The cafeteria was surprisingly difficult to find, but after taking several wrong turns-and going in circles a few times-, I finally made it.
I stride up to the counter, feeling a pair of eyes watching my every move. I pretend not to notice. "One chamomile tea, please," I say, pretending to be distracted. I turn around to face the clock, surveying the crowd around me at the same time. My back rests on the cool, metal counter behind me, and I observe all of the face I can see without seeming suspicious.
There aren't many people in the pediatric cafeteria wing right now, probably off getting surgery or medication or something. There are two doctors, talking happily, sharing a coffee. Their eyes gaze into each other's coffee, not me. One girl is quietly staring at her plate in the corner, her long, straight, brown hair trickling into the lunch tray. She doesn't make a move to eat anything. She just sits there, quietly...staring. Her eyes are trained on her potato chips, not me. Why is everyone focused on such random things?
Christ.
Then I notice the boy. He's an ordinary boy, probably 16. His light brown hair blocks his face a little, but not enough to conceal the bright green eyes underneath. His metal chair rests at a dangerous angle, and he seems like he belongs on the cover of Nonchalant Magazine.
Except for the fact that he's staring right at me.
I take my teacup from behind me, the saucer gently rattling as I take a seat at the table next to the boy's. I'm not sure why I sat there, but as I glance over my shoulder, I pray he doesn't come over towards me.
He plants all four chair legs on the ground, the metal groaning in relief. He stands and pushes in his chair, sidling over to me.
Christ.... I might have muttered it under my breath, but I was a little too distracted by my beating heart to notice.
What does he want?
"Hello," he says, taking a seat in the chair right in front of me. "I believe I haven't seen you before." His voice is smooth, comforting even, but I don't feel comforted by this stranger in front of me.
My eyes don't meet his. Instead, I stare deep into the center of the teacup in front of me. I take a cautious sip before speaking, the hot liquid comforting my throat.
"I just got here," my voice sounds a little hostile, and I'm not sure why. For some reason, I feel like I'm in the presence of a very laid-back lion, and I'm the protective gazelle about to get roasted.
Christ. What am I even doing?
"I see. What's your name?" He says, ignoring the bitterness that somehow worked its way into my attitude.
"Ava," I say suspiciously. Why does he want to know?
"Well, Ava," he draws out the first a, the tiniest hint of an accent. "What are you in for?"
"My right arm is busted. I'll be out in a week." Coincidentally, my right arm rests awkwardly at my side, and he nods understandingly. I don't know why I felt the necessity to lie, but questions make me feel protective. Oh well. Not like this boy matters. Another decoy, another dollar.
"Well, Ava," he says, getting out of his chair. "I hope you enjoy your time here. I'll catch you later." Almost out of nowhere, he grabs a skateboard off of the table behind me, and skates away. The bright blue wheels glide smoothly against the floor.
I quietly sip my tea, as though nothing had happened.
Christ. What just happened?
