Mr. Connelly chuckled. “It’s all right. Still in one piece.”
“Mr. Connelly, I cannot keep this. Please take it back. Something terrible will happen to it, I just know it. That’s my luck, you see? Please take it.” I shoved the handkerchief in his face.
“Go to class, Cadence,” Mr. Connelly said. He wouldn’t take it.
“Please,” I begged, waving it back and forth.
“Go to class,” he said gently. “I’ll let you know when I want it back.”
I walked to English holding his handkerchief, confused and frustrated over why he wouldn’t take it back. What did he want me to do with it?
***
All those teen movies that portray lunch time in high school as the worst period of the day are completely accurate. It is the worst time if you have no friends. I’m not a self-conscious person by nature, but I felt incredibly uncomfortable today sitting alone at the reject table. I planned on sitting next to Gracie, but she made it clear that our friendship was over. What hurt me the most is that I think she was using her parents as an excuse. Sure, I knew they didn’t want me near her, but she wasn’t trying to fight for me because she didn’t want to. She wrote me off, and that realization was a stinging slap to the face.
I watched Mr. Connelly walk into the cafeteria. I guess his first duty of the school year was overseeing the lunch crowd. I knew teachers rotated duties, and monitoring lunch time had to be, by far, the worst ever. He had a sack lunch. I thought that was cute and dorky. I don’t know why. The food in his bag was probably far superior to the crap on my tray.
I glimpsed him walking my way.
What are you doing? Do not come over here. Did you hear what I said?! Do. Not. Come. Over. Here.
Mr. Connelly set his bag on the table and slid into a chair a few down from mine. I went hot all over. It was instant anger. Or frustration. Or embarrassment. I don’t know. Maybe all three.
“Hey, Riley,” he said to a boy across from him.
“Hi, Mr. Connelly,” Riley replied. He went back to reading his comic book.
“What’s up, Nicole?” Mr. Connelly said, turning to a girl to the left of him. How did he already know these kids’ names?
Nicole giggled and pushed her glasses up her nose. “Hi, Mr. Connelly.”
“How’s your day going?” he asked her.
She giggled again. “Um, okay, I guess.”
“Decided if you’re going out for basketball?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. I think so,” she replied.
I kept my head down, eyes glued to my food tray, letting my hair shield my face. Did Mr. Connelly have a magic brain or something? It was only the second day of school. How could he remember these random kids’ names and previous conversations with them? He must teach over 200 students. And why was he even sitting at this table anyway? The whole thing was weird.
“Hi, Cadence,” Mr. Connelly said.
I jumped in my seat. “Hey.”
“You doing all right?”
My life completely blows, and you saw me blubbering like a baby yesterday. What do you think?
“Just fine,” I replied, twirling my fork in my soupy mashed potatoes.
“Not hungry?”
I huffed and tipped the bowl of potatoes to give him a better look.
“Does this look appetizing to you?” I asked.
He grinned. “Not so much. You wanna split my sandwich?”
No, I don’t want to split your sandwich. Stop being so nice and cute!
I shook my head.
“You probably need to eat something. Helps the brain work better. Plus you’re really tiny.”
Oh my God. Don’t comment about my size.
He tried for a new topic. “Are you taking good care of my handkerchief?”
I glared at him. “Can I give it back to you now?”
“No, I was just asking if you’re taking care of it.”
I had no idea what he meant. What was I supposed to be doing with his handkerchief? I instinctively slid my hand in my pocket. It was still there. Safe and secure.
“It’s in my pocket,” I replied.
“Good.”
I couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Why are you sitting here?” I demanded. I didn’t mean for it to come out as an accusation.
“Any reason I can’t sit here?” he asked.
“It’s just weird. There’s a teachers’ table, you know.”
“I don’t wanna sit at that table.”
“Well, you’re at the reject table, just so you know,” I said, and Riley’s head snapped up, a look of disdain painted on his face. “It’s true,” I argued.
“I don’t see any rejects,” Mr. Connelly said. “And you’re being rude.”
“Whatever.” I stood and picked up my tray. “I’m outta here.”
“Good riddance,” Riley mumbled.
“Enjoy the rest of your day, Cadence,” Mr. Connelly said.
“You enjoy the rest of your day,” I shot back. I sounded like a moron.
I stomped down the hall to my locker. I was pissed, though I knew I had no right to be. It was Mr. Connelly. Always here. Always there. I saw him way too much, and it was only the second day of school. I didn’t like the way he made me feel, mostly because I couldn’t define the feeling. And I didn’t like carting around his handkerchief. What was that? I thought it was some kind of power play, and decided I’d leave it on his desk after I changed out my books.
I opened my locker to sand. It poured out all over my feet, worming its way into my ballet flats. What the hell? Who knew my locker combination? The jumpsuit yesterday was one thing: I didn’t have a lock yet. But today I did, and I still had a present waiting for me.
I leaned over to take off my shoes and dump out the majority of sand before heading to the office.
“I need a new lock,” I said rudely.
The receptionist behind the desk, Mrs. Kinder, pursed her lips.
“May I ask why?”
“Because some students know my combination, and they dumped sand all in my locker,” I replied. “I have sand in my shoes.”
Mrs. Kinder furrowed her brows. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”
“Yes, it is,” I clipped. “And who’s in charge of monitoring the surveillance videos? I mean, you’ve got cameras plastered on every wall of this school. Why has no one gotten in trouble for harassing me?”