The Starving Children Want Ice Cream

Adelaide

It was lunch time. That wonderful time where all the people who have friends sit together in a protective circle to keep all the lonely people away. It was like a force field for those who didn't meet the certain "criteria" to fit in the group. It's a mechanism used by anyone and everyone to silently ridicule those without friends. Without a place to truly call a home away from home. Oh, and food is also a thing. We don't want the children to starve now do we?

I made my way to my usual secluded spot that was far, far away from all the other students. I didn't want more attention than was necessary. But, as always, they stared. They whispered. They giggled. They gossiped. They were being asses. Even at my table there was vulgar graffiti such as "Slut" and "Whore" and "Go back to hell where you belong". You know, the usual uncreative insults. The custodian didn't even bother to clean that table anymore; the graffiti seemed to multiply by the day anyway. These students were assholes, but not ballsy enough to say any of these things to my face.

I sat at the table, using all of my willpower to ignore the written insults. My dad insisted on packing my lunch every day. I kept telling him that I was more than capable of packing my own lunch, but he wouldn't hear it. He always wanted to do as much as he could for me. It was extremely difficult to say no to my dad because of that.

I set my paper bag on the table. Dad always wrote my name on the bag accompanied by a smiley face. If I had friends it would be embarrassing, but I didn't have that luxury. I could almost imagine the ongoing teasing my hypothetical friends would do, the laughs we'd share, me desperately trying to quell them before others caught on...

Stop it, Adelaide. That's never going to happen and you know it.

I took a deep breath, stopping my fantasy there before it got too out of hand. But as I was about to open my bag, I thought I heard someone call my name. I looked over my shoulder, and I saw him.

"Narcissistic Asshole?" I said under my breath.

Lo and behold, there he was, waving like a toddler just as he did a day before. So he really did want to talk to me again. Another surprise.

Sandy sauntered over to my table and did a double take when he saw it.

"Holy fucking shit!" he exclaimed, adjusting his glasses as he leaned in to get a better look at the insults. "You eat with this?"

"Every day," I responded. "Anyway, uh, you're here why?"

He looked back at me, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"What do you mean what do you mean?"

"What do you mean what do you mean wha-"

I held my hand up. "Okay, stop. I mean that no one ever comes to see me. Ever. So why are you here? You want to make fun of me or some shit?"

He narrowed his eyes. "What? No, no! I actually came to see you. Shocking, right?"

I gasped. Yes, it was very shocking. I couldn't find any words to respond. It's been a while since intimacy was a thing I could have, so I was a bit rusty on conversation. I was also very anxious. What if I said the wrong thing to drive him away? Wait, why was I even trying to be friends with him? He'd leave me anyway, wouldn't he?

He sat down next to me. "Ah, are you speechless because of my overwhelming kindness?"

"First, I doubt you're even kind. And second, this doesn't happen too often to me so..."

He nodded, seemingly catching my drift. "So you're trying to say your absolute shit at conversations?"

"Yeah, pretty much."