The Doomsday Garden
Kids stare as I pass their tables. A few girls whisper to their friends behind their hands, eyes swiveled to my face. I’m ready to bolt when Sean waves me over to his table. Sean sits, as always, with the out crowd: Lisa Sharkey, Andrew Jacobs, Hector Villanueva, and a few others, all wearing band T-shirts and studded belts.
“Catch,” I say, throwing a Twix to Sean. He fumbles it, then fishes it off the floor. He looks at me in confusion.
“For faxing me the homework. I owe you one, right?”
“Those sit on the shelves for months,” Lisa says.
“They’re partially hydrogenated,” Andrew says through a mouthful of mashed carrots. “It could sit there for twenty years and it wouldn’t make a difference.”
“Partially what?”
“I didn’t tell you what I wanted,” Sean says, tearing
