The Tears Devourer

XVII

 Melissa is an easy target, she is fickle and permissible. He can manipulate it effortlessly, in such a way as to get Thom out of his way. That is why the boy thinks that the cheerleader's tastes are extravagant. He has never heard of a cheerleader who likes fantasy in books, and science fiction in video games, indeed, he has never heard of a cheerleader who reads or knows about video games.

     He watches them arrive slowly from his airy and lonely table. He waits patiently, a stupid smile on his face. He has shown a definite personality to Rachel, based on previous observation. He chose that type of character, not by chance, but because of what made the difference in the girl's treatment of the rest of the world.

     She is a charitable soul, but very lonely. She doesn’t hang out with cocky idiots, or with guys who grow up or think they're important, those that everyone talks about and secretly hates. No. She hangs out with the misplaced, with those who don't have a trench, just as Rachel herself sits on that battlefield they call high school. Michael plays the jerk, the introspective, the condescending. Michael waits. He does not go to meet. He does not attack.

     “I am sorry!” Rachel apologizes as soon as she reaches the table. “Did I make you wait long?”

     “No! Not at all... No problem,” Michael answers, blinking rapidly, and setting the plastic glass almost empty of cola on the table. He wipes his mouth with a napkin - he picked up several, reverence for Rachel's ways - and stands, a sign of respect for his unsuspecting guests.

     "Uh..." Rachel touched her nose, with a graceful, quick touch of her left forefinger. “He is Thom.” The appointed boy raises his right hand and smiles awkwardly. “And this is Melissa.” The brunette smiles too, but her eyebrows knit together and her brow furrowed in unison. He had already noticed that she had been watching him since the trio entered the dining room.

     "How are you guys...?" Patton said first, but a second voice got in the way.

     "He's..." They both broke off as they spoke. “Oh... Sorry, go ahead.” She apologized again.

     "No, it’s fine, if you want..." Michael replies, not stunned, but still on paper.

     "Okay, seriously, no problem." Rachel offered a shy and awkward smile.

     “Oh! Guys!” Melissa interjects, opening her eyes and smiling widely. “We know who you are, Michael. We've studied here forever, and... At least me," he glanced at Thom, "I know you came last year, but we never had a chance to speak, or anything.”

     "Uh... well," he mimicked the nose-bumping gesture he saw on Rachel a moment ago, but with the opposite hand, "I guess it's because I'm a little older, and well, the upstairs sections don't usually socialize with under grades."

     "With the mob," Thom jokes. “That's what Richie calls us, right? The plebs.”

     "I don't talk to Richie much," Michael returns, well aware of the mighty brawl between Thom and Wilkinson. “I think he's a bit pedantic... For not using a different word.”

     “A jerk.” Melissa corrects him. “He's a jerk, and I totally agree with you. The guy keeps talking bad about the rest, and...”

     "Melissa..." Rachel turns to look at her, pursing her lips and narrowing her eyes slightly. “Stop.”

     “Oh! Ok…” The brunette turns her eyes and rolls them, stretching her mouth down and tilting her head quietly.

     "Please, take a seat," Michael offers because education is so highly appreciated by his beloved. “I know you guys usually do other things... I mean, I guess.” He was almost exposed, but it wasn't his first detour, and Michael knows how to fix his blunders. “I hardly ever see you around here at lunch.”

     "It's just that there are too many people here," Melissa adds, as the four of them take their seats. Of course, Thom gets in between Rachel and Michael, and Melissa is on the other end. The circle is complete, but a little uneven in distances.

     "Do people bother you?" Michael says, grimacing his face in clear agreement, just to sympathize with the group.

     "A little," says Thom. “We just come to take what we need and we leave.”

     "And that's the way it is every day?" Asks Patton, even though he knows the answer by heart.

     A thunderous sound draws the attention of the four boys. Some i***t slipped on his tray, and all the spaghetti fell on him. He wears several balls of meatballs on her clothes and hair. The cruel laughter does not take long and explodes like a grenade in the middle of the dining room. Few of the brave and kind Samaritans approach the clumsy i***t and help him to his feet. The poor boy is crying uncontrollably.

     Michael Patton observes the reactions that he has around him, he observes them in detail to choose one. Since childhood, it has never been his strong point to react emphatically to social events, and that is why he preferred to look at the world as a great open book, from which he can study each sociable being in it. Pick a couple of examples in his audience.

     There is Katy, who covers her open mouth in a large O, with both hands, and raises both eyebrows so high that they now seem to be a bridge between her forehead and her blond hair. He discards it. It would be too exhaustive.

     Here is Gabriel, squirming with laughter in his chair, clutching his stomach, and grimacing with his face. Michael doesn't quite understand if he's laughing, or has gastritis. He discards it too. Rachel wouldn't like to see that kind of cruelty in him.

     Most of those present have similar reactions, but suddenly Patton has an idea, a brilliant one. It is then where he finds the most appropriate reaction. Willard Polley, the biology teacher, is close to the boy and is one of the few who came up and offered him a hand. His face is somewhat wrinkled, with both eyebrows together, but in a reverse arch to normal, like two black worms on his forehead. His mouth is half-open, and he sighs more than once when helping the boy. He probably knows what it feels like to be an i***t and water it like that in a public place. What he sees in the face of that professor is compassion.

     He chooses it and paints his face with the gestures of the teacher. Rachel turns to look at him, and Patton knows he has succeeded when the girl changes that merciful grin for a smile. He knows he already has her in his pocket. He knows he only needs a few words to convince her. But before he does, before he hits one last time and takes her off the field with Rachel, he has to take care of something else.

     Because there is still a special girl who is waiting for him at home.