The fluorescent lights of the Northwood High cafeteria always seemed too bright.
They cast a harsh, unforgiving glow on everything.
I usually tried to get in and out as fast as possible.
Lunch was a daily gauntlet I barely survived.
My social circle was small.
It was mostly Sarah and Chloe.
They were my best friends since middle school.
Lately, things felt different with them.
Small things, mostly.
Like not saving me a seat sometimes.
Or whispering when I approached.
Or just not meeting my eyes.
I told myself it was nothing.
High school was just weird like that.
Everyone was trying to figure things out.
I tried to brush off the feeling.
But a knot of anxiety lived in my stomach.
It was always there during lunchtime.
Mark Jensen was part of the football team.
He moved through the halls like he owned them.
His group of friends often hung out by the soda machines.
It was right in the middle of the main walkway.
They never seemed to care who they blocked.
Mark had a habit of making fun of people.
He never said anything overtly mean to me.
Not directly anyway.
He would just give me a look.
A sort of half-smile and a roll of the eyes.
It made me feel like an insect.
A small, insignificant bug.
I tried to avoid his gaze at all costs.
I tried to become invisible whenever he was near.
That day, I was running late to lunch.
My art class had run over.
I had to hurry to grab a tray.
The cafeteria was already packed.
The noise was a dull roar.
It was a mix of shouting and clanking and laughter.
I loaded my tray with the usual: mystery meat, mashed potatoes, green beans.
And a small carton of orange juice.
It wasn't appetizing food.
But it was better than nothing.
I scanned the sea of faces for Sarah and Chloe.
They were at our usual table in the corner.
My heart lifted a little.
Maybe today would be okay.
I started making my way through the crowded aisles.
I navigated around the tables carefully.
The tray was balanced precariously.
Then I saw Mark Jensen.
He was leaning against the soda machine.
His friends were all around him.
They were blocking the narrowest part of the path.
I swallowed hard.
I knew I had to pass them.
I tried to look straight ahead.
I focused on the distant wall.
I just needed to get past them.
As I got closer, Mark shifted slightly.
He straightened up a little.
He looked directly at me.
His eyes held that familiar smirk.
"Hey, watch it," he said, just loud enough for his friends to hear.
He made no effort to move.
His friends chuckled softly.
I felt a rush of heat to my face.
My hands tightened around the tray.
My knuckles were white.
"Sorry," I mumbled, trying to squeeze past.
There was barely any room at all.
I took a careful step sideways.
Then my foot caught on something solid.
It wasn't an accident.
It was a black sneaker.
Mark's sneaker.
He had subtly extended his leg.
My body jolted forward violently.
The heavy plastic tray flew from my grasp.
It seemed to hang in the air for a second.
Then it spun downwards.
The mashed potatoes were first to go.
They splattered against a nearby window.
It made a disgusting, soft 'thwack'.
Green beans followed in a shower.
They scattered across the linoleum floor.
The orange juice carton arced gracefully.
It painted a sticky orange streak.
My own cry was choked off.
It was a sound of disbelief.
My leg buckled beneath me.
I twisted in a desperate attempt to stay upright.
But it was useless.
The tray hit the floor with a loud crack.
Then I crashed down too.
My right elbow slammed hard against the cold tile.
A sharp, searing pain shot up my arm.
My glasses were askew on my face.
Something cold and thick landed squarely on my head.
It slid down my forehead.
It seeped into my eyelashes.
It was the mystery meat gravy.
It smelled like disappointment and something vaguely metallic.
The noise of the cafeteria died down.
It wasn't gradual.
It was an abrupt, stunned silence.
Every head in the room turned towards me.
I was lying in the middle of my spilled lunch.
It was spread out like a morbid still life.
My clothes were stained.
My hair was matted with gravy.
Mark was still standing there.
His leg was casually retracted.
He was looking down at his shoe.
He bent slightly, pretending to tie his shoelace.
A nervous giggle broke the silence.
Then a few more.
