Chapter #7The Awkward Lunch by: Seuzz   "Invalid Entry" 
"Will you stop worrying!" my best friend, Olivia, exclaimed. She clutched my arm and gave it an affectionate squeeze. "You did fine on your test! You always do!"
"Who says I'm worried?" I retorted. "I don't think I've said anything to you about the test."
"That's how I know you're worried!" She squeezed my arm again. "You always shut up tight when you're worried about a test or homework or a project. Oh, speaking of projects, are we still getting together tonight to work on our physics project?" She grinned. "Ben'll be there."
Great. Not only would I have to worry about my doppelganger showing up to do the work with us, I'd have Ben Rice and his puppy-like adoration of me to look forward to.
And no way was he going to disappear the way my doppelganger seemingly had.
My heart had been thumping hard when I went to third-period English, but there was no one sitting in my desk when I got there, and no one who looked like me barged in to ask who the heck that imposter was sitting in her desk. I didn't seen any strange twins in Physics either, or now, as Olivia and I fought our way toward the cafeteria.
I was seriously preoccupied, but it's not like I could tell Olivia I had manifested some kind of occult twin who took my history test for me when I realized I was going to be late to class, could I?
I hoped that's all that it was. And that tells you how panicked I was, that I hoped I was getting into the kind of trouble my bat-crazy great-great-grandmother got into back in the day.
We were just passing the doors to the main office when Olivia pulled me back. "Hang on," she said. "Carrie Carmichael's out front."
"Out front where? The cafeteria? Ohhh!" My conversation with her in the office rushed back to me.
"Right. Let's wait till she goes in. I don't think I can deal with Carrie today."
But I stepped out of the crowd that was lining up to go in to lunch. I couldn't seriously believe that Carrie wanted me to eat with her and her friends, or even that she would remember inviting me. Her friends were cheerleaders, same as she was, and they sat at the special table that, even if it wasn't officially reserved for the cheerleader squad and their boyfriends, belonged to them unofficially and always had for as long as anyone at Westside could remember.
But Carrie was tapping her foot impatiently and looking around with a frown, so I couldn't help wondering if she really was waiting for me. And even if I didn't want to eat with her, I didn't want to invite the kind of crap storm that might happen if I, y'know, stood her up.
So I sortof-kindof compromised, and stood out where Carrie could clearly see me. I figured that if she wasn't waiting for me, then she'd just wave at me, or maybe beckon me over while still swiveling in a semi-circle like a lighthouse in a short skirt. And if she was waiting for me—
Yikes. I guess she was. Because as soon as her eyes fell on me, her face lit up and she beckoned me over with both hands. I shot Olivia a guilt-stricken look, then half-shuffled and half-skipped over to Carrie.
"There you are!" she exclaimed. "Where'd you come in from, Siberia? I was about to give up waiting." She put her arm in mine and drew me into the cafeteria. "The guys are already up front getting our trays," she prattled. "I guess you can maybe can cut in line with them." She did a double-take at something behind me. "Yes?" she said in a voice that was just a little too pleasant to be really courteous.
I glanced behind. Olivia, with a deeply puzzled look, had followed me up.
"Oh, this is Olivia," I said. "I usually eat with her, and, uh, I ran into Carrie in the office this morning, I forgot to tell you, and she asked me to eat with her and her, um—"
"Oh!" Olivia said, in a tone as if I'd said that I'd just won the lottery but wasn't sure yet if I was going to be sharing any of it with her.
Amazingly, Carrie came to my rescue. "That's great!" she said. "Come eat with us!" I nodded at my best friend, and showed her all my teeth in the biggest, most desperate smile I could muster.
"Oh," Olivia said again. Then: "Awesome!"
Carrie was all for me and Olivia barging to the front of the line, where a half-dozen football players and wrestlers were ready to ring up their meals, but I said I'd rather go through the whole line, as it wouldn't be fair to others if we cut. Carrie shrugged and pointed to the table where she and the other cheerleaders were sitting—as though maybe Olivia and I might not know which it was. Then she skipped back over to it.
"How do you know Carrie?" Olivia asked as we got in line. "I barely know her to talk to, and she doesn't even know me." She made a face.
