SUBTLETY IS NOT TERRENCE'S STRONG suit.
I paused for not even ten seconds to peruse the cafeteria, examining the room for a suitable group to sit with. I can't find Leah and her friends anywhere — a sneaky suspicion tells me they're probably camped out in the band room, or maybe the classroom where I have Music. On the back wall of the cafeteria is a blue and gold crown — the emblem of our school.
Terrence spotted me and shot his arm into the air.
"Soph! Sit with us," he offers, looking around to the four other people at his table, smiling.
From my point of view, it looks like they sit at the cleanest table in the cafeteria. It can still pass for white, whilst all others have gum stuck on top, stains and dirt marks. Terrence's long table also breaks the rule of having a minimum of eight people sitting there. There are five seats, all occupied.
Two things come to mind: where I am going to sit, and how important these people must be to have such a privileged eating situation. Even their food looks better than mine. I mean, at least their curry isn't congealed. That is, I think what was slopped onto my tray is meant to be curry.
Terrence must realise the shortage of chairs at the same time I do.
But, like he's doing me a favour, he reassures my doubt with a confident smile, gets up, and takes a chair from one of the surrounding tables, completely ignoring the girl who's already moving to sit down. My earlier train of thought about being booted out of my homeroom chair rockets to the fore, but this time the humour is gone.
I just feel cold, and a bit shocked, watching the encounter play out in real life to someone else.
She opens her mouth, indignant, looking about to ask for her chair back. When she sees that Terrence is the one who took it, all the protestation driving her falters. Her mouth clamps shut on whatever demand she prepared to make. Finally, she turns away grumbling to herself, on the end of many pitying looks from her friends.
What the...
The whole confrontation leaves me gaping. I fall speechless, wide-eyed and outraged. Terrence must be some sort of god to these people, if he can take things without asking, and escape without even an objection from the victim.
Or maybe he's the school dealer, and everyone here is hooked on his drugs. I had that sneaky suspicion from how he brought up pot during our first meeting, and his jittering, never-ending energy.
"What the hell was that?" I command an answer, clearly remembering the same fear in the eyes of everyone on the bus.
That stuff Terrence used to explain why everyone seems smaller, somehow, of pranks and friends in high places doesn't nearly cover this degree of weirdness. His friends look like normal teenagers.
His next words don't cover it either, "She owes me a favour."
Terrence thinks that I believe that, assuaged by that aloof shrug and dazzling smile of his, but inside, I'm thinking the whole thing is bullshit if I ever heard it. Just like Leah's he probably just stumbled. Did she not see his foot sliding out? Does Terrence not see the resentment on the poor girl's face?
In a passing glance, I notice four other people sitting at the table. I recognise Madison Murdoch, and she does the same, with a sickly sweet smile. In the next second, she's already returned to her phone.
The second and last girl at the table has sleek brunette hair and almond-shaped eyes. Eyes that feel like needles on your skin, slim lips and a slender frame. Everything about her is razor-sharp; the navy blue eyeliner – that I've never seen anyone pull off so elegantly – tapered to a point, the thin dangling earring she wears, the vertex of her black V-neck shirt.
One of the guys at the table sits tall in his chair, watching Terrence and me. The way this table is positioned makes it seem like his head is rising into the painted crown on the back wall. He certainly looks like a Homecoming King, in his Letterman jacket and easy-going smile.
The fifth person at the table is a boy, dark hair, frowning in a faded, cracked leather jacket, and almost comatose with boredom. He's slouched so low in his chair he might slide under the table any moment. If I'm honest, I feel his lethargy. I'm still tired from waking up early to catch the bus.
But like the rest of his friends bar Terrence, he doesn't seem particularly welcoming. Murmuring apologetically, I tell Terrence, "Sorry, I think I'll just look for another seat."
My words seem to fall out of my mouth, and onto the surrounding tables, dampening the chatter. The girl — she is still looking for a chair — overhears, and makes it quite obvious she did. I hadn't even noticed the people paying attention.
I wish I wasn't drawing all this attention, for literally the tiniest developments. Sorry that I sat in the wrong seat. Sorry that I would like to consume sustenance in peace. How dare I?
Madison and Letterman are staring, loose jaws and speculating eyes — though my actions are not theirs to speculate about. Even the boy who was bored with the world sits upright, cautious for what'll happen next.
Most unnerving of all, the black-haired girl laughs humourlessly and unleashes brutal glares in my direction like I had killed her family. She can't honestly be this affected by my rejection, if saying no to a lunchroom seat even counts. Can she?
