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Lunch

Pain changes people, it makes them trust less, overthink more, and shut poeple out..

EVEREST'S POV

Confession: The first thing that I noticed about Beverly was the seven freckles that sat on the bridge of her nose.

I immediately felt bad at how quickly I dismissed her. She looked totally harmless.

I watched as her big brown eyes filled with slight disappointment. She released my hand before she smiled at me.

"Well, good thing that we aren't in hell, right?"

Is she for real?

"Are you hungry?" She asked randomly.

Uh not really," I responded, quirking my left eyebrow at her. This girl is sorta strange.

"Are you sure? I really don't mind splitting my sandwich. Plus, smoking can't possibly be a filling lunch." She laughed quietly at her lame joke and looked down at her shoes before glancing back up at me.

"Uhh--" This girl was very nice. I already felt like a jerk for being rude to her earlier, and although I am going through some stuff right now and would really like to be left alone, she didn't do anything to me that would warrant my rudeness. In fact, she is the only one that has been nice to me since the news of my attempt got out.

I threw the cigarette on the ground and immediately crushed it under my boot. I took a deep breath while I bit down on my lip.

"What kind of sandwich are we talking about here?"

I was actually hungrier than I realized and ended up eating my half of her sandwich and Beverly's. She saw me eyeing her half and so she gave it to me.

"Turkey and avocado actually taste way better than what I thought they would." I spoke into the silence.

"Told you so." She spoke and stared at me in almost an observing way. I felt like she was a scientist and I was her specimen. I fidgeted in the old oak chair and looked away because, honestly, that was really weird. She is really weird.

"So, what do you like to do for fun?" She questioned, her nose crinkling slightly.

No one has asked me this question. Sure, I had to fill out those random questionnaires on the first day of school so that the teachers could get to know me better, but I was in the hospital on the first day of school.

Every year I would jot down those same eight letters. Mostly because that was what I liked to do, and partly because that was the answer that everyone had expected me to put down. I have had a football glued to my hand for as long as I could remember. My dad played for his school back in his day, so I guess he wanted me to keep the legacy alive.

The game was fun for a while, but the pressure of constantly winning wasn't. My dad got a call from the coach saying that I couldn't be the quarterback this year because I had missed out on too many practices while I was still in the hospital, but I think we both knew the real reason was because they didn't want a nutcase running the football team. I can still remember how my dad looked at me. I swear I still feel his heated glare and the mist of disappointment and disgust that hung in that hospital room.

"Uh.. I like to sing." I responded as if I were asking her a question. I haven't ever voiced this revelation before, and not answering football for the very first time is tripping me out a little bit.

Her eyes got bigger and she smiled an open-mouthed smile, her chest raised as if she had something on the tip of her tongue but she couldn't get it out.

"Really? I work at this cafe on Bisklin Street and we have a lot of underground artists and people that come and play their music. You should come over sometime."

She almost reminds me of a cartoon character through the way that she is so animated.

I stared at her for a minute or so and for the life of me I just couldn't understand why I just told her that hidden secret of mine instead of just saying football like always.

"Maybe I will." I spoke before I heard the dismissal bell.

What just happened?