The next week, I found myself in a similar situation as my first day of school: I stood at the edge of the cafeteria, looking for a seat. It was storming again so the entire student body was indoors in the cafeteria. I would have sat with Mina, Dylan, and their friends like I had been the week prior, but a neighboring town's academic club was visiting and there simply wasn't a seat to be had. Since we lived in a sunny area of California, our cafeteria wasn't used often.
Usually, students spread out around campus for lunch and breaks instead of being stuck indoors in a smelly cafeteria. It was only when it rained that we were forced indoors. The cafeteria obviously wasn't planned with any overflow, so with the visiting students, we were over capacity on that particular rainy day.
So once again, I stood awkwardly, scanning for a seat, this time with no regards to who it was with.
I finally found one at the loner table, the one full of kids with their heads in books and earphones in. I started to make my way over to the seat, but hesitated when I saw who it was with.
Sam Durand was an enigma. He was a loner, but he was one of the hottest guys at school. I saw girls watching him with moon eyes from afar, but no one ever approached him. He was on the tall side but not grotesquely so, and strong without being beefy. He wore a jacket that day because of the rain, but I'd seen him is short sleeves. His arms were muscled but not the size of Christmas hams. He was well proportioned. In addition, he had thick, silky looking, warm brown hair with just the slightest wave. His face was just so... symmetrical, and there was so few flaws. A scar on his bottom lip just brought attention to how pretty his mouth was, framing white teeth with one twisted eyetooth.
He looked and dressed well, always with new looking sneakers. I didn't know much about fashion or shoes, but he seemed in style. He seemed totally normal in fact—cool, even—yet everyone left him alone.
He wasn't socially awkward from what I could tell. Neither was he a brooding type of loner, or a bad boy—he was more of a pull-up-a-seat-and-get-lost-in-a-novel type. At least, that's what I thought. I'd never heard him say a mean word. In fact, I'd never heard him say anything. Despite sitting next to him in three classes—yes, three—he had yet to say a single word to me. He sat in the back of all the classes in typical loner style, next to whatever empty seats there were. When I came in a four weeks late, I was always assigned one of those seats in the back, next to him. Voila. Seat mates.
I couldn't help the little butterflies that set off in my stomach whenever I saw him. They were weak butterflies, but still. I wasn't used to it and didn't know what to do with them. I was way too emotionally messed up to have a crush.
Still, I wished he'd talk. Maybe if I was assertive I could get him to speak. I hadn't actually tried to have a conversation with him yet, but I should. Besides, it beat going to the library to eat my lunch alone.
Decision made, I made my way over to the loner table and Sam stared at me as I pulled out the chair and plopped down, pulling a generic brand lemon-lime soda out of my bag.
"What do you think you are doing?" he asked, after some fifteen hours of sitting together. I was shocked to find out he had a bit of an accent. Was that French? His words were a tad lazy, a little rounded and formed in the roof of his mouth. Yeah, definitely, slightly French.
"Um," I said, trying not to show how intimidated I felt by his stare. It was the first time I'd seen his eyes, and oh boy, were they pretty. Warm brown glazed in honey, and staring at me in distrust. "Sitting."
"No one sits here but me."
"Look," I said. "It's super crowded today, and there isn't anywhere to sit. I think you'll survive sitting next to me for one lunch period."
He frowned at me, picked up his backpack and book, and left without another word.
I watched him walk away, trying not to feel hurt. That's alright, I told myself. Not every social interaction is going to work. It has nothing to do with my worth as a person.
With a nod to myself, I got comfy on the bench and opened my soda. I'd sit alone today, then back with my new friends the next day. Everything would be okay. At least, that's what I spent the rest of lunch trying to convince myself.
I ran into Mina on my way to my next class. "Abby! I was looking for you," she said.
I shrugged. "I had to sit at the loner table today."
"I'm so sorry. We tried saving you a seat, but it was just too crowded."
"I wasn't quick enough," I said. "The place had filled up by time I got there."
"You'll sit with us tomorrow, though, right?"
I couldn't help but smile. "If that's cool with you."
"Of course it is. We're friends, aren't we?"
I nodded, feeling all sorts of warm and fuzzy. Friends—I had a friend again. I could almost pretend the last two years hadn't happened.
No, that was a lie.
But I was so excited to make a new life away from what happened. A new life, one that I chose. And I chose Mina and being friends. Things were looking up again.
At least they were, until sixth period.
