Chapter 8: Back To School – Afternoon

Lunchtime! I was pretty hungry. Mom had wanted to pack a lunch for Angie and me. We alternated begging, pleading, and reasoning with her. This was high school. It was our first chance to pick from the different lunch options, and we’d do better socially if we were eating what the others ate. She couldn’t believe that most other parents weren’t packing lunches. From my first time through I knew very few did, and most of those were either kids on strict diets, with strict parents, or the few with no money. Most of the second and third group wound up figuring out ways to buy lunch, anyway.

I got there before Angie, bought myself a hamburger with some veggies, got some water from the dispenser, and grabbed a table. You could eat somewhat healthy on what they offered, but it was nothing like the choices my kids’ school had, nor the quality.

The cafeteria was barely a quarter full (Biology was close to the cafeteria, plus I knew the shortcut) so I had plenty of table choices. I didn’t recognize many people yet, so I wasn’t slighting a friend by starting a new table.

Angie got there right after, waved, and went off to get her lunch. Candice must have gone to her locker, I guessed. She turned up just after, talking with Dan. A few minutes later, Angie joined me. Candice and Dan sat down a few minutes later, Candice right beside me. Again, a bit of a surprise. Emily turned up, then Brian. Brian was a surprise. A bigger surprise followed as Mark and Morty joined us, along with their sister Mel (Melissa, but she always went by Mel). Mel looked nothing like Mark and Morty, who were were identical twins, brown-haired, with hazel eyes. Mel was taller than the twins (which I thought might have bothered them; I shouldn’t have worried) and thin, with wavy dark hair, dark eyes, and a lighter complexion. They were triplets; clearly Mel was fraternal. Mel gave Angie a little wave. I guess they’d met somewhere.

A few minutes later another girl turned up. Cute — but then I found most of the girls to be cute; blame it on being a fourteen-year-old boy with fourteen-year-old hormones — about 5’4”, with curly brown hair and brown eyes. An early bloomer — her boobs were going to get a lot of attention. Angie waved. “Oh! Hi, Debbie, come join us! Everyone, this is Debbie Banks. I met her in Chemistry.”

It looked like Mel had met Debbie, but no one else had. We all introduced ourselves. Mark and Morty, being who they were, introduced themselves as each other. They did that to teachers regularly. As far as I know, no teacher had noticed. Those of us who knew them could tell them apart, but it seemed like teachers never could. It surprised me that I could tell them apart, already. Recovered memories? Something from my first go-round? I wasn’t sure, but I could.

A very short Asian girl walked up. I was pretty sure she was well under 5’ tall and had long black hair and, of course, almond-shaped eyes. She nearly whispered, “Hey, um ... mind if I join you?” She was looking at Debbie. She had a slight accent which I placed as Vietnamese. I never would have placed it the first time around. Most likely her family were among the ‘boat people’ who’d wound up settling in and around Houston.

Debbie smiled and shrugged. “If it’s OK with these guys. I invaded their table.”

“Oh, you did not,” Angie laughed. “Of course you can join us. Any friend of Debbie’s is a friend of ours.”

Debbie waved towards her. “Everyone, this is Connie. Connie, everyone.”

“Thank you for letting me join you. Um, I’m, um ... Chau Ng. I mean, Connie...” she said, blushing. “Everyone calls me Connie.”

“Nice to meet you, Connie,” Angie said. Everyone else echoed her.

I forced myself to be outgoing. It would have been too easy to just blend into the background. “So, what’s everyone think so far?”

“Oh god, English. I hated diagramming sentences in junior high. Why can’t we do something interesting?” Angie said.

“Yeah, me too!” Mark said. Morty chimed in, “I’ve got that second period. Ugh.”

Candice grinned. “At least I lucked out and got a Bio lab partner who’ll do the icky stuff for me.”

“Yeah, who’d you wind up with?” Angie asked.

“This guy.” Candice nudged me. “I think I can convince him to help.” She grinned.

“She can,” I laughed. “I don’t mind the icky stuff. That much. But I don’t know if I’m any good at it, and I don’t want to ruin your grades.”

She grinned, “Grades second, lack of ick first.”

The conversation flowed around the table. I was still trying to get my bearings. I’d eaten in this cafeteria hundreds of times before, of course, but this was — hands down — the best table group I’d ever been part of. For one thing, there were girls. Plenty of girls. Nice girls. Who seemed to like me. And I liked them too, and not just to look at.

Fifth period was World Geography with Mr. Finch. The name sounded boring. It wasn’t — we studied a lot more than just geography — but it was my least favorite of the history and social studies classes in high school. Mr. Finch was pretty cool, though. I wound up with just Emily, Farzad, Amit, and Brian as people I knew, plus Connie who I’d just met today. This would be a chance to make some new friends.

After World Geography, Geometry. I could have taught this class. Hell, I probably could have taught it the first time around. This would be an A unless I intentionally decided to destroy my grade. Ms. Symms wasn’t the best teacher, but she wasn’t the worst, either. I’d liked her OK, but part of that was because I hadn’t met the better math teachers I would have in later years.

Candice turned up just behind me again. “Fancy meeting you here! Can I make you do my math homework if I’m already making you do the work in biology lab?”

I laughed. “I won’t do your homework, but I’ll help you study. Besides, Angie should be in Geometry. Maybe she’ll get moved in here. She’ll help either way.”

“I just don’t get math that well. I did well enough to get into the accelerated track, but now I’m struggling. My parents will kill me if I don’t keep my grades up.”

I shrugged. “It’s just rules and applying them. I hate rules,” I said with a grin, “but in things like math you need them. Figure out the patterns, apply the rules, you’ll do fine.”

“Ohhhhhh, so you’re a rule-breaker? I suppose that’s how you got your brains knocked around.”

“Yeah, well, I’m going to follow the helmet rule, now. That one’ll stick.”

“It’s just an excuse, I think.” She winked at me. “I think it was a pissed-off boyfriend smacking you after you’d gone after some girl.”

I was stunned. Was this conversation happening? “Um ... sure, that’s it. I’m breaking hearts and getting beat up for it.”

She winked again. “I’ll have to remember that, Mr. Does-The-Icky-Work.”

Saved by the bell! It went off and Ms. Symms started class. I paid zero attention. I hardly needed to, and I had more to think about. Candice was in four of my six classes. I suspected she wouldn’t be in Typing, but who knows? I had no idea if she’d been in that many the first go-round, but probably a few? I’d known who she was, I was pretty sure. My memories were pretty vague on that point. I doubt we’d talked more than a handful of times in four years. I’d likely already talked to her more today than in my entire first time through. And we would have sat close together — it wasn’t until junior year when most teachers let up on alphabetical order seating. A few never did.