Page 38 of The Girl and the Cobra

It’s chicken nuggets and fries day. I don’t normally eat cafeteria food, but I always make an exception for nuggets and fries. Smother them with ketchup and you have heaven on a cheap plastic platter and Styrofoam plates.

Once I grab my food, I exit the line and make a beeline for my table. It’s off to the side, where the weirdos sit. The druggies. The ones who spend their whole lunch with their noses in a book. People whose tables aren’t full with two to a bench seat.

My table is an empty one. I don’t sit with anyone. I tried once, with the group who reads during lunch, but it was too awkward and weird and I’d just rather not.

My table is in sight, and I’m so focused on getting there that I neglect to see someone stick their foot out right in front of me. My foot latches on theirs, and I trip. I’m not coordinated enough to catch myself before I hit the ground.

My food goes everywhere, spilling on the floor. Every pair of eyes nearby is on me, and the owner of the foot is laughing the hardest. It’s a laugh I recognize; I don’t even need to look at his face to see who it is.

Robbie and his crew. One of the main culprits who’ve made the last few years of my life in this high school miserable—and since he’s a jock, everybody loves him. Teachers, fellow students, even the principal. Trying to get him to stop is a wasted effort.

“Walk much?” Robbie says, totally unoriginal, but everyone around him laughs harder.

I know I need to pick up the mess, but the longer I’m there, the longer I’m in Robbie’s crosshairs, and I’m so upset that my lunch is ruined that I can hardly think straight. The world around me spins, and I end up getting to my feet and hurrying away.

No one stops me. No one cares enough to.

It’s still early in the lunch period, so the bathroom is empty. Towards the end, it gets full of girls fixing their makeup or having a quick pee break before classes resume. I rush to the last stall and close the door, barely able to hold it in as I sit on the toilet.

I know. Gross.

I bury my face in my hands, trying not to cry. I shouldn’t care. Hell, I should be used to stupid things like this—but it gets so exhausting, being on guard all the time, not knowing what’ll be said to me or, like today, how I’ll be made a fool of. After years of it, I’m just so tired.

My phone eventually buzzes, and I pull it out of my pocket and see that my brother messaged me. Jordan doesn’t have the same lunch period as I do; if he saw what Robbie did, there probably would’ve been a fight.

Everyone knows my brother fights my battles for me. It just means they wait to make fun of me until after he’s gone.

Jordan heard I fell during lunch. He wants to know if I’m okay. I know I’m supposed to tell him I’m fine, to shrug it off like I’ve been doing, but something in me breaks and I just can’t. Myeyes get watery and I close them, tears slow to escape the corners and fall down my face.

I’m so tired of this. I can’t wait for high school to be over. It has to be better than this. It has to be.

I know I have to stop crying; I need to get myself under control so that when next period comes it’s not obvious I spent time crying. I don’t know how much time passes before I hear someone else come into the restroom, and I straighten up and try not to make a sound, waiting for whoever it is to leave.

The corner stall is mine, so I assume whoever it is will take the first stall, do their business, and get out—except the person doesn’t. Footsteps approach the stall where I am, and they stand so close to the stall door that I can see their shoes.

I recognize the shoes the same moment the person outside the stall says, “Mabel, it’s me.”

Eyebrows creasing, I get off the toilet and unlock the stall, and when I open the door I stare at my brother’s concerned face. “Jordan? How did you—this is the girls’ restroom. You shouldn’t be in here.”

He shakes his head, but his gaze never leaves my face. “Who cares about that? Are you all right?”

He’s so worried about me, and yet all I can think about is how he shouldn’t be here. “You should be in class.”

“Screw them. It isn’t like Mrs. Hannahan could stop me from walking out. I had to come make sure you were okay.” He lifts a hand and reaches for my face, and before I can turn away, he wipes a fresh tear away. “Are you? Don’t think I didn’t notice you didn’t answer me before.”

I nod, but it’s halfhearted. “Yeah. I just… I just wish I could go home.”

Jordan takes my hand in his and pulls me out of the stall. “Then let’s go.”

I jerk us to a halt in front of the sinks. “What? Jordan, we can’t just leave school. They won’t let us—”

“It’s lunch. Seniors are allowed to go out. We just won’t come back.” His shoulders rise and fall with a nonchalant shrug. “Again, I say: they can’t stop us.” He must sense I’m hesitant, because he flashes one of his million-dollar smiles at me. “Come on. It’ll be fun. We can grab some food on the way home and watch a movie or something.”

Jordan is the only person in this world who could get me, a goody-too-shoes, to ditch multiple afternoon classes. Can’t say it’s something I ever thought I’d do, but my brother has this way about him. He just makes me bend, makes me melt. He can pretty much get me to do whatever he wants, and he knows it.

It’s a good thing he doesn’t use his powers for evil—except for, you know, right now, but can it even be considered evil if he’s doing this to make me feel better? Jury’s out.

I bite my bottom lip and whisper, “Okay.”

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