Part 2: Monday Afternoon

7. Elizabeth

I wished I had eaten a larger breakfast.

After having seen her performance in World Literature, I wondered how Sam could have remained so composed. My stomach was so upset that I doubted it would accept anything that entered my mouth during lunchtime.

There were two pairs of seats in the cafeteria reserved for Program partners, and Sam just had to carry her lunchbox to the pair nearest the windows.

Because Program students may go directly to the front of the cafeteria line, I started the lunch period next to the two other naked students in the room. The girl said, “Hi, Elizabeth. I’m Jill Hogarth, and this is Tim Anderson.” She introduced a muscular, hairy boy.

“It is a pleasure to meet you two. Jill and Tim, correct? Jill, how did you know my name?”

“Who doesn’t?” My question had been ridiculous. How does someone not notice the statistical outlier?

I asked her, “ Are you still scared?” She looked about Sam’s height, with more muscle and short brown hair. I liked the “don’t mess with me” intensity of her eyes, but could not determine whether it was just a front.

“Yes, but you have to show them who’s in charge.”

“She’s been dealing with this better than I have,” added Tim.

Our lunch was typical for the cafeteria: a hamburger, mushy peas, and some canned pears. After receiving it, I separated from the two juniors to look for my partner. She was sitting across from “Big Ben” Malloy, a science enthusiast who also plays football.

Ben said “‘Tsup?” as he inhaled half a sandwich.

Sam answered, “You should know, you’ve seen it all today.”

“Nope, Mr. Fontaine interrupted the conversation this morning.”

“Oh. I was just watching the game with Bert yesterday. You know about the injury, right? I think he was still a little loopy from the pain meds.” As Heather Rosario sat down by us, Sam stopped the story to inquire, “Where are Jen and Kat?”

“They’re checking out Tim’s body.” Heather pointed to the other naked couple.

Ben chimed in, “That Program is breaking up that old gang of ours.”

Sam explained, “Tim usually sits with us.” She was dipping some type of pastry into red sauce. “So do Kat Murray and Jen Torocsik.” I knew Jen, but didn’t recognize the other name. “She’s a junior cheerleader.” My partner then asked Heather, “Is Josh going to sit with us?”

“I don’t know. Are you and Brad still going to the dance Saturday?” This is Homecoming weekend. I’m performing in a string quartet Saturday afternoon, but I had no plans to participate in any other activities.

A tanned boy settled in. “Josh Pulaski,” he told me, but his eyes were looking at Sam.

“He’s a junior on the football team,” she commented. “Choosing to sit with the seniors today?”

“I wanted a change of scenery. Tim isn’t my type. Sam, you’re much easier on the eyes than that mountain gorilla.” She chuckled in response. How could she be so relaxed?

Heather jumped back in. “So what about the dance?”

Sam paused. Something stringy and red was dangling from her fork. “Yesterday, Bert said he was hoping to go. I don’t know if he’ll be able to be up and dancing by Saturday night.”

For Josh’ sake, Heather added, “Sam asked for relief last period. Bert didn’t volunteer, so she picked Jerry Casey to help. He fingered her to orgasm.”

“Relief? Wish I’d been there. Maybe us juniors will be lucky enough to see someone get some.”

“You didn’t have to see Bert’s face afterward,” declared Big Ben with his big bass voice. “Good thing for you that Tim isn’t seeing anyone.”

Heather asked, “Does Jill have a boyfriend?”

Josh replied, “The snow queen? No. Think this week will thaw her out?”

I was generally uncomfortable with the topic being discussed – and even more so now because of my state of undress - so I decided to change the subject. “Sam, what are you eating?”

“Oh, this. It’s a tofu and broccoli calzone with spicy tomato sauce.”

“The long red stuff?”

“It’s a salad.”

“Where’s the lettuce?”

“Not that kind of salad. It’s roasted red peppers with pine nuts, raisins, olive oil, and garlic.”

Josh explained, “She doesn’t like the food here, so she brings in her own weird stuff. You’ll never see me eat tofu.”

“It’s better than you think,” challenged Heather. “She can cook some pretty good things. Hey, Sam, why don’t you let her try some?”

