I watched Corbin Chandler as he walked past my table.
Today he was wearing his football jersey and a pair of dark wash jeans. He carried a cheese sandwich under his arm and three water bottles stacked like a pyramid.
I angled my head to follow his movements behind me, trying not to seem obvious.
My best friend, Madison, sat across from me and shook her head, though she was smiling. I looked away, pretending to reorder the pages in front of me.
She took a sip of her water and it rippled when it hit the table, like a contained wave.
"Can you still see the blister?" She asked, suddenly, holding her index finger out.
I shook my head.
"Not anymore," I replied.
"Good," she said. "I don't want people thinking I have some kind of disease."
She watched behind me as I began to turn my head.
"No!" she hissed. "Not yet. It'll just make you look amateurish."
She waited a moment then gave me a signal.
"Why did you take this assignment anyway?" she asked.
I shrugged.
Last week, the school newspaper's editor insisted I write our feature on Corbin. He even titled it The Odyssey of a Chandler. I had relunctantly agreed and much to my dismay, so did our faculty supervisor.
I had spent the last three days tracking Corbin's day-to-day life. So far I had nothing to report back on, other than his questionable food choices.
I turned my head back again. He was sitting on the cafeteria table eating a bag of chips he must have taken one of his teammates.
"You know what?" I said. "I'm just going to ask Mr. Weber if we can drop the article."
I gave one more glance back. Corbin and his friends were aiming their garbage at the bin, leaving a trail of plastic on the floor.
"Why wait?" I said to Madison. "I think I'll go right now."
"That's the spirit," she replied. "Oh! Ask if you can write that article about the, uh, the science thing?"
"The fair."
"Right! Ask if you can write about that instead. You were so excited about it," Madison said, "and it's this Friday isn't it?"
"Yup," I said, picking up my notebook and pens, and the wheels started turning in my head. I had wanted to write a feature on that fair. The front page was always about the sports teams. Never science, or anything else for that matter.
"I'll see you after school," I said, quickly, as I thought through my article pitch. I vaguely remembered some of the students that were presenting. One of them was my lab partner in chemistry. She might want to talk about it or know some more people I could talk to.
I scurried down the hall to the journal and yearbook room, a glorified printer and TV storage area, where Mr. Weber was eating his lunch.
I knocked on the door and Mr. Weber gestured me inside.
"Hi Nia," he said, "how's the feature coming along?"
"About that," I stood at his desk, "I had another idea."
I pitched my idea, promising to interview teachers and students even with the tight timeline.
"You really care about this fair?" he looked at me, curiously.
"Yes," I answered, honestly.
"If that's what you want," he shrugged, "I don't have enough time to assign the sports feature to someone else. Just make it good."
I squealed and breathed a sigh of relief.
"Thank you!" I said as I rushed out of the room. "I won't disappoint you."
With 10 minutes of the lunch period to spare, I made a dash for my locker. I wanted to write all my ideas down, maybe I'd even be able to make a skeleton draft. Even the noise by my locker in jock hall, the hallway in front of the gym, didn't deter me from my mission. I would make this article count.
I started to scribble, not bothering to sit down, when a football brushed my calf.
"Sorry," someone leaned down by my side. From my lunch investigation, I already recognized the owner of the red jersey shirt and dark wash jeans.
I didn't reply. He hit the football with the palm of his other hand but didn't move.
"What are you writing about?" Corbin asked.
I peered up and he was sheepish.
"It just looked important," he said.
"I'm on the school newspaper," I explained, quickly, not wanting to lose my train of thought. "They're my ideas about next week's feature."
"Oh, what's the feature?"
"The robotics fair."
"No shit?" he said, hitting the football again. "Kai's been talking about it for weeks. I heard that one of the girls from Chem made this arm that can slice a pizza."
"Raina?" I suggested.
"Yeah," he said. "Some of the guys and I were going to hang back on Friday to check it out since there's no game."
"Do you know anyone else that's in the fair?" I asked.
"Yeah, a couple," he answered and pointed at my notebook. "Do you need people to talk to?"
"I'm hoping to interview them. There's not a lot of recognition for science kids, usually just sports." I pointed at the football in his hands.
"I get that," he said, "and it's great you're doing this for them."
He gave me a few names of people I'd recognized from my classes when someone called behind him.
"Corbin! Let's go!"
"Hey, good luck with your article," he said. He pivoted and turned back. "What's your name?"
"Nia," I responded.
"Nia," he repeated. "Corbin."
The guys behind him started hollering over the noise and bustling, as the lunch period ended.
"See you on Friday!" he said, before he disappeared into the sea.