Starry Eyed

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Four

Fried chicken and gravy polluted the air inside the cafeteria, swirling in with the smell of sweat and caffeine as I stepped inside. A boisterous girl from my algebra class smashed into me in the giant doorway, but she didn't apologise. I saw she also managed to also shove her way to the front of the dinner line too afterwards. It set the tone for the rest of dinner. Usually, Saturday nights weren't killers, since I ate early, but it was seven now. I wasted all my time waiting on Star and she never showed up in my room. So now I was being pushed around by all of the latecomers to the event. 

I stumbled through the congested clumps of tables and people towards the dinner line. The scent that seeped through the room had already alerted me to what was being served up, but when a freshman kid tripped up and a gravy-coated fry landed in a goopy mess on my shoe, I was painfully reminded. I never really liked anything fried. But I was just happy to be fed, I guess. I stared up the neverending line to see how far I was from the finish. 

When I realized the devestating truth- I was about as far as I could get from my dinner- my eyes flitted away from the beckoning food, instead beginning to dance around the room for any sign of Star. It was actually starting to worry me. This obsession I had with her, this knotted feeling in my stomach whenever she was not around. If I had more friends, it would maybe have been better. But I'd never been much of a socialite, and nothing would have changed now.

I searched for any hint of blonde hair, a burst of colour in the drained room. I could probably have hunted her down if it was quieter- her voice, her language, the way she talked. It would have given her away in the dark. But in the crowded, sweaty cafeteria, there was no hope for searching by noise. I glanced around for her blonde hair again. There were lots of blonde girls at this school; a clustered trio sat in the corner, picking bitterly at their fried chicken with horrorstruck faces. One taller girl in the middle with particularly red lips was clearly the Regina George of the group. I almost laughed at how true Mean Girls could be in portraying reality.

I saw Bridgit too, awkwardly perched in the Ken doll's lap as he smiled cheesily at her. Aubrey was there too, her bright hair a luminous giveaway, squashed up on the other side of the table between Kale and a girl I didn't recognise. They were chatting away easily, untouched by the surrounding noise. I watched from afar as James made a lame joke, setting his huddle of friends off into puddles of laughter. Bridgit giggled dorkily, and then pecked his lips like a bird. I fidgeted and looked away.

After one more deep scan of the room, I realized Star was nowhere to be seen. And neither was Finn, as a matter of fact. An explosion of dangerous possibilites burst inside of my mind. Videos played in technicolour behind my eyes, polaroid pictures, marker memories, ideas that lent themselves to the information I already had. I didn't want to think about them together. In my head, Finn and Star did not co-exist well with Finn and Luca. They were two different friendships, but to me, only one made sense. Of course, one of those explosive ideas in my head was not of Finn and Star's friendship.

I waited impatiently in the dinner line for another half an hour, and scoffed down the fried chicken within a few minutes. It barely touched the sides. A strange feeling was beginning to bubble up inside of me, but I couldn't put a finger on what it was. Finn and Star laughed and joked and talked together in video tapes playing in my mind. Polaroids of Harlem and Star and Finn. But no polaroids of Star with me. 

My tray was on the dishes pile before I even realized I'd done it. I stormed out of the room dramatically, unsure of how I should go about running from myself. My theatrical exit went unnoticed in the crowd, and of course, it had no purpose when the only person who benefited from it was me. My head was starting to spin. A warm duvet and a night with my head on the pillow sounded great right now. In fact, that was the only way. Unconsciousness was the only way I could escape myself.