Scramble
Copyright© 2025 by Lumpy
Chapter 10
It was difficult to get used to eating lunch with only one hand. Ever since our talk on Sunday, when we’d gotten back together, she’d been extremely clingy. This included sitting right up against me at lunch, so close that I had to put my left arm around her, since there was nowhere else for it to go, meaning I could only eat with my right hand.
She’d been doing other things too. Monday morning as I started my very early walk to school to meet Eduardo for our morning track practice, she’d been sitting outside of my house, waiting. At first, I’d thought there might be more drama, but she said she’d just wanted to walk with me to school. I’d tried to explain we’d be so early that there would be literally nothing to do there, but she said she didn’t mind. She then proceeded to just sit in the bleachers and watch as we practiced.
She also showed up after like half my classes to walk with me to my next class, holding my hand the entire way.
I know she was feeling very vulnerable after our talk on Sunday, so I let it pass, even though it was a tad bit suffocating.
We were just starting to talk about whatever the new drama of the day was, which thankfully didn’t involve me, when Li and Eduardo, who usually both ran a little late since they got food from the cafeteria and had classes further away, putting them at the back of the line most days, showed up.
Except they weren’t holding lunch trays. Instead, they each held a wrapped present, although the quality of the wrapping was wildly different between the two of them. Li’s looked like something out of a Hallmark card with perfect corners and all straight lines. Eduardo’s looked like what would happen if you let a drunk person wrap a present. It was crinkled, overwrapped on one side and taped to the box underneath on others.
“Hey,” Eduardo said, a little shyly.
Li cleared her throat and, a little too loudly, said, “Happy Birthday Blake.”
Before I could even respond, Li thrust her package towards me. Eduardo followed suit with his more tragic offering. And then, everyone around the table started to sing. It was off-key, but enthusiastic.
“Happy birthday to you...”
Even a couple of seniors I vaguely knew from football, guys who usually ignored underclassmen, chimed in from a nearby table until our whole corner of the cafeteria was participating.
Melanie was singing it much softer, but in my ear, with her hand pressed way higher on my thigh than we’d even gotten in our make-out sessions. My face flushed hot.
Thankfully, she took her hand away as the singing ended with a ragged finish, followed by a smattering of applause from our table and a few curious onlookers. Laughter rippled through our group.
Melanie pulled out a cupcake from her lunch bag, put a candle in it, and lit it, setting it in front of me.
“Make a wish, Sims!” Jerry yelled from down the table.
“Yeah, wish for a better arm than Aikman!” Andre added.
I just shook my head and blew it out.
“Bet he wished he makes it to the NFL,” Miguel said.
While that would have been right in another life, it wasn’t what I wished for now. There was really only one thing I wanted above everything else, although I knew a birthday wish wasn’t going to get it for me. That would be up to me.
“Uh ... thanks, guys. Seriously. But how did you know?”
I never talked about my birthday. Not to Li, not to Eduardo, not even to Melanie. It wasn’t a secret, exactly, just not something I broadcasted. The people who knew me before the dream, like Elijah and the rest, would have known it was my birthday, but they definitely didn’t care enough to tell anyone about it.
I used to really make a big deal of it in middle school, but after the dream, it just felt different. In the dream, it had just been another day, usually spent alone, maybe with a cheap bottle of something to mark the occasion. Even now, back here, with everything feeling so urgent, so packed with things I needed to do, turning fifteen felt ... secondary. Necessary, sure, since it was learner’s permit time, but not exactly headline news.
“I, ah, might have checked the school records in the office yesterday. When I was turning in some council forms,” Li said, looking sheepish.
“That’s fine. Thanks, guys,” I said, unwrapping her gift.
Inside was a brand-new CD of Pearl Jam’s Vitalogy, which came out in December, but I just hadn’t had any time to go shopping for myself, and my parents were not the best at gift-giving.
“Whoa. Awesome.”
“It’s Eddie’s doing. He told me you’d mentioned it.”
“Thanks. Both of you,” I said, opening Eduardo’s present.
It was kind of a surprise. It was a small wooden mustang, really well painted and incredibly detailed and a slightly smashed pack of snack cakes. Mustangs were my dream car, and one that seemed impossible until very recently. My family did okay, but we weren’t ‘buy a sports car for your kid’ okay. If my gambling and investments paid off though, maybe. Just maybe.
