a shark tank
1185 Words
I’ve never felt so anxious about eating food before. I’ve been sitting here for almost thirty minutes, and the cafeteria has never felt so threatening. Usually, this room is a sanctuary of gossip and laughter—our kingdom where we decided who was in and who was out—but today the air feels thick and sour. It smells like over-boiled hot dogs and the collective judgment of five hundred people.
The eyes on me are heavy.
Every time I lift a fork, I feel like I’m performing for a crowd of judges. I can’t even chew properly because I’m so aware of how my jaw is moving. The whispers are soft—hissing sounds that crawl across the floor like snakes—but I know they are about me. Some people aren't even trying to hide it; they are shamelessly holding up their phones, the lenses pointed directly at my face from across the room.
I can almost feel the digital shutters clicking, capturing my misery in 4K so they can post it on the school's "tea" page. I wonder if they’ll edit my face to look even more "controlling" or if my natural devastation is enough for their likes.
"f**k off!" Tiff snaps.
A boy from the junior soccer team attempted to take a close-up of me at our table, his phone hovering just inches from my tray like a vulture. He glares at Tiff, startled by the venom in her voice, and she doesn't hesitate—she flips him the middle finger, her jaw set in a hard line. Her face is red with anger, her protective mode fully engaged.
He scoffs and walks away, looking down at his phone with a smug grin, clearly happy with the blurry shot he managed to snag. Probably already drafting a caption to make me look like a "controlling psycho" or "the fallen queen." I can see his thumb moving, probably tagging Caleb in the post.
"People have no common decency," Tiff says, shaking her head. She’s breathing hard, her eyes scanning the room like a hawk looking for the next person to snap at.
She reaches across the table and pushes my water bottle closer to me, as if I’m too weak to even hydrate myself.
"Ignore them, Maya. They’re just bored and pathetic. They have nothing better to do with their lunch break than watch a girl breathe."
I look at her, a lump forming in my throat and I fight the urge to cry. I can’t cry here. That would be the ultimate win for them.
My best friend has been with me since I was eight years old. We’ve been joined at the hip ever since—through the braces phase, our very first crushes, and every single summer break spent at the pool. She’s the captain of the cheer team, she’s stylish, she’s the "it" girl, and she’s the only thing keeping me from running out those double doors and never coming back to this damn school.
"I don't know how you're staying so calm," I whisper, picking at a piece of cold chicken with my plastic fork. The food looks gray and unappealing. "I feel like I'm under a microscope. I feel like everyone is waiting for me to do something 'mean' just so they can justify hating me."
"Because I know who you really are," she says firmly, her brown eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that feels like a shield. She doesn't look away, even when people at the next table start pointing.
"Caleb is being a d**k, and everyone else is just following the leader because they don't have brains of their own. It'll blow over, I promise. I won't let them touch you." she says fiercely, looking around us as if she’s daring someone to say something to my face.
She looks so sincere. So protective. It’s hard to imagine that just a few feet away, at the 'popular' table, Caleb is sitting with his back to us. He’s laughing at some joke Colen made, acting like it’s just another regular hot dog Tuesday. Like he didn't just rip my heart out and throw it on the floor.
I take a sip of my water, trying to ignore the way my hands are shaking against the plastic. I’m so lucky to have her. If I didn't have Tiff, I’d be completely alone in this shark tank. I’d be the girl sitting in a stall in the bathroom, eating a granola bar in the dark.
But my brain is still spinning, trying to find an escape hatch—a reason why my perfect life suddenly turned into a nightmare overnight. It can’t just be because he’s "bored."
“Do you think he’s being blackmailed?” I ask Tiff, leaning in closer.
She looks at me, completely dumbfounded by the question. She blinks, her mascara-coated lashes fluttering in confusion.
“Like... someone holding him at gunpoint?”
“Yeah,” I respond, covering my mouth as I chew a dry piece of bread. The last thing I need is someone taking a picture of me chewing and having some armchair doctor diagnose me on i********: with a "stress-induced eating disorder."
“Like someone forced him to dump me in order to get to him. Like that Cindy b***h from Class D. She was always so obsessed with him.”
Cindy was someone who wanted my man so bad she’d fake injuries—literally "fainting" in the hallway—just to get his attention. I had to put her in her place real quick, telling her that the next time she fainted, I’d make sure she had a real reason to stay on the floor. But that was like, back in junior high.
“Maya, after you made her cry in front of the whole choir, she left town. Her parents moved to the city. And she has a boyfriend too, I follow her on Insta,” Tiff says, pointing out the obvious with a sigh. She looks at me like I’m losing my mind. “Maya, Cindy is gone. She’s not blackmailing the star quarterback.”
I sink lower in my seat, my last hope for a "rational" explanation disappearing. I need closure from Caleb. I can’t go on like this, wondering what I did wrong. The gossip will eventually fade, but Caleb... Caleb is my first love. My only love. There has to be a reason. There has to be a way back to how we were.
“Holllly f**k, who is that!?” Tiff gasps suddenly.
She’s looking right behind me, her fork dropping onto her tray with a loud clatter. The cafeteria, which had been a low hum of whispers, suddenly explodes. There are excited squeals from the juniors and the murmurs are getting louder, turning into a roar of shock. It’s like the air in the room suddenly got five degrees colder.
I turn to look behind me, and my mouth runs dry.
- Writer