I'm confused, and understandably so. I've never seen her before in my life! They all reek of toxicity. Best to just back away slowly from the feral girl, and avoid eye contact, in my previous arms-length experience with high school overlords.
My steps away from the table stop short when I remember the most important detail.
When Terrence's odious friends see me coming back, the entire air of the table and the tables around us relax, like a fishbowl tipped to the side returning to its usual position; balance being restored. The frightening girl infuriates me, especially with that complacent smirk she's greeting me with.
I'm not going to join their group. I'm just simply righting a wrong. She can put away her ego, before I destroy it.
I snatch up the plastic chair in one hand, balancing my lunch tray with the other. Marching away from their table, return it to the girl Terrence took it from. She looks at me with fright and suspicion, but I just give her a smile before leaving.
As I sway past their pristine table, Terrence peers quizzically at me. I interrupt him hurriedly, before he can open his mouth and complicate things more, "Thanks for the offer, though."
Some people are still looking; at what, I'm not sure. It's uncomfortable, being the only one standing and watching them look up at me, because it makes it all the more obvious they are staring.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
I'd rather eat alone by the rubbish bins than put another person out of their seat.
Unfortunately, that's what I'm forced to do when the dearth of empty chairs becomes apparent. This table is nearly empty, and unlike the inexplicable vacancies at Terrence's table, I know why. A slight waft from the rubbish bins lingers here, and I imagine the stink curling itself into my already repulsive food.
Is Terrence really that important, that his presence demands everyone's attention? And am I really that unimportant, that no-one notices me when I'm not near him?
The one guy sitting here, right at the opposite end, stares at me with bafflement. Just not as blatantly as everyone else did. Black, or brown hair; maybe. The light hits his hair at an angle I can't deduce its colour from. Maybe I'll ask him later, if he doesn't turn out to be just as weird as all the other people in this school.
What's sad is Terrence seemed a great prospective friend. Now, I wouldn't even call him sane.
Intelligence radiates from this boy. It's in the strands of his neatly combed hair, the fully-buttoned grey shirt, and especially in the math workbook resting open next to him. From the cramped handwriting, messy working and madly-circled answers — that I have to read upside-down — this guy might be even smarter than I am. That is saying something, by the way.
Currently, his shrewd eyes are fixed on me, peering at me as if I'm a book with every second word missing; trying to make sense of the story. It's a better way to be looked at than like a celebrity tabloid magazine, searched for gossip and nothing else.
"Tell me," I begin. "What sort of hell have I walked into?"
The boy drops his head, laughing at a private joke that I probably wouldn't find funny. "Oh, a special one."
Suspicions confirmed. The argument I'll make to Mom about moving back to Bishop is already joining together in my head. This town's full of weirdos.
"You're new, right?" he asks finally, pulling me out of my intense planning.
"Yes." My hand extends for him to shake, "I'm Sophie."
"Benjamin. I think you're in my AP Calculus class. I'm probably not better company than your new friends over there, though." He slips his hand into mine.
"Oh! Nice to meet you. I'm sorry I didn't recognise you," I say, shaking his hand twice before letting it drop onto the table's surface. "And they're not my friends."
"Sorry for assuming that, then. It's just that the Monarchy only lets you sit with them if you have worked up to it over a period of months, are rich enough to buy a country, or something really useful to them. They haven't invited any to sit with them since..."
Benjamin trails off, exhaling the air that he was going to use to speak, had he thought of the words.
"Monarchy? Terrence?" I laugh, having a hard time imagining Terrence wearing a cloak, crown and holding a sceptre. In fact, I'm having a hard time picturing Terrence with any sort of serious expression on his face. "No way."
"Oh, yeah," Benjamin mutters. "See, Terrence is part of this elite clique. They are your typical high school bullies, known and feared by all."
I wish I could say this surprises me. I closer to Benjamin, curious and a bit anxious to see what Benjamin has to say. Could this nightmare of a school get any worse?
"The closer you sit to them, the higher rank you are on the high school food chain, and the more power you get over the rest of the school. Controlling people more important than you would require you moving up in the social order. The Monarchy are as high as you could get. Any higher and you'd be in space."
Benjamin's fork points first to Terrence, then gestures to all the other people at the table. They are still watching me from their superior position in the cafeteria, too far away for me to be able to discern their expressions. But from their body language — crossed arms and lowered heads — I probably don't want to see their faces.
