Skater Boy

Chapter 7

“If you could buy only one kind of makeup—I’m talking lip gloss, eyeliner and mascara even—where would you buy it?”

Ashley #2: “Stila, definitely.”

Ashley #1: “Really? I would have said Hard Candy. They have the coolest shades and the best glitter eye pencils known to mankind.”

Ashley #3: “I just really like Cover Girl.”

Pause. Turn to stare in sync.

“I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing Cover—hey, Dawn, where are you going?” I’ve had enough. I can literally feel brain cells dying as I sit next to these self-absorbed makeup morons. I sense their burning stares as I leave the table without a word and head down to the other half of the school lunch-room. The half I thought I’d never be forced to sit in, never mind make the conscious choice to do so. I know for a fact, I’ve just sealed my high-school fate. Fallen off the wrong side of the fence that I’ve been straddling, but for some reason, I don’t care much.

“Hey, Starr,” I greet as I approach her lunch table. Her fellow tablemates glare at me, perhaps wondering if I’m here on some nefarious scheme like the popular kids always seem to be hatching in the movies. Befriend the loser kid, trick her into going to the dance with the popular boy so you can pour pig’s blood on her or whatever. Like the real-life popular kids are really all that creative or bored.

Starr looks up, raising a pierced eyebrow. “What’s wrong, Barbie?” she asks coolly.

“Do you mind if I sit with you?” I ask, praying she’ll say yes. I suddenly realize I’ve just walked away from my high-school social standing with no concrete idea of where I belong. If Starr’s crowd rejects me, where do I go next?

Starr seems to ponder my question a moment, then moves her canvas book bag off the stool. “Free lunch-room,” she says with a shrug.

Not exactly a welcoming invitation, though not a rejection either. I understand her and her tablemates’ lack of enthusiasm. They know for a fact that if the situation were reversed, if Starr wanted the empty seat at my regular lunch table, there’s no way the Ashleys would let her sit down, no matter how much I begged.

Bleh. High-school.

I decide to play it friendly. “Thanks,” I say in a grateful voice. “I just couldn’t stand one more fashion convo.”

Starr and several other tablemates break out into giggles. “What?” I demand, a little annoyed. Are they making fun of me?

“Sorry,” Starr says, regaining control of herself. “But before you came we were actually talking about who makes the best combat boots.”

“Were you?” I shake my head in amusement. “Whoops.” And here I thought they’d be debating the president’s justification of the Iraq war or the continuing relief effort for the tsunami victims in Asia.

“What did you expect us to be talking about?” demands a boy from across the table. He’s cute, if a bit on the nerdy side, with black-rimmed glasses and sandy brown hair. Sort of Clark Kentish. “Dungeons and Dragons?”

“Stuart, be nice,” Starr reprimands. For a new girl, she certainly seems to have the crowd under her thumb. “Dawn’s trying. But you can’t completely break free of Barbiedom in one afternoon. She’s made an important first step, though. And we should support her."

The boy snorts, but doesn’t follow up. Instead he pulls out a Nintendo 3DS and starts battling space aliens or whatever you do on those things.

“That’s Stuart,” Starr says. “Obsessed with all things medieval and all things video-game related.”