"You're lucky. I went to elementary school and middle school with her." Please don't call me "Lemony Fresh" in front of everyone, I prayed. "She was at Eastman her freshman year, but, oops, she transferred."
"Were you friends or something?"
"She's like a canker sore, she always comes back." I craned my neck to look over at her table. All ten cheerleaders were sitting at it, on alternate stools so there'd be room for their boyfriends to sit next to them. Carrie was one of three juniors on the squad, which automatically made her, along with Addison Ricci and Zoe Tremont, one of the "Three Girls of Awesomeness" in the junior class.
No kidding, that's what they called themselves. Unironically. The Three Girls of Awesomeness. And they squealed when they said it.
I was hoping that maybe there wouldn't be any room at the table by the time Olivia and I got our trays, that some of the other girls would have invited some of their friends over. But I guess Carrie made reservations for us, because there were still two seats at the far end of the table. Please don't call me "Lemony Fresh" in front of everyone, I prayed again.
Carrie squealed as we came up. "Hey everyone, this is Lemony Fresh Leahy!" She stood up and threw her hand out, like a talk show host introducing a guest. "And her friend, um—"
"Olivia," said she.
"Lemony Fresh?" said Ethan Clayborne, the guy I got to sit next to. Like most of the boyfriends, he was a senior. He was also the super-popular captain of the wrestling squad. He had biceps like cantaloupes and clear gray eyes, and he pushed a wiry blonde lock off an eyebrow as he spoke.
"My name is Citrus," I said in a very loud voice, so that he wouldn't be the only one to hear me. "Citrus Leahy."
"But everyone calls her 'Lemony Fresh'!" Carrie laughed.
"No they don't," I said, much more quietly, through gritted teeth.
"Lemony," mused Matthew Adams, who wasn't wrestler or a football player, or any other kind of player, except the kind who gets inside girls' panties, and had worked himself all the way up to the top of the league at it. "You mean like that guy who wrote that book series? An Unfortunate Series of Whatevers?"
"No, it's 'Lemony Fresh'," said Carrie. "Two names that always go together. Like Ellie Mae or Billy Bob."
Someone made a snorking noise through their nose, and I shot Carrie a baleful glance.
"How'd you get that for a nickname?" Andy Webb asked. Unlike Ethan, who looked curious, or Matthew, who looked amused, he looked as disgusted by my ridiculous nickname as I felt about it.
I waited for Carrie to explain, like she was explaining everything else, but she only shoved some macaroni in her mouth and looked at me.
"It's from 'Citrus,' dur," I muttered. "Citrus. Fruit. Lemons. Lemony Fresh." They all nodded, and I wanted to bury my face in my own pasta salad. What Carrie had erected, I had now cemented. To all the cheerleaders on the Westside High School cheerleading squad, and their boyfriends, I was now "Lemony Fresh Leahy."
From under my eyebrows, I looked up at Olivia. I could tell she wanted to burst out laughing. But she kept it under control, and just reached across to squeeze my hand.
Fortunately, no one else pursued the topic, and since they were all much more interested in themselves than in me or Olivia, they left us alone to eat while they gossiped among themselves. I tried not to pay attention, but I don't often get to eavesdrop at such a rarefied level—Oh, heck, I never do—so I couldn't help listening in. I noticed that Olivia did the same.
Not that any of it mattered a whit to me, for it was all about parties I'd never been to at houses I'd never seen with people who only ever looked through me. This was especially true when things veered around to talk about The Warehouse, the most exciting (because the most dangerous) party spot in the city.
"She's such a liar," Carrie was saying. "I saw her out there last Saturday, and she was doing shots, and I was all, like, Dang, girl, and you're going to be in Sunday School bright and early tomorrow morning?" She shook her head.
"Damn right!" said Isaac Washburn, his dreadlocks rattling as he too shook his head. "I danced with the bitch! Or I danced and she sort of tried to."
"Where was I?" Zoe, his girlfriend, asked him.
"Oh, uh, you was with summa your girlfriends," Isaac muttered. "I forget, and I was just sort of already dancing when she come up, and it was only for a minute or— Oh, fuck y'all," he muttered as some of his friends started to chuckle.
"Well, I know a bunch of other people saw her too," said Carrie. "Isn't that right? I mean, you saw her there."
It took me a moment to realize she was talking to me.  You have the following choice: 1. Continue |
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