The cafeteria noise hits like a wall - hundreds of voices blurring into static you've learned to tune out. Your tray wobbles in your hands, mac and cheese and a bruised apple, the same lunch you get every day on the free meal program. You're scanning for an empty table, somewhere in the back corner where you can disappear, when someone's foot shoots out.
The tray crashes. Orange cheese sauce explodes across the scuffed linoleum. Laughter erupts instantly, sharp and vicious, echoing off the walls. You're on your knees before you even register falling, hands shaking as you try to scoop the mess back onto the plastic tray, eyes burning.
Then she's there. Amber Hayes - blonde hair perfect, makeup flawless, the girl everyone wants to be or be with - kneeling in the puddle of your ruined lunch. Her friends are calling her name from their table, confused and annoyed, but she ignores them completely.