“My Tio Hector made it. He carves stuff sometimes.”
“This is amazing, Eduardo. Tell him thanks for me.”
It was really, really well done.
“Yoink,” Mickey said, grabbing the snack cakes.
“Hey,” I protested as he ripped it open and shoved one in his mouth.
“You’re getting a gut. I’m helping you out,” he mumbled around a mouth full of chocolate and frosting.
We both knew that was bullshit. I was in good shape and heading toward amazing shape, but I actually wasn’t that upset. I wasn’t a huge sweets guy. Besides, I still had my cupcake, which I started to eat.
“We got you stuff too,” he mumbled again, spitting cake a little in my direction as he and a few of the other guys passed stuff down. It included some band t-shirts, another CD, and assorted just nice but not extravagant gifts mixed with joke gifts. They were all really nice. The best, though, was from Miguel, who gave me a large envelope with several hand-drawn sketches of me playing football.
The quality was shockingly good. Like, real art good.
“Holy crap,” I said as everyone crowded around to look.
“I doodle,” he said.
“Dude. This isn’t doodling. This is seriously good.”
He waved me off, looking embarrassed, but I could see he was also proud.
“Thanks, Miguel. These are great.”
Melanie’s gift was a shirt that I’d actually mentioned a few times, which was a nice sign she was listening to me.
“So, we still doing driving school?” Tyrell asked, stealing one of the already stolen snack cakes.
His birthday was on the third, the first day back from winter break, and he was looking to get his permit, too.
“That’s the plan.” I’d done some driving with my dad, but he didn’t want to deal with all the paperwork to get a learner’s permit. He’d rather the school did it.
“You know Coach Mayfield teaches that, right?” Mickey said.
Being on offense, I didn’t work with Coach Mayfield much, but I’d heard him scream at the defensive line enough to know what kind of guy he was.
I looked at Tyrell who just shrugged, “He likes me, so you’re on your own.”
“Wait,” Eduardo frowned. “Doesn’t that class meet like, three times a week? What about track practice?”
“Yeah, it’s gonna conflict but I already talked to Coach Greer about it. He wasn’t thrilled, but I’m probably not the first person he’s had to deal with this on. Said as long as I make up the workouts and don’t miss any meets, he’ll let it slide. We’re already doing extra practices, so I should be good.”
Everyone started to talk about driver’s ed and other random stuff we talked about during lunch while Li and Eduardo took their normal seats.
“Really, thanks, guys. This means a lot.”
“It’s what friends do,” Li said, smiling at me.
Beside me, I felt Melanie stiffen. It was subtle, just a slight tension in her shoulder pressed against mine.
“No, Blake’s right, that was so incredibly thoughtful of you!” she said, her voice a little too high, a little too sweet. “Seriously, Blake is so lucky to have a friend like you looking out for him. Organizing all this? Just wow. Super sweet.”
Li looked at me kind of confused while most of the rest of the people around us looked at Melanie with the same expression. Considering what I’m sure she’d said about Li behind her back, the confusion was understandable.
I don’t know if she was doing this because of what I said on Sunday or because she thought this was what I wanted, but it was way too much and way too insincere.
I reached under the table, my hand pulling hers off my leg and gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. Surprised, she turned her head, her bright smile faltering slightly as she looked at me. I met her eyes and gave the smallest, almost imperceptible shake of my head. Don’t, the gesture said.
She gave me a look of confusion, then of defensiveness, before finally settling on understanding. Or maybe just resignation. Whichever it was, she got the message. She dropped her gaze to her lap for a beat, then looked back at Li, her smile much smaller now, quieter.
“I just mean it was really nice,” she said, a lot quieter now.
I could see Li was really holding back from showing whatever she was thinking on her face, but Melanie was looking down at her hands and not paying attention.
I decided to take it as progress. She was trying. After playing a certain part for so long, I couldn’t expect her to change overnight. And at least overly fake friendly was better than very real meanness.
I gently rubbed the webbing between her thumb and finger with my thumb, caressing the back of her hand. She relaxed, just a fraction, leaning back against me almost imperceptibly.
At least it was progress.