I was staring blankly at the wall in Study Skills when the door swung open. Sam Durand walked in, because with my luck, of course it was Sam Durand. My feelings were still a little sore from his rude departure at lunch, so I watched him with wary eyes as he handed an official looking paper to Coach Wilson. In his silky, lightly accented voice, Sam said, "I have been transferred into your class."
Aside from teaching Study Skills, Coach Wilson oversaw the wrestling team. He clearly was only after the coaching gig and hated teaching regular classes. At least that's what I figured from the way he refused to do any—teaching, that is. He was grumbly and cranky and all we did was busywork.
Coach looked at Sam's paper. "Sit," he eventually grunted, tucking the document away.
Empty desks flooded the room, but Sam chose the one in the very back, as secluded as possible. I was the only one around, seated directly to his right. His eyes flashed with surprised recognition when he saw me beside him, but said nothing as he took the seat. I suddenly had the urge to tell him that no one sat there but me, but I wasn't a jerk, so I stayed quiet as Sam sat back in his chair and silently surveyed the classroom.
Coach Wilson stood up with a groan and walked to the front of the class. "Open your books and do the questions on page forty-six with the person sitting next to you," he said.
Before Coach could even plop back in his seat and spend the next forty minutes doom scrolling on his computer, everyone launched back into their conversations, completely disregarding the assignment.
It happened most days. From what I could tell, we'd read straight out of the textbook at the beginning of the week, then "discuss it with each other" for the next four days. The worst part was the fact that the class material was all things I learned in the third grade. Nate could teach the class.
"Discussing" wasn't usually a problem for me. Since the seat next to me was always empty, I'd just do my own thing. As long as I made it look like I was doing something productive in case a school administrator came by, Coach was happy. The fact that I actually did the assignments probably wasn't something he was aware of.
But this was different: there was someone sitting next to me now. If I just ignored Sam, Coach could call us out on it.
I sat still for a moment, social anxiety dripping into my stomach. I didn't want to be rejected a second time that day. I could only take so much—I didn't know how to handle it. Maybe I should have just stayed silent and eaten in the library instead of talking to Sam at lunch.
"Get to work," Coach barked.
Everyone turned to each other and conversation flooded the room. After a few moments of panic, I finally slid around in my seat until I was facing the aisle between me and Sam. "Um," I said hesitantly. "Me again."
Sam looked at me, turning his eyes to the book in my lap. He grimaced, whether at the prospect of working with me or simply because the assignment was lame, it hurt still the same. But he opened his book up anyways.
We sat in silence and stared at the assignment. I didn't want to be the initiator—it was his turn to do that. He didn't, though, much to my frustration. After we sat in awkwardness for a few minutes, realizing that no one else in the class was actually doing the assignment, at least not writing anything down, I finally looked up.
I was going to say something if it killed me. There was absolutely no reason for Sam Durand to hate me. I was going to get him to talk to me, because I was sick of sitting in awkwardness in three—now four—classes. Half my day would not be spent like that.
Because the question had been at the forefront of my mind ever since he came through the door, I asked, "Why did you choose to be in this class?"
Sam blinked in what I assumed was surprise, his expression set in stone. I guessed he wasn't used to people just chatting with him, let alone conversationally asking about his choices. From what I had seen, it was kind of an unspoken social rule that no one talked to Sam, not if you didn't want to be talked about behind your back.
But I mean, seriously, come on. There was no way anyone in school would have chosen to be in Study Skills. It was the worst class ever.
Sam eyed me with those beautiful eyes of his, expression not changing. "There were not enough people in Advanced Placement French so they had to dissolve the class. I got last choice of alternate elective, and this was the only class available."
I rolled my eyes. "Because no one would sign up for it willingly."
"It cannot be hard," he countered.
"That's what's so horrible about it. We've spent a full eight days talking about time management, which seems pretty ironic to me."
"Good, then I have not missed anything important."
He looked at me for a few moments, and I didn't turn away although my insides were screaming for me to. My instincts were still to avoid and not get involved with people.
No, I reminded myself. It's going to be different here. I'm different now.
"I'm Abby, by the way," I finally forced out of my mouth.
Drumming his fingers idly against the desk, he said, "I had heard as such."
"Yeah?" I said, something defensive gathering in my stomach. "Heard a lot?" He shrugged. I felt my eyebrows dip in annoyance. "You shouldn't listen to what everyone says around school."
He gave me a sarcastic look, rolling those stupidly beautiful eyes. "Do not tell me you do not care what the latest gossip is."
"If I did, I wouldn't be going out of my way to talk to you, Mysterious Sam Durand, now would I?"
He considered before nodding slightly. "Touché."