"I hate brunettes."
"You are one."
"Your point?"
A love story, you could call it. A love story between two brunettes. He's perfect, and she's broken. He's had a crush on her, and she hates him. He's a hero, and she becomes a villain.
He's Peter Park...
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I sit down with a sigh, opening my lunch. It was the same thing I've gotten every day since the beginning of eight grade: a sandwich and an apple. Pretty basic, right? Well, my parents aren't really home so I don't have anything else. I can't buy anything since I don't have the money, and I can't really cook. A cold sandwich and apple is all I get.
"Hey," a timid boy says from behind me, "Can I sit there?" He asks, pointing to the seat next to me. I look around the cafeteria. There wasn't another empty seat.
"Sure," I say reluctantly, with a smile. "I'm Victoria, but you can call me 'Vickie'."
"I'm Peter," he says, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Thanks for letting me sit here. My friend, Harry, isn't here today, so I don't know where to sit."
"Well, I wouldn't have let you, but there's no other empty seat," I admit. "I don't have many friends, and I'm not really in the market for any."
"Oh," he says before we start eating our lunches in silence.
A few minutes later, he starts talking. "Why do you sit alone?"
"I don't," I respond cynically, "there are all these other people sitting in this auditorium eating lunch with me, aren't there?"
"But you don't have any friends," he presses onwards.
"Your point is?" I ask, arching an eyebrow and challenging him to keep talking.
He gulps and mutters, "Nothing."
This Peter kid is weird. He seems to be a lot like me. A single friend. No place to sit without them. Social outcast. It's almost as if we were meant to be friends. But I'm not going to make any friends. It's almost the end of eighth grade anyways. We'll all forget each other before high school. At least, everyone will forget me.
The bell rings, snapping me out of my thoughts.
"Thanks, again," Peter says, shooting me a sheepish smile before rushing to class.
"No problem," I mutter, taking my time to get up. I slowly walk to class, but still got there on time. There was no point in being early if being on time doesn't get you in trouble. It's also quite peaceful in the pristine, white hallways with only a few kids running to class.
All throughout class, I keep thinking about Peter. Is he really an outcast? He seems too likeable to be.
