The Makeover

03 | Ogling ogre

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Chapter Three | Ogling ogre

The better part of the day went painfully slowly much to my distaste. Who else has noticed that time goes slower when you really want it to go fast and awfully fast when you want it to actually pass slowly? Well I have.

It was time for lunch and the cafeteria was filled up by the time I arrived there. Our school lunch system was such that the students stand in a file to recieve their food and then walk down to their respective tables.

Yes, you heard right, respective tables. The different tables are defined by the conventional and formulaic image of the people who occupy them. The typical high school stereotypes- that's what I mean.

The Jocks and athletes whose whole world revolves around sports have about three tables that they fill up.

The preppy cheerleaders who cheer for them during their matches and form the perfect match for them, have one long large table all to themselves where they talk about the latest school gossip.

The populars who have it all. Those who do not fit into any of the fore mentioned groups also have a table where they guage and talk about whose dad has the fancies Yatch. They are all snobs, all of 'em' but get along with themselves pretty well.

The floaters, a group of friends who can seat anywhere with anyone they liked at anytime but of course, within their own clique. And then the nerds, also referred to as 'The brains'.

They have a long table too where they all probably discuss about assignments. Who the hell discusses assignments during lunch? Them, that's who. I'm equally a nerd and I'd discuss assignments too if only I had someone to do it with.

And then we move to the next clique where I belong. There's really no title but I guess you could call us the bleacher occupants. We're really bad with people that we don't fit in and hence don't deserve a place on the proper lunch tables. So, I'm one of the few, and the funny thing is that, among the B.O, some people actually get along, but still, I'm always lonely.

At one time, Zeke actually offered me a seat among the populars but after a week and they still stared at me weirdly, talked in whispers, the loudest of them ensue akward silences, it dawned on me that I wasn't wanted there and so I left them and returned to the bleachers. I don't want to be the reason why others would be uncomfortable. Afterall it's 'their' table.

I peeled open the plastic bag containing my carrots and tossed one into my mouth, I was about to bite into it when Marcus walked up to me.

See, I told you. No matter where I am, trouble would always find me. Rolling my eyes, I bit into the carrot, almost choking on it when his scent filled my nose. He smelt like cheap perfume and soap and also like the creep he is.

"Hey Zebra, superman Zeke is not here to save you now," He laughed. "Have mercy on that carrot, it's practically screaming for help to get away from your ugly big teeth.

"And then, watch what you eat, because even though you're as skinny as a stick of broom now, too much food would turn you into a fatty and if you think you're miserable now, you'll be a thousand times miserabler."

Stopping in his tracks he raised an eyebrow.

"Miserabler? Wait is that already a word? If it isn't then I just formed a new word. I'm so cool Zebra, don't you agree?"

Oh Geez, why is this my life? I can't even eat my lunch in peace without intrusion. As always, if I keep mute, he'll get tired and go away.

"Why do you always keep your mouth sealed, Zebra? Are you really mute? Sometimes when I talk to you, I feel like I'm talking to a dummy." He said to me, like I was a little experiment of his.