Fake Me To Church

Chapter 2.2 - She Who Walks Behind the Rows

- AHMED -

"You're not planning on eating alone again, are you?"

I looked up from my meager meal of pizza, milk, and French fries to see Irina, lunch tray in hand, staring down at me with puppy-dog eyes. It had been three days since we'd talked in the Chapel on Monday; and if I'm being honest, I was surprised to see her again. We didn't have any classes together, and I wasn't even sure we shared the same lunch wave.

"Can I pretty-please-with-cherries-on-top sit with you?" She stuck out her lower lip and twirled her hair.

I grinned. "I don't know, Irina. I mean, a guy like me sitting with a commoner like you?"

We both burst out laughing as Irina slid her plate next to mine and took the seat beside me. Just as she reached to open her miniature milk carton, a tall guy rushed up behind her and covered her eyes with both hands, his windswept hair shuffling softly as he chuckled.

"Ahh!" she screamed playfully. "Who is it?"

"That's confidential information, Miss Graverobber," the guy said in response.

Irina gasped. "SAM!?" she screamed as he removed his hands from her eyes.

She whirled around and flung her arms around his shoulders. "What are you doing here!?"

He laughed. "Nothing much—I was just picking up a few things from Chadwick's and thought I'd stop by."

"Awesome!" Irina screeched before turning to me. "Ahmed, this is Sam. I've known him since I was like five years old."

"Great to meet you," I said, extending my hand.

"Pleasure's mine, bro." His grip was firm. "You new here?"

I nodded. "Yeah, it's my first year."

"Man, first year's rough—Mrs. Alvin's biology class is no joke."

"And it definitely hasn't gotten any easier since you had her," Irina added.

"Wait," I puzzled, turning back to Sam, "what year are you? I thought you and Irina were both seniors."

Irina giggled. "Ahmed, Sam doesn't go here. He graduated seven years ago."

"Oh," I mumbled, glancing away as Sam shook his head with a light chuckle. "Sorry, I didn't know..."

"Don't worry, dude. It's cool." He reached across the table and gripped my arm.

"It's Sam's fault anyway for having such a baby face," Irina joked, pinching his left cheek.

He glared playfully at her, then turned to me. "So, besides all the classes, how do you like EdgeWay so far? You trying out for any sports teams?"

"Just basketball," I muttered, bowing my head. "But it's...not going too well."

"Hey, dude, keep at it. Sports can be really tough at this school."

I sighed. "Figured that out the hard way."

We kept on talking for about ten more minutes—and the more we did, the more inferior I felt to Sam. He'd somehow managed to become captain of EdgeWay's varsity basketball team as a freshman, and he'd led them all the way to nationals that year. He also pretty much wrote the book on spring conditioning—to this day, the coaches still mandate that incoming freshmen train using his athletic workout routine.