It’s Wednesday of last week, and I’m having a bad day. My best friend and I got into an argument in our creative writing class over the yearbook, and I don’t feel like seeing anyone else right now. As I leave my fifth period class and head to lunch, I realize that I don’t want to go there. I’ll have to face everyone.
Due to the fact that my school’s bathrooms happen to smell incredibly bad, I can’t have a stereotypical outsider’s lunch there. And there’s no other place to go. The guidance counselor is busy and has no space in her office, and anyone could easily find me if I went to the library. The only option I have is to wander around. I check out a few possible staircases in which to lurk, but they’ve all been invaded by other people. I finally decide on a spot on the first-floor staircase, which smells faintly of tuna. I sit down, take out my bagel, and begin eating. I can hear the teacher in charge of eighth grade lunch from here, her voice amplified by a microphone. It becomes the backdrop for my lunch, which consists of writing this diary, eating, and staring out the window at all of the people walking around out front. I wonder who they are and where they’re heading.
Just then, I hear the lunchtime attendant’s voice again. Suddenly, I hear her say what sounds like my name and I freeze, my heart thumping. What if she noticed I was missing? (We’re not allowed to eat lunch wherever we want.) I decide to get up and head to the library, just in case they’re looking for me, since it’s usually where I go when I’m not in the cafeteria. I run up the stairs and burst into the library. “Hi!” I say. “I—” My sentence is cut short as my eyes flit over to one of the desks. The familiar lunchbox and backpack of my best friend is resting there. My name hadn’t been called. I need to get out of there before my friend gets back; I don’t feel like facing any of my classmates right now. I ask a question that I already know the answer to. The librarian smiles and I murmur a quick “thank you” before running back to my secluded area. I wonder when the period will end, so I get up and walk to the security guard’s station and ask the time. It’s 1 PM. Four minutes. I walk to the bathroom and wait until I hear people in the hallway. Time to go. ♦