Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
CHAPTER TWO All Eyes On Me
━━━━━━🕷━━━━━━
AS PER USUAL, the first two periods of the school day passed by in a blur; with Honours Physics and AP Calculus back-to-back, Cecelia was too busy to even be bored. It seemed like she'd only just sat down at her seat by the whiteboard before the bell started to ring. She gathered up her notes, thankful she was nearly halfway through the day, and made her way into the hallway to find Alex and Christine. Both of them had Chem while she had Calculus, and their teacher was chill enough to let them out a few minutes early. So, by the time Cecelia arrived at their lockers, they would already be waiting.
When she approached today, Christine held up a black-and-white checkered lunch bag. "I've got us covered," she announced triumphantly. "No sour milk and soggy fries today."
"Good, because I'd rather starve than try the chicken nuggets again," said Cecelia, stowing her books back into her locker. "I don't even think they're made of chicken meat."
"It's horse, probably," Alex said.
"Nah, it's got to be rats. What do you think lunch lady Alma does with the ones that find their way into the cafeteria?" Cecelia closed her locker door. It shut with a satisfying bang. "Anyway, what have you got, Chris?"
"Sushi for the two of us, and a vegetarian wrap for the vegetarian," Christine responded, shooting a pointed look at Alex. He shrugged sheepishly. "It'd be easier for all of us if you ate fish, Alex. There's a thing called being pescatarian."
"There's also a thing called 'not wanting to eat any meat at all' that should be respected," said Alex. "I mean, you've got to admit the meat industry is all kinds of messed up."
"I can agree with that, which is another reason I miss the rez," Cecelia said. "Native Americans have always treated the animals they hunt with respect. The white colonizers just care about making as much money as possible."
Alex and Christine both looked away. Cecelia didn't often talk about where she'd lived before—before New York, before foster care, before the explosion that incinerated her family and gave her the abilities her uncle so admired—and when she did, it was only in short bursts, random interjections into conversation. The point was to bring a little bit of normality to the situation. She'd lived on the West River Sioux Reservation until she was five years old. And yes, it had exploded, but before that, it had been so full of life. It would be nice to talk about that life without automatically being reminded of the death that came after.
But, of course, it was hard not to think about it. Which was why Christine and Alex averted their eyes now.
Sensing that she'd injected some awkwardness into the conversation, Cecelia decided to change the subject. "Thanks for bringing lunch, Chris. Again."
