I don't understand why she always has to comment on my body and what's on my body and how my body moves and what I put in my body; I realize she has her own issues or whatever but can't she just think for two seconds that that maybe isn't the most productive way to be talking to me?? I don't want the same problems she has but I think it's already too late. I pay too much attention to my body, I care about my food a little, really a lot, too much, I can't look at myself in the mirror. Like god, mom, if you wanted a walking, talking insecurity, you've fucking got i—
"Julia."
Oh god.
"Hm?"
"Can you answer the problem on the board?"
three...divided by four. Multiplied by—Is it multiplied by x or is x the thing I'm solving for? But then there's another x over there... I could swear the multiplication comes first though, I...
"Uh..."
I can feel sweat creeping down the nape of my neck.
"Julia you need to pay attention, I just explained this problem," eyes pierce the back of my head and their giggles rattle around inside my empty skull, but sergeant math continues, "the answer is one over four x plus five. Pay attention, I can't repeat myself all day."
"Okay." It takes everything in me every day not to absolutely lose my mind on every single person in my life. I am never going to use this ever again anyway and the only reason I don't pay attention in the first place is because it doesn't make any fucking sense! Could you be any more condescending? As if I don't have enough problems already, now I have to deal with being absolutely humiliated in the middle of a no-name highschool math class? Get a grip, lady! You have nothing better to do than to make 17 year old girls feel like shit for not being able to solve your made up fairytale number problems? If the answer to your math equation is another math equation, you haven't solved anything! And why are there letters! I can't believe I have to come here everyday just to be told I'm an absolute nimrod that is too dense to get her head around a simple math problem.
Whatever. It's whatever, I'm fine. Everything is absolutely fi—
"Jules,"
"Hm?" My eyes snap open and I realize I've been grinding my teeth together so hard my jaw aches. Sam sits across from me with a lunch tray in front of them. I look down to realize I have a lunch tray too.
"Chicken patty Wednesday..." I say before I can stop myself, and stab the chicken brick with my fork. Why am so stupid?
"Yeaah..." They squint their eyes at me but otherwise act like nothing just happened. "So about that project thing? It's due Friday. Could we maybe work on that tonight?"
"You know I can't tonight."
"Can't you not go this one time?"
"My mom won't let me skip just 'this one time.'" I shove a forkful of potatoes into my mouth.
"Julia it's for school."
If I could chew cafeteria mashed potatoes to postpone all of my difficult conversations, I would all day. But I can't. "I know that, and you know that, and every reasonable person and their mother knows that, but my mom, is NOT reasonable."
"Ugh, I know." They drop their head into their hand and lazily push around a stray piece of corn on the table with the end of their spoon. "Maybe after?"
"It goes until like eight o'clock." I sigh, twirling my hockey puck of a chicken around in its rectangular prison.
"Right. Well Jules, I dunno how to put this, but your mom's a fuckin psychopath."
"Thanks, Sam, you always know just what to say."
"What can I say? Pleasure doin' business with ya."
"You're an ass."
"Ha, the fattest and juiciest around." They make kissy noises at me before picking up their empty tray and spinning away on one heel. "Oh, and one more thing," They lean in close and pat the table, "eat up, pork chop, you're gettin' skinny."
The corners of my mouth lift up and I let out a feeble, "Ha."
The second they turn away, my mouth drops and I look down at my own plate that's missing exactly one bite of chicken and three bites of mashed potatoes, and I feel like I might throw up.
