when you were my father

lunchtime

In teen movies, lunch always seems to be the hardest part of school. The troubles of fitting in, finding somewhere to sit, cliques and all that. I mean they're there, but even on the first day of school it was fairly easy. I just sat a table and ate.

That's what I did and still do everyday and now we're over halfway through the year. All throughout my life, whenever I've had a problem I just think about what my Dad would do. And then I do that, so that's how high school's gone so far, though it's hard to imagine him being my age.

"Y'all," I look up from my pizza and find Micaiah, her hands on an unfamiliar girls shoulders. I'm sitting at my normal lunch table, with Maya and other girls that we share most classes with. "This is Noah, she just moved here from... wait where did you say you're from?"

"Well, my Dad's job requires us to move around a lot, so I've lived in many countries and all over the U.S. But, I just came here from Washington." She has a kind, enticing voice. Something about it rubs me the wrong way, it's familiar but also not. It's... deadly.

"That's cool," Lizzy offers, looking up from the notebook she's been scribbling on all day.

"What kind of job does your Dad have then? CSI or secret service sort of thing?" Maya ponders out loud, causing the girl in question's eyes to go wide, almost in fear. Everyone turns to stare at my friend, who just shrugs like it was a question everyone had. It's silent, until Noah starts laughing and smiling at Maya.

"No, that'd be cool, though. He's just in the military." Everyone smiles, accepting this answer but Maya just frowns.

"Anyways, how about everyone introduces themselves?" Micaiah suggests, sitting down in an empty chair and gesturing for Noah to join her. She does, reluctantly.

Noah has long blonde hair, it drapes down her back reaching her butt. The ends are dyed pink, it looks pretty. She has possibly turquoise eyes and freckles that dust her cheeks. Her skin is lightly tan, most of it's covered by her ripped jeans, black ripped tank top, white wind breaker and pink converse high tops. Compared to everyone else at our table, she stands out.

Around our circular table, everyone says their name, adding a 'hi' or compliment with it. "I'm Mai," She smiles at me, but I notice something in that smile. It doesn't seem genuine, more like a forced thing while she's thinking hard about something.

"Well, it's nice to meet all of you." Her eyes flash around the table, landing on me. Like she's inspecting me, she just stares. It's intimidating, so I try to look away from her and focus on the conversation Maya's started on some orangutan named Steve from Belize or something.