45 Days to Save the Bad Boy

Four

So my sandwich did, in fact, get squished.  I stared glumly at the ruined mess as I sat at my usual table.  Lifting my head, I glanced at Dallas, who was sitting with Breton and his friends at their usual table.  Three over, five down.  Not a very long walk.  Dallas could easily stand up and walk over, if he wanted to.  Or, I guess I would be able to get up and walk to him.  

Peter wasn’t anywhere to be seen today, not since this morning when his cousin had supposedly figured out who I was trying to avoid in the mornings.  I glanced over at that table again.  Dallas and I were friends, friends sit with each other at lunch.  And I don’t think Hayley would mind.  But did I want to risk it?  What if Peter showed up just as I sat down over there?  Even worse, what if I just stood at the table and no one let me sit down?  

That’s what had happened to me the first week of sophomore year.  No one would look at me, or acknowledge me.  So I had been forced to sit down at the only completely empty table in the cafeteria, the table that had once been white, but had appeared black because of the stains and mold covering it.  When I realized I would be sitting at that table for possibly the rest of my high school existence, I had come in to school on a Saturday armed with cleaning supplies.  It took the whole day and half of the night, but by 1 o’clock early Sunday morning that table sparkled.  

Smiling slightly, I brushed the pure white table top beneath my fingers.  The janitor had been so amazed at how clean the table was.  He came up to me during lunch period on Monday.

“Lass, this is the cleanest I have ever seen a table in this disgusting cafeteria.  I have been trying to scrub and clean this table top since the day I started working here twenty years ago.  And yet in one day you did what I had given up as impossible.”  I had smiled at the kind old man, but he wasn’t finished.  Standing on the bench next to me, he raised his voice louder than anyone had ever heard him speak before.  “If any of you rotten kids get so much as a scratch on this beautiful table right here, I will make your lives miserable!  Not one scratch, not a stain, nothing will be done to ruin this table.  Do you hear me!”  Everyone had nodded.  

Even though the janitor retired two years ago, the legend of his threat still lives on and the students keep their food far away from my table.  That’s one of the reasons I still sat here.  The other reason is that still no one will let me sit with them.

So George, the research went pretty well.  I found out that Breton has a lot of friends, that he likes a challenge, and that he’s basically the next Sherlock Holmes.  According to Hayley he is grouchy when ‘other people’ are around.  I’m not sure exactly what the definition of ‘other people’ is, but I’m assuming it’s people outside of his friend group.  Still not sure what I’m saving him from.  Also, Peter keeps showing up whenever I try to find something new about Breton.  This could be a huge obstacle in Operation 45D, but what can I do?

“Why are you stalking me?” Breton asked as he glowered at me.

“I’m not stalking you,” I replied.

“You are.  I see you watching me all the time, following me.  You showed up at our secret hangout this morning.  That wasn’t an accident.  So I’ll ask it again.  Why are you stalking me?”

“I’m not!  I’m not stalking!” I protested.  Breton wasn’t listening.

“Why?  Who put you up to this?  Why are you stalking me!” he yelled.  Something dark loomed up behind him, but only I could see it.  

In the corner of the room, Breton’s father stood, begging my to help, screaming to stop the darkness.

“I don’t know what to do!” I cried.