Page 115 of See Me

I turn around and hold up two fingers to the class who are all turned in their seats watching me.

“One, you have something fundamentally wrong with the synapses of the neurons in your brain, which we will be learning about this semester, so we can work through that together. Or two, you’re a spoiled little punk who isn’t used to being toldnoand has been let loose on society to wreak havoc with little to no guidance.” The class erupts into laughter and poor little punk’s face tinges bright red. “Honestly, neitheroption is great, per se, but I’m here to help. By the end of the semester, we’ll have it nailed down.”

I walk back toward the front of the room to a sea of smiling faces, head held high.

One blond boy smirks and says, “Will you marry me?”

I turn and put my finger to my chin. “How much money do you have?”

He squirms and diverts his eyes to the chorus of laughter. “My dad is a doctor. We have money.”

“No, he,hehas money. Don’t offer up assets that aren’t yours to offer in order to entice someone. They’ll be disappointed every time and you’ll still have nothing.” I clap my hands. “How did I do? Did I pass the tests? Are we ready to get to work or do you all need my fingerprints to run through a database somewhere?”

A few exchange glances but not another word is spoken.

“Great. Let’s get to attendance.”

My lunch period comes and I retrieve my lunch from the lounge, choosing to eat in my room and bask in the silence. I’m not ready for the onslaught of questionsfresh meatwill surely cause in the lounge.

Walking to my desk, I see a dark-haired boy sitting in the back of the room, head hanging over a notebook.

“Oh, hi…”

“Sam,” he says.

“Hi, Sam. Aren’t you eating lunch with your friends?”

His eyes bounce nervously around the room. “Nah, I’m not hungry.”

I take in the tattered shoes and dingy pants. My heart squeezes a pang in my chest. He doesn’t have food, or money. And I’m sure little dickface Rye from first period is just the kind of kid who wouldn’t let that go unnoticed in the lunchroom. And who names their kid after bread?

I unpack the food Luca packed and holy crap, that’s a lot of food. A Chicken Caprese salad that I bet is the copycat version of Omar’s. Cut up fruit and veggies, cheese cubes, yogurt, and chocolate covered pretzels. How much does he think I can eat?

“Hey, Sam?”

He looks up from his notebook, long hair in his eyes. “Yeah?”

“I need your help with something.” I point to the chair poised at the end of my desk for students who have questions while the class is working.

He stands and walks up, taking a seat and clasping his hands in his lap.

“I’m not much of a cook but I’ve really been trying. And I have thisfriendI’m trying to impress so I’ve been practicing.” I split the salad in two, dumping half of it on the lid of the container and sliding it over to him. “I need an honest critic.”

He eyes the food and looks at me.

“I don’t have any friends nearby to test this stuff for me.” I divide the fruit and cheese up and slide it over in front of him.

“You didn't cook the fruit and cheese.” He licks his lips and looks up at me, hair covering one eye.

“No but I need to know if it all goes together as a meal.” I pass him a fork and spear a piece of chicken and take a bite. I chew slowly, tilting my head back and forth like I’m deciding if it’s good or not.

He watches me curiously and I silently celebrate when he reaches for the fork and takes a bite. He chews slowly and asmall smile plays on his lips. He swallows and I look to him for his reaction.

“It’s good.”

“Yeah? You think so?”

He nods and takes another bite.

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