Riiiing. The 12:20 bell screams lunchtime. The halls of Clifton High fill with the sound of slamming locker doors and frenzied chatter. Bodies rush by with a sense of purpose, like salmon swimming upstream to spawn.
I always sit with Su during lunch. People must think we’re like an old married couple—inseparable. They pretty much leave us alone. Once in a while one of our friends might sit down next to us, but I think it’s obvious that we like to focus our attention on each other. The lunch room is always loud and chaotic, and the period is barely twenty-five minutes long—way too short.
Su is out sick for the second day in a row, so I’m forced to find new company. Yesterday I sat with guys on the basketball team and all was cool. They didn’t snub me.
It’s Taco Tuesday at Clifton High. T
