I know it’s not enough to buy the popular, expensive lunch combos at school.
Later, at school…
The cafeteria is a roaring sea of noise. I find a spot at the edge of the lunchroom, opening my bag and taking out a simple brown paper bag. Inside is a plain cheese sandwich and an apple.
Just a few tables away, girls are laughing, and eating food from the high-end, catered lunch line. That’s where I see her—Elesha. She’s wearing a pristine, expensive uniform, looking perfectly put together. She is surrounded by a group of friends, all talking about their weekend plans.
I quickly look down, picking at the crust of my sandwich, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. I wish I could just disappear.
“Is this seat taken?”
I look up to see Elesha standing right in front of me. She’s holding a fancy lunch tray.
“I…,” I stammer, looking around. The rest of the table is empty. “No. Go ahead.”
Elesha sits down, placing her tray on the table with a clatter. She looks at my brown paper bag, and a flicker of something crosses her face—disdain? Pity?
“Oh,” she says, her voice smooth. “I guess not everyone can afford the lunch specials.”
I freeze. I knew this was coming. The tension between us, all from the simple fact that I can’t afford to live her life, is already thick in the air.
“It’s just lunch,” I say, my voice trembling slightly.
“Sure,” Elesha replies, not taking her eyes off my lunch. “Just lunch.”
The silence between us is deafening. I know, right then and there, this is going to be a long year. “Just lunch,” Elesha repeats, picking up a gourmet sushi roll with effortless grace. “Though, I suppose the apple is a nice vintage touch. Very… rustic.”
Her friends at the nearby table giggle, their eyes darting over like they’re watching a car crash in slow motion. I grip my sandwich a little tighter, the bread squishing under my thumb. I want to say something—something sharp that would make her twitch—but my throat feels like it’s full of dry sand.
“Anyway,” she continues, ignoring my silence as she checks her manicured nails. “The reason I sat here is because I’m looking for a new tutor. My mother heard your grades were… good. Since you’re already used to spending your time in the library instead of, you know, actually having a life, I figured you could use the extra cash.”
She slides a small, embossed card across the table. It looks like it costs more than my entire backpack.
“Think about it, Willow. It would certainly help with your…”
She waves towards my lunch. Not waiting for an answer, she stands up, leaving half of her expensive meal untouched on the tray, and glides back to her inner circle. The “clack-clack-clack” of her designer loafers feels like a countdown.
I look down at the card. It’s a lifeline and a trap all wrapped in one. If I take it, I can help my mom with those bills. If I take it, I’m officially under Elesha’s thumb.
I look at the brown paper bag, then at the card, and suddenly the cheese sandwich tastes like cardboard. The bell rings, a harsh, metallic sound that cuts through the tension like a knife. I stare at the embossed card for a heartbeat longer before shoving it into my pocket. It feels heavy, like a lead weight against my hip.
I spend my next two periods in a haze, the word adequate looping in my brain like a broken record. By the time the final bell for the day chimes, I don’t want to go home and see the stack of bills on the kitchen table. Instead, I head for the one place Elesha wouldn’t be caught dead: the old basement art corridor. It’s dusty, smells like turpentine, and is usually deserted.
I find a window seat behind a stack of folded gym mats and pull out my book, hoping to disappear into the pages. But a rhythmic thwack… thwack… thwack keeps me from focusing.
I peek around the mats.
There’s a girl standing in the middle of the hallway. She’s wearing an oversized denim jacket covered in hand-painted patches and headphones around her neck. She’s bouncing a tennis ball against a locker that’s been dented so many times it looks like hammered silver.
She misses a catch, and the ball skids across the floor, disappearing under my gym mats.
“Shoot,” she mutters. She walks over, kneeling down right in front of my hiding spot. Our eyes meet. She doesn’t look startled; she just looks curious. Her eyes are sharp, framed by a messy fringe of dark hair.
“I didn’t think anyone else knew about this place.” she says, reaching under the mat and retrieving the ball. She notices my book, then the way I’m tucked into the corner. ” Are you hiding from someone, or just the world in general?”
“A little bit of both,” I admit, my voice finding its strength.
She cracks a small smile and holds out a hand dusty with tennis ball fuzz. “I’m Sage. You look like you’ve had a day that requires more than a cheese sandwich to fix.”
I blink, surprised. “How did you—?”
“I saw the ‘Lunchroom Performance’ earlier,” Sage says, leaning against the lockers. “Elesha’s a nightmare in a pleated skirt. But for the record? I think the apple was a solid choice. Very… rustic.”
She throws the word back at me with a wink, making it sound like a compliment instead of an insult. For the first time all day, the knot in my stomach begins to loosen. I shift my weight, the embossed card in my pocket feeling like it’s glowing through the fabric. “It’s… a long story,” I mutter, looking down at my shoes.
“I’ve got time,” Sage says, hopping up to sit on a stack of crates across from me. She starts peeling a sticker off her tennis ball, her movements casual and easy. “Besides, the bus doesn’t come for twenty minutes, and I’d rather spend them here than watching the ‘Elites’ pose in the parking lot.”
I hesitate, then pull the card out. The gold lettering catches the dim basement light. “She wants me to tutor her. She called my grades adequate and basically told me I have no life.”
Sage whistles low, leaning in to squint at the card. “Fancy. That cardstock probably costs more than my jacket.” She looks back up at me, her expression turning uncharacteristically serious. “So, are you going to do it? Be the court jester for Queen Elesha?”
“I don’t know,” I sigh, my shoulders dropping. “My mom… she’s struggling. This would pay for more than just lunch. It would help with the electric bill, the rent… everything.”
Sage watches me for a second, then nods slowly. “I get it. Money is a loud motivator. But just so you know, once you’re in that house, she’ll think she owns you. That’s how people like her work.”
“I can handle her,” I say, though my trembling hands suggest otherwise.
“Maybe,” Sage says, standing up as the distant sound of the final buses echoes through the vents. “But you shouldn’t have to handle her alone.” She reaches into her denim jacket, pulls out a neon-green sharpie, and grabs my hand. Before I can protest, she scribbles a string of numbers across my palm.
“That’s my number,” she says, capping the pen with a click. “If she gets too ‘rustic’ with you, or if you just need someone to tell you that you aren’t just adequate, text me.”
She starts to walk away, then pauses, looking back over her shoulder. “By the way, Willow? I like the book. Chapter four is where it gets really good.”
As she disappears around the corner, the basement feels a little less like a dungeon and a little more like a sanctuary. I look at the card in one hand and the neon-green ink on the other.
The choice feels a lot less lonely now.
