Page 111 of Until the Ribbon Breaks

Class is called to order and another hour drags along. The day continues uneventfully, and I’m thankful for fourth period to come around because it’s our allotted time for the newspaper staff and I can finally relax. But it ends much too soon, dumping us into our lunch hour.

I hate lunch, and since it’s the first day of school and we have nothing to work on, our teacher, Mr. Duncan, says we can’t hang out in the class like we typically do later in the year.

After stopping by my locker, I take my time getting to the cafeteria. I’m not hungry, but I grab myself a soda and a bag of chips before scanning the room for an empty table because the one I used to sit at last year is completely full. As I track the room, I spot Noah, and not a second later, he catches me looking at him.

Crap.

“Move out of the way,” Justin barks as he purposely bumps into me before going over to where Brent and Sebastian are sitting.

Defeated, I drag myself over to where Noah is because I only have two options: ignore him and lose the only friend I have in this school other than Sebastian or face him and try to salvage what might be left of our friendship.

He sits alone in the back of the cafeteria, and when I take a seat across the table from him, he seems irritated.

“Hey.”

“Hey?” he responds. “Really?”

My head scrambles as I try to think of what to say because I didn’t bother making a plan for this conversation even though I knew I would most likely be having it.

He stabs his fork into the lumpy mashed potatoes on his tray and takes a bite.

“I can’t believe you’re actually eating that?”

“My mom doesn’t put money on my snack bar account, so ...”

Pushing my hands down in my lap, I sit for a moment before giving a meek, “I’m sorry.”

He sets the fork aside, and I force myself not to look away from him because this is extremely uncomfortable.

“Why have you been avoiding me?”

“I haven’t—” I catch myself because I have been for the past couple of weeks. “I mean...it wasn’t intentional.”

He quirks a brow. “If it wasn’t intentional, then what was it? An accident?”

“No, it wasn’t that either.”

“So, what gives?”

I hang my head, grappling with what I should tell him as my hands fidget restlessly.

“Look, if you don’t want to be friends, I get it.”

I look up. “I want to be friends.”

He shrugs as if he doesn’t care either way, and I lean forward and fold my arms on top of the table as I sigh. “I would’ve called, but I didn’t have my phone.”

“Why not?”

I stall before saying, “Because I had to ...” My knees bounce crazily from beneath the table. “I had to go take care of myself for a while.”

His face morphs in confusion, and I don’t realize I’m tugging my left sleeve over my hand until he’s looking. I pull my hands under the table and tuck them in my lap again.

Clarity strikes him and his expression straightens. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” My response is too fast, too forced. “Just ... don’t ask any questions, okay?”

He nods. “Okay.”

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