Not Today, But Someday(45)

“I’m not listening–” I say loudly, dropping my food on my plate. He pulls my hands away from my face before I can cover my ears.

“They add ammonia to it to kill bacteria and bugs and stuff, and then dye it so it doesn’t look like the bloody mess it is. Then they shape it into a perfect, bun-sized circle for you to enjoy.” He lets go of me when he’s finished.

My stomach turns as I completely lose my appetite. Chris wraps his sandwich back up in the foil and gets up to throw it away. I pick my soda up off of my tray before he takes mine with him. I drink the rest, hoping the carbonated beverage washes everything down for good.

“That was mean,” I tell him.

“You’re not so nice yourself,” he counters with a smirk.

“Hey, what I’m suggesting is good for you!” I argue.

He raises his eyebrows at me. “And eating ammonia-laced animal flesh with chemical dyes added is so good for you.”

“Shut up,” I tell him, wishing I had more to drink. I grin, realizing he had some of my soda. “I bet there were little chicken bits in my soda. Backwash and all,” I say, shrugging my shoulders apologetically.

He glares at me. “Want some water?”

“I do,” I tell him. We both grab our things and head to the beverage line. My brother has already had the same idea, and is chugging down a full bottle of soda before he’s even paid for it.

“You’re an ass,” Chris says to Nate. My friend looks at me quickly, his expression concerned.

“He’s messing with you,” I assure him.

“I’m sorry,” Nate says. “I should have saved that for art class. I made it up,” he adds.

“Seriously?” I ask him, slapping his back. Chris is paying for his drink, his attention elsewhere.

“No, it’s real,” he says only to me. I take the cap off of my water and start drinking immediately. The bell rings while we’re still in line. “Hey, Chris,” Nate calls out to my brother before he heads to Chemistry. “If you don’t have plans on Saturday, I’ll swing by and let you drive the car...”

My brother’s smile is quick. “Yeah, you owe me. Sounds good.”

“Yeah, I do,” Nate says, waving goodbye to Chris.

“My brother’s totaled two cars before the Pontiac,” I tell Nate.

“No he hasn’t. Wait, really?” he asks, his eyes wide.

I shrug my shoulders again as he pays for our water, keeping his eyes on me, waiting for a better response. “He doesn’t like to talk about it.”

“Emi,” he pleads with me.

“Like ya, Nate,” I state pertly, walking away. He catches up quickly, grabbing my hand to stop me. “Not in that way!” I joke with him, staring at our hands as we stand in the middle of the hallway. He lets go, then slings his arm around my neck and starts to guide me toward art class.

“If I didn’t know you better,” he says softly, his lips close to my ear, “I’d say you were a bit of a tease, Emi.”

“Well, come to think of it,” I start, turning my face toward him. My lips are only inches away from his. We’re both smiling, but our eyes both challenge the other’s. “You really don’t know me that well at all.”

“Right,” he says, obviously disputing my statement.

“Watch it!” I hear the words just before someone slams into my left shoulder, knocking Nate and me apart. My bottle falls from my hands, spilling water on the tile floor. “Nice job, new girl.” Bewildered, I turn around and see Lauren and Misty staring back at us. Nate’s hand wraps around my forearm, pulling me forward.

“C’mon,” he says, urging me away from their provocation. “You’re better than them.” He’s not purposefully projecting his voice when he says this, but it’s loud enough for both of the girls to hear.

“I know,” I say as I smile at him. He lets go of me as we walk down the hall together to class. “Do you think they did that on purpose?” I ask him.

“I wouldn’t put it past them. Especially Lauren.”

“I thought you were friends, though,” I suggest, trying to dig a little deeper into their relationship. He never really answered my questions about her last night.

“Once,” he says. “I wouldn’t call her that anymore. It’s hard to be friends with someone who’s friends with your ex.”

“So you’re not over Misty?”

“No, I’m over Misty,” he comes back quickly. “I’m way over Misty. It’s not that I just don’t like her anymore... I, like, genuinely don’t like her,” he tries to explain.

“Thanks for clearing that up,” I tell him sarcastically, leading the way into our classroom.

“As a person,” he adds. He walks past me as I take a seat at our worktable. I get out the thick envelope that contains the project I’d been working on out of my backpack. He places a canvas, face-down, in front of his chair. “Or as a girlfriend,” he clarifies, taking a seat. I scoot past him and grab the light-box from the side counter. He stands once more, taking the cord from me and plugging it in to the outlet underneath the table.

“Thanks,” I tell him, flipping on the light. He squints, shielding his eyes. “The aspirin isn’t helping yet?”