"I can imagine." My voice sounds distant, considering I am imagining how everyone close to the Monarchy — it sounds so weird to say — pays such attention to the smallest of details.
They're probably all thinking I'm going to jump the line for being Terrence's new best friend.
For a school this complicated, there should at least be a manual or something given out, so new kids don't have to suffer through blinding headaches trying to figure out which people to avoid and which bus seats to not sit in and which cafeteria tables are available and what the hell is wrong with everyone.
Benjamin's voice draws me out of my angry thoughts and back into the school cafeteria. It calms me just to hear him say, "Nice touch with the chair, by the way."
"Yes, I wouldn't want some poor freshman to be chair-deprived on my behalf," I joke.
"You know, there are people dying of hellish diseases as we talk, and you're worried about some kid having to stand while she eats."
"What can I say? I'm a giver," I chuckle. My hand goes straight over my heart, in a sentimental way — eliciting a laugh from Benjamin; a deep rumble that starts from his throat and tumbles out in mirthful soundwaves.
"Sure, miss rebel. You probably wanted Terrence to chase after you," Benjamin quips.
I rush to defend myself, "That's not what I was thinking at all."
"I know. You were just helping. But that's not what happens here, if you want to stay safe."
Several things about what he says ignite questions like gasoline, flames of curiosity slithering up my insides. I press him for the relief answers will give me. "Safe? Why?"
"If you annoy them, they'll get their fan club and anyone who values their internal organs to make you miserable. You get dumped, pushed to the bottom of the food chain, cast out of any of the cliques. People start to pick on you, prank you, bully you."
My jaw drops open, "Talk about an overreaction."
"Yeah. It is. But have you ever heard of anyone being afraid of a lenient person?" Benjamin counters, eyebrow raised pointedly. "Funny thing is, they'll use other people to get them to do what they say. If everyone just stopped doing what they wanted, no-one would have any problem."
"Why don't people just stop listening then?"
Benjamin chews on his bottom lip, sighing with a wry humour that almost implies that he thinks I'm naive.
And then, even when he tells me, "It's painfully obvious you're new here," I'm still no closer to understanding than I was this morning.
The statement, said with only innocent honesty, takes a while to digest. Remembering the cookies Angela and I made, I pull out the plastic bag — fogged up with the heat from the cookies — and pluck out a morsel of heaven. The next biggest cookie in the bag goes to Benjamin, who I hope doesn't turn out as repugnant as Terrence.
He nods his thanks to me, already discarding that awful curry mix.
"You look deep in thought."
"Hmm, sorry." Another puzzled glance from him. He asks, "Just tell me why you declined in the first place. I mean, you must not have known about the whole social order thing."
"Because... they weren't nice people?" I state simply.
Benjamin snorts.
"What's funny?"
"No, I'm sorry. It's just, no-one thinks like that here."
"Do you want to sit with them?" I question incredulously, and bite a particularly chocolate chip-y chunk out of my tepid cookie.
Benjamin doesn't seem like the type of person who will try really hard to be friends with someone, if they aren't going to return the effort. But based on my earlier experience with Terrence, I can't say I'm the best judge of character.
"No, I don't want that. Most people do though. They all want to be popular and powerful. They'd take every chance they could get to make their own lives easier."
I frown. It's not like I've never met snotty popular people before. There were some girls and boys at my old school who were popular, and lovely to be around — my cousins, Jake and Jamie included. Admittedly, there were also the nasty ones who let popularity go to their heads.
"And what about your friends? What do they think about the Monarchy?"
"I don't really have friends." Benjamin spreads his hands, encompassing the emptiness around us. "Why do you think I'm the only one here?"
My heart aches for him. I've been here not even one day and already I can't tolerate eating lunch by the bins. Doing so alone, everyday, is enough to make me shiver at the thought.
I take another bite of my cookie and chew slowly, contemplating this new information. The plethora of travel brochures I read about Carsonville made a feature of well-maintained, clean parks and great shopping centres. Funny how they don't mention the bullying in its largest high school.
Way to go, me. The first day of school, and I've already met people who I dislike. And probably made people dislike me.
Terrence's friends make me mad. Even madder when Luke dropped his phone in the toilet — yes, he takes it in there with him — blamed it on me and made me fish it out.
I suppose anger is a better motivator than I thought, like some drug that makes you feel shit, yet empowered and capable. I finish all the work in my last classes of the day early, and leave as quickly as I can when my teacher dismisses us.
As I walk to the bus stop, remembering the cafeteria incident, I start forming an argument for moving back to California.