Underneath the Sycamore Tree(17)

The morning flew by. I handed in my late assignments and caught up on class notes. Teachers told me I could see them during free period if I need help, but I have no intention of doing that. Once I get home, I’ll close myself in my room and go through what I missed. Thankfully, nobody bothers me there, so there’s no excuse as to why I can’t study.

I’m playing with a crouton when a chair across from me is pulled back, the legs scraping noisily against the tile floor. Wincing at the noise, I glance up to find Kaiden there. Brows arched, I sit in silence waiting for him to tell me why he’s graced me with his presence.

As weird as I find our lack of communication during school hours, I’ve gone along with it. If he doesn’t want to engage with me in the halls or before class, fine. It isn’t like we have much to say anyway.

He eyes my salad. “You should really eat something more than that. They’ve got other stuff to choose from.”

They have a buffet of inedible looking food choices, none which looked half as appetizing as the limp lettuce mix. At least I knew what the contents were, because the chicken they offered looked more like meatloaf.

“I like salad.”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

I’ve barely eaten more than a few leaves of lettuce. Most of it rests untouched in the plastic container I bought it in. When I get headaches, the nausea makes my stomach churn. The smell of whatever they’re overcharging for doesn’t help.

“I’m just saying, you need to eat more.”

My teeth grind. “Stop telling me what to do. Just because everyone else at this school blindly follows you doesn’t mean I will.”

The tables around us get quiet. Biting the inside of my lip and glancing at the stares I warrant from the simple statement, I realize I just made a big mistake. People don’t say anything about what Kaiden does to people who talk back, because nobody is dumb enough to do it.

Shrinking down, I stare at my lunch.

“You know,” he replies casually, “the reason why people do what I say around here isn’t some power play. It’s all about tactic.”

My eyes lift to meet his. He reaches over and plucks a crouton from my salad, rolling it in his fingers before popping it in his mouth with a crunch to fill the short lived silence.

Wiping his hands, he crosses his arms on his chest. “They know I don’t come from a powerful family. My mother is just some love struck fool who married a man that, as far as I’m concerned, is more pathetic than any other human I know, and my father is a deadbeat who isn’t worth my time. The people here know who to follow because it benefits them. They want popularity? They make me happy. They want to be left alone? They stay out of my way. And you know something, Mouse?”

I’m silent.

“They do what I tell them to.” The threat is there, but my gut tells me it’s an empty one. I don’t believe he’d make them do anything to me. After all, it’s been a week since I arrived and not one person has bothered me. Though if they didn’t know about my involvement in their leader’s life, they probably do now. The possibility of their fake interest after this leaves me a little uneasy.

He grabs my salad and tosses it behind him, letting the contents scatter across the floor. My lips part in shock when I see my lunch laying wasted in between the tables of peers surrounding us.

I will not cry.

Locking my jaw to keep me from saying a word, I watch him reach into his pocket and throw five dollars down on the center of the table. He stands up and gives me a displeased once over before shaking his head.

Ignoring the mess he made, he turns around and calls out, “Go buy some fucking pizza,” before leaving the room.

Refusing to meet people’s stares, I stand up and leave the five-dollar bill behind before exiting through the glass side door. Maybe someone else could use it to buy lunch.

When the sun hits my face, I wish I had my sunglasses to protect my sensitive eyes. They’re in my backpack which is stuffed in my locker. Sitting in the shade beneath a sad looking oak tree in the courtyard, I listen the distant chatter of students who are probably talking about the little cafeteria showdown that just occurred.

Frowning, all I can think is, screw you, Kaiden Monroe.



Shortly before my diagnosis, I’d dropped twenty-five pounds without meaning to. Besides cheer, I didn’t do much else for exercise. Sometimes the squad ran the track at school or used the weight room, but I ate more than any of them. They always envied how tiny I stayed.

Weight has been a sore subject since. One of the doctors I went to made Mama step out of the room before telling me it was a safe space to admit what I was doing. He thought I wouldn’t say I had an eating disorder if she were around. He didn’t believe me, just like the string of other doctors that didn’t.

Mama wrapped me in her arms as soon as we had gotten home. She was worried and sad for me, and angry at the doctor. That was before she shut down, grieving for Lo too much to care about anyone else.

After being diagnosed with lupus, it was like Mama gave up on me because she thought there was nothing left to do. I suppose I gave up on her just as much, pushing her away on the rare occasion she did reach out. When Grandma calls and asks how I’m doing, I’ll always divert the conversation back to Mama.

Tell her I’m not dead yet is how I ended our last conversation when she told me Mama would come around in her own time.