I Used To Be

Chapter 9: Part 5

After third period Brandy was waiting for me again.

"What's up slut?" I rolled my eyes.

"No seriously. Why the fuck didn't you tell me about Brandon?"

"What."

"You and Brandon. What's the deal?"

"Who did you hear this from?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes it does."

"Ashley West. But apparently like everyone knows. I guess he's not really that much of a gentleman." Awesome. Actually, I was fine with this. I could use a little personal drama today. Bring it.

"So Cash knows?"

"I don't know. But dude, we need to deal with this. Unless you really like him. Brandon. I assume you guys aren't an actual thing . . ."

"No. Definitely not a thing."

"I didn't think so. Are you still . . ."

"No. Just a couple of times. This summer."

"Dude!! How far??"

"Not all the way. We just . . . you know."

"God, Anna, how can you be such a slut and such a prude at the same time?" I had wondered that exact thing myself. A lot, actually. I just shrugged.

"Well whatever. So. I'm trying to get you a seat beside Cash at lunch so we need to get in there."

"What. Wait. You know I don't have time to eat in the caf." This was not the kind of drama I could handle. I still had both the breakfast and the lunch Isabelle had made me in my backpack. I might just keep them forever, until the bread (yes she gave me bread) fossilized and the yogurt molded and the apple started to grow into a tree. I was pretty sure that wasn't what happened to apples if you left them alone, but I liked the image of a pretty apple tree, with blossoms, growing out of my backpack. Something permanent to symbolize that there was one person in this world who really cared about me.

"Well you are today. Come on. Did you bring your lunch or are you buying?"

"Buying." I didn't want anyone to even see my little treasures. They were mine. I was serious about keeping them. Plus there was a salad bar in the caf, so I could just put some lettuce and random veggies in a bowl and pick at those. You can't pass out in class again Anna. Oh yeah. So maybe I would actually need to eat the salad. But a large garden salad with no dressing was 44 calories if I made it with a cup of lettuce, 5 baby carrots, 3 grape tomatoes, and 5 sugar snap peas, or the equivalent, which would be like 3 broccoli florets. I didn't think they had sugar snaps on the high school salad bar. Or even grape tomatoes. Cherry were bigger. So I'd only get 2 of those.

I made my dorky little salad and met Brandy by the vending machine, where she was buying her Doritoes. Ew. I liked basically anything with sugar in it, and I definitely seemed to be developing a thing for dumping massive quantities of salt on pretty much everything I ate, but Doritoes? Really? What a waste of calories. I envied her, that she could just eat shit and not care. Had I ever been like that? I couldn't remember. But someday, when I was done with ballet, I was just going to lay on the couch and eat ice cream and cookies all day and weigh 200 pounds and not give a fuck, cause why? I never understood why people who didn't dance, or perform, or who weren't athletes cared about their weight. That was a stumper. It almost made me mad, normal people on diets. Didn't they know that shit was unnecessary? Who cared how fat you were if no one ever saw you in a leotard? So Brandy buying Doritoes, disgusting as they were, made me happy. It meant she had some sense.

"I'm not walking over there without you," I said, as the spiral metal rings released the package and Brady's Doritoes fell into the dispenser.

"Of course not!" The clank of the dispenser door added emphasis. She opened the bag immediately, popping a neon chip into her mouth. "God – I think I am addicted to these things. Is that all you're eating?" she asked, eyeing my pathetic salad.

"Yeah. We have auditions for The Nutcracker this week."

"Whatever. Come on."