Ebony Wings

4

~Ali~

It is lunch before I know it and the on-site cafe leaves mile long queues at the food and salad bar as a result. I stand in the line, silently trying to determine how sad I will look if I take my tray of food and sit alone. I hope the busy crowds will mask my solitude otherwise I fear I may have to take my lunch elsewhere else more private.

But as I stand in the line, slowly shuffling forwards, I have the strangest feeling of being watched. I do not consider myself a paranoid person but that nagging in the back of my mind cannot be ignored. The feeling passes as quickly as it came and I nervously dismiss the sensation as embarrassment.

My turn arrives to order and I snag a sandwich and fruit juice from the refrigerated glass case, placing them onto a grey tray and sliding it to the cash register. A lady takes my student number and adds the lunch onto my bill, impersonally dismissing me into the wild mess of people milling around the tables.

I wander aimlessly, waiting for a seat to open. When one does not, I begin to redden as I finish my third unsuccessful loop of the cafeteria. Unable to bring myself to walk around again, I begrudgingly perch in the corner of the room, setting my tray on the carpet beside my crossed legs. Slightly ashamed but mostly hungry, I hide behind a curtain of my hair and ignore any passing looks as I open the packaging to my sandwich.

The bread is a bit dry and the vegetables on the soggy side but nothing out of the ordinary for a cheap cafe lunch. As I pick up the seeded bread of my second slice and take a bite, a shadow falls over my lap and two pairs of shoes appear in my vision. I put my sandwich down and brush the crumbs off of my hands as I look up to two girls smiling down at me. Their eyes are eerily identical in their rich, coppery colour, blinking at me like flashing pennies.

The platinum blonde girls speaks first in a smooth, inviting voice. "Hey, I am Amber and this is Tami," she announces, pointing to the mousey-haired girl by her side. Tami smiles a pearly grin, lips creasing at the corners in a similar way that the other girl's does and waves warmly at me. I quickly suspect they are twins. "You are new right?" Amber says more as a statement than a question. I prepare an answer but she does not wait for a response - not rudely, I presume, but almost excitedly. "We were wondering if you wanted to have lunch with us, unless you have other plans?" My neck blushes from the obvious lack of plans I currently have - and they know it too.

I quietly assess whether their offer stems from kindness or mockery, but as the girl sitting on the floor with no friends, I have little choice in the matter and I accept gratefully.

"Sure, thanks," I say and return their duplicated smiles just as widely.

"What is your name?" Amber asks as I stand and dust myself off.

"Ali." Tami bends down and picks up my tray from the floor. I give a thankful nod and take the tray myself, following them to their table.

We come to an overcrowded table in the centre of the room and the girls slip comfortably into two empty places, their trays already waiting for them. I sit on the end in the only seat available opposite a girl with open eyes and a warm smile who introduces herself as Kristy. Kristy points to the boy she is seated beside, their hands clasped in their laps underneath the table and introduces him as her boyfriend, James, a man who is not handsome nor particularly ugly but someone with a unique beauty somewhere in between. The rest of the eight-seater table occupants introduce themselves briefly but welcomingly. And then the final occupier leans into view around Tami and he needs no introduction as his wayward gaze meets my own. Will waves at me with a smirk that he makes handsome and I bite out a laugh, waving back.

Amber and Tami are the driving force for the conversation across the table, lively and enthusiastic about almost everything. They shoot questions at me like I am the target of the firing squad and I answer candidly, not necessarily disliking the momentary attention I receive. As I secure the basics about myself and the conversation begins to veer into more general territory, the atmosphere begins to feel less like an interrogation and more of a repartee between the whole table.