“What is this?” Kenzie blurts out. She shakes the piece of paper violently enough to crumple it.
“Nothing.” I snatch the poem out of her hands before she does any serious damage. “It’s just a poem.”
“Who wrote it?”
I would love to tell her that Nathaniel Bennett is the author of the poem, and he wrote it for me because I am the first person who has inspired him in many years. But of course, I can’t tell her that. So I just say, “I don’t know. I copied it out of a book.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “You should get that mess cleaned up. And like I said, next time be more careful.”
As Kenzie and her friends walk away, laughing to each other, I look down at the piece of notebook paper in my hand. I wince at the smudge of chili in the corner of the page. It would have killed me if she did anything to damage this poem. I read it at least four or five times a day, even though I have memorized it by now.
Life nearly passed me by
Then she
Young and alive
With smooth hands
And pink cheeks
Showed me myself
Took away my breath
With cherry-red lips
Gave me life once again
I imagine him writing these words on the page and thinking about me. I look at it so many times, the paper is getting torn and now has a smudge of chili on it, but if I photocopy it, it won’t be the same. It won’t be the same paper he wrote on himself when he was thinking about me.
After I use about a gazillion paper towels to clean up the mess on the floor, I get back in line for attempt number two at lunch. I don’t have time to deal with another plate of chili, but I could grab a sandwich and eat it in the hallway on my way to math class. I barely got any of that chili in my stomach before Kenzie spilled it, and I skipped breakfast this morning. So I’ve got to eat something.
At least the lines have cleared out because there’s less than ten minutes left in the lunch period. I grab one of the wrapped turkey sandwiches, which I don’t really like, but my options are limited at this point. I bring it to the cash register, and the lunch lady tells me it costs two dollars.
I dig into my jeans pocket and pull out my wallet. I have exactly one dollar bill.
“I only have a dollar,” I tell the lunch lady.
She looks utterly unsympathetic. “Sorry, the sandwich is two dollars.”
“Can I pay you tomorrow?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Great. I have eaten exactly two spoonfuls of chili all day, and now I’ve got to go and try to learn math. But the worst part is that I won’t get to see Nathaniel later. I could deal with anything if I knew I had that to look forward to. He looked as miserable as me when he told me he had to come home early to help his wife with dinner. Apparently, they’re having some friends over, although he added, “They’re really her friends.”
I look longingly at the turkey sandwich, my eyes welling with tears. I can’t believe I’m about to cry over a turkey sandwich. I feel slightly ridiculous. But I am really, really hungry.
“Here’s the dollar, Vera.”
An arm brushes past me, holding out a dollar bill. I look up, and it’s Hudson, his white-blond hair as messy as always. My mouth hangs open.
“Oh,” I say. “Um, you don’t have to…”
“Yes, I do,” he says in that way he does that makes me know I can’t argue with him. “You have to eat lunch.”
Vera accepts his dollar, and now the sandwich is mine, free and clear. “I’ll pay you back,” I promise him.
“It’s a dollar.”
Except a dollar isn’t just a dollar to him, probably not even now. Hudson’s family was always scrimping for money. If he wanted an allowance, he had to go out and earn it with part-time jobs. Even in grade school, Hudson was always shoveling snow, raking leaves, and mowing lawns for everyone on his block.
Still, there’s no point in arguing with him. “Thank you,” I say. Although I can’t help but add, “You better not tell Kenzie about that.”
He doesn’t respond. Instead, he says, “Are you okay, Addie?”
“I’m good,” I say, and it’s closer to being true than it’s ever been in the past. Hudson was my best friend, and I’m itching to tell him that I’m in love for the first time ever, but I can’t do that. I can’t tell anyone this secret. “How about you?”
“Good,” he says, and there’s a catch in his voice that makes me wonder if it’s a lie.