“Are you sure? Because you don’t have to.”

“No, I’m sure,” she said quickly. “Just let me get my stuff.” She packed her notebook and pens slowly. When she knocked one of her pens onto the floor, David retrieved it and handed it to her. She tugged on it, but he didn’t let go until she looked up at him. “They won’t bite,” he said seriously. “I promise.”

In the hallway David monopolized the conversation, rattling on until they entered the cafeteria. He waved to a group at the end of one of the long, thin tables.

“Come on,” he said, putting a hand at the small of her back.

It felt a little weird to have someone touch her like that but strangely comforting too. He guided her through the crowded aisle, then dropped his hand as soon as they got to the correct table.

“Hey, guys, this is Laurel.”

David pointed to each person and said a name, but five seconds later, Laurel couldn’t have repeated any of them. She sat in an empty seat beside David and tried to catch bits and pieces of the conversation around her. Absently, she pulled out a can of soda, a strawberry-and-spinach salad, and a peach half in juice her mother had packed that morning.

“A salad? It’s lasagna day and you’re having a salad?”

Laurel looked over at a girl with curly brown hair who had a full tray of school lunch in front of her.

David spoke up quickly, cutting off any response Laurel might have attempted.

“Laurel’s vegan—she’s very strict.”

The girl glanced down at the small peach half with one raised eyebrow. “Looks more than vegan to me. Don’t vegans eat, like, bread?”

Laurel’s smile was tight. “Some.”

David rolled his eyes. “This person interrogating you is Chelsea, by the way. Hi, Chelse.”

“You look like you’re on some kind of mega-diet,” Chelsea said, ignoring David’s greeting.

“Not really. This is just the kind of food I like.”

Laurel watched Chelsea’s eyes return to her salad and could sense more questions about to erupt. It was probably better to just spill than answer the twenty questions. “My digestive system doesn’t handle normal food very well,”

she said. “Anything except plain fruits and vegetables makes me sick.”

“That’s weird. Who can live on just green stuff? Have you seen a doctor about this? Because—”

“Chelsea?” David’s voice was pointed but quiet. Laurel doubted anyone else at the table had even heard.

Chelsea’s gray eyes widened a little. “Oh, sorry.” She smiled, and when she did, it lit up her whole face. Laurel found herself smiling back. “It’s nice to meet you,”

Chelsea said. Then she turned to her meal and didn’t even look at Laurel’s food again.

Lunch break was only twenty-eight minutes long—short by anyone’s standards—but today it seemed to drag on endlessly. The cafeteria was fairly small and voices bounced off the walls like Ping-Pong balls, assaulting her ears.

She felt like everyone was shouting at her all at once. Several of David’s friends attempted to draw her into their conversations, but Laurel couldn’t concentrate when the temperature in the room seemed to be rising by the minute. She couldn’t understand why no one else noticed.

She’d chosen a full T-shirt that morning instead of a tank because she’d felt so out of place the day before. But now the neckline seemed to grow even higher until she felt like she was wearing a turtleneck. A tight turtleneck. When the bell finally rang, she smiled and said good-bye but hurried out the door before David could catch her.

She speed-walked to the bathroom, dropped her bag on the floor at the base of the windowsill, and pushed her face out into the open air. She breathed in the cool, salty air and fluttered the front of her shirt, trying to let the breeze touch as much of her body as possible. The faint nausea that had filled her stomach during lunch began to dissipate, and she left the bathroom with just enough time to run to her next class.

After school she walked home slowly. The sun and fresh air invigorated her and made the queasy feeling in her stomach disappear completely. Nonetheless, when she selected her clothing the next morning, she went back to a tank top.

At the beginning of bio, David sat down in the chair next to her. “Do you mind?”

he asked.

Laurel shook her head. “The girl who usually sits here spends the whole class doodling hearts for someone named Steve. It’s a little distracting.”

David laughed. “Probably Steve Tanner. He’s super-popular.”

“Everyone goes for the obvious person, I guess.” She pulled out her textbook and found the page Mr. James had written on the whiteboard.

“Want to have lunch with me again today? And my friends,” he added hastily.

Laurel hesitated. She’d figured he would ask, but she still hadn’t thought of a way to answer him without hurting his feelings. She liked him a lot. And she’d liked his friends—the ones she’d been able to hear over the din. “I don’t think so,” she began. “I—”

“Is it Chelsea? She didn’t mean to make you self-conscious about your lunch;

she’s just really honest all the time. It’s actually kind of refreshing once you get used to it.”

“No, it’s not her—your friends were all really nice. But I can’t…I can’t stand that cafeteria. If I have to be indoors all day, I need to spend lunch outside. I guess with all the freedom of homeschooling for ten years I’m having trouble relinquishing it so quickly.”