“OK.” She cut off a piece of the calzone. As it was on the bland side, I shrugged my shoulders. “It’s better with the tomato sauce,” she replied.

“You’ve redipped that calzone, so I don’t want to try the sauce today. No offense.”

“None taken. Perhaps you’ll try a pepper.”

I sampled the salad. “I don’t know how to describe this. It’s unfamiliar, but in a good way. The peppers’ flavor is more intense than I’m used to. I think I like it.”

“That’s because it doesn’t have tofu,” said Josh.

In her alto voice, Heather said, “You’ve got to give her one of those strawberries.”

“I’ve had strawberries before,” I said.

“Not like those.” It was Ben’s voice.

Sam dipped a strawberry in the sauce, and lifted it up. “Close your eyes, and concentrate on the flavor.” I was hesitant. They weren’t setting me up for a trick, were they? “Open your mouth.” Was her act earlier a facade? I decided to trust my partner this time. “Here it is.” I bit down.

It was worth it. “It’s so sweet at first, then comes a nice tangy undertone. I can smell a hint of acidity, but the taste is still delicious.” I inhaled through my nose, then exhaled without opening my mouth. “The heavenly flavor lingers on my tongue.” I opened my eyes. “What did you do to that strawberry?”

“I just dipped it into this balsamic vinegar reduction.”

I needed to find the recipe. “Now that I know what it is, please may I have one more?”

“Certainly.” Sam handed me a strawberry and the sauce container. I dipped the fruit myself, touched it to my tongue, nibbled on it, and let part of it melt in my mouth. I consumed it, tiny bite by tiny bite, hoping to preserve the feeling as long as I could.

“Thank you,” I told Sam while she ate the rest of her berries. “I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt regarding the sauce. The tomato sauce.”

Heather spoke up. “Good job, Sam. You got her to relax.” I suddenly tensed up. I had forgotten about my nudity while I had been concentrating on the strawberries. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going over there,” she said, pointing to another table. “No offense to either one of you, but I want to get a good look at the naked linebacker.”

“Girls,” muttered Ben, as he put an apple slice or three in his mouth.

I didn’t care. I was falling in love with Sam’s strawberries.

8. Sam

I was very aware of Bert’s absence from our table. First, he refused to give me relief in class, then he went to sit with Tim and Jill during lunch. He’s supposed to be my boyfriend and help me.

It’s not necessarily his fault. When I was put into the Program this morning, he indicated that his new medication had reduced his testosterone level. Also, he’s still adjusting to the crutches, so he might have been reluctant to get up from his seat in class after he had settled into it. It’s only relief, and he shouldn’t have been angry enough to sit elsewhere once we got to lunch.

Then again, it might not have been anger. Usually, Tim and I sit with the same bunch of people, which includes Jen, Kat, and a few others along with Bert. Jill sits with some other volleyball players, but Elizabeth usually sits alone in a corner. I’ll have to ask her about that. However, the Program shuffled us around, separating two members of our usual group. So the others had to choose: Tim or me? I don’t blame Jen for her choice. If I had a choice, and my morning classes didn’t have any naked boys, I might have used lunchtime to get a close look at one. Also, Tim, like Bert, plays football. Perhaps my boyfriend felt that, having asked for relief, I was more comfortable with the program than Tim was, and he wanted to help a fellow footballer. I shouldn’t jump to conclusions.

On the positive side, lunchtime was the first time I had seen Elizabeth relax today. While she was eating the strawberry, everything else seemed to disappear from her universe. That gave me an idea.

While Elizabeth and I were walking from the cafeteria to calculus, I istarted a conversation. “You really liked the strawberries, didn’t you?”

“Yes. Who do you get to make these lunches?”

“I do it myself.”

“You do? Why?”

“You know how the cafeteria food tastes?”

“It’s passible, but usually lacks flavor.”

“The school sure won’t put those strawberries, or the roasted peppers, on the menu.” There were some people who stared at us, but they didn’t come forth with requests. I don’t know which sight stunned them: two naked girls, or Elizabeth actually talking to someone in the hall. “They never make any spicy food, but I want that on occasion. Everything here fits into the standard American diet, and sometimes I feel like something else. The cafeteria just caters to the lowest common denominator.”

“Do you cook every day?”

“It’s easier if I cook large portions three or four times a week, and eat leftovers. Most recipes are designed for four to six people, anyway, so I have enough for several meals. Sometimes I’ll make a large batch of something that serves eight to ten, and freeze single portions of it for when I don’t have much time.”

“What’s your favorite food?”

“It’s a meal, not a food. Yemiser and yetakelt w’ets, which are two Ethiopian stews, one with mixed vegetables and one with spicy red lentils, served with injera bread. Do you have a favorite?”

“Those strawberries with ... did you say balsamic vinegar?”

“That’s the type.” Poor kid. If she’s never had anything that good until today, she’s been deprived. “What do you have at home?”

“It’s similar to cafeteria food, but not as good.”

“We’ll have to take you to a good restaurant someday. Do you ever eat out?”

“My father likes to take us to McDonald’s. I don’t like their food.”

“Yeah, it’s terrible. And here we are at class.”

“Already?”

“Did you feel exposed while we were walking?”

“I didn’t even think about it. I was just focusing on our conversation. Thank you for talking.”

Distraction works!

Calculus is with Mr. Schumer, who’s fairly dull, as he simply rehashes what’s in the textbook. At least Bert wasn’t there. While he’s in my World Lit, World History, and Spanish IV classes, he’s not a math person, so he doesn’t take the advanced math/science sequence. He’s in trig this year instead.

Elizabeth and I have different classes after calc, so I wished her good luck and told her to relax and think of strawberries when she gets tense. We parted ways, and I went to Studio Art III.

Let’s see. The Program starts today, so Ms. Popescu will turn to figure drawing. I’m the only naked student in class, so guess who’s going to pose? I was both elated and anxious at the thought of being up there. The anxiety was not what you think it is. I didn’t want to fall behind the others in class by not being able to draw the model.

I shouldn’t have worried. While we were starting a unit on figure drawing, today’s model was Mr. Ezekiel Skullhead from the biology classroom. He’s literally a skeleton. He was just Mr. Skullhead when students two decades ago named him after a cartoon character. Then, in bio two years ago, some of us jokingly asked what his first name was. We decided to put it to a vote, and Elizabeth suggested Ezekiel. You know the song, “The toe bone is connected to the foot bone”? It actually has the name “Dem Bones,” and its introduction mentions the prophet Ezekiel from the Bible. Nobody else could think up a cooler first name, so he became Mr. Ezekiel Skullhead.

Mrs. Popescu explained that she wanted to refresh our knowledge of anatomy before turning us over to a live model, hence Mr. Skullhead’s appearance. We got two poses out of him this period. The first was his ordinary position on the stand. Then the teacher used string to secure his hand in another location, so he looked like he was holding onto the railing in a city bus with an upraised arm.

I didn’t get any attention in class. You don’t make it to the school’s highest level of art without being serious about it, so everyone was looking at Mr. Ezekiel Skullhead instead of me. That includes Tom Thurber, who called me a “work of art” this morning. So here I was, completely naked, and everyone was concentrating on a bunch of bones instead. It seemed funny at the time.

After the bell rang, I made my way to Spanish, where I planned to talk with Bert before class. As I was being touched on the way to class, I wondered how often Elizabeth had to think of strawberries.

9. Elizabeth

As I left calculus, Sam told me to relax and think of strawberries, which I suppose is better than thinking of England or of the metaphorical gallows I was headed for. The only class I take solely with other ninth-graders is a mandatory, semiweekly health class. Not only would I serve as a prop, I would do so in front of a more immature audience than I had faced earlier today.

My dread increased when I realized I shared this class with Frank Torocsik. I could only imagine in horror what Mrs. Nelson would do with two naked students in the classroom. I would have been uncomfortable sharing the spotlight with Lily, and I was not ready to have her fingers, or anybody else’s for that matter, around my body. I certainly didn’t want Frank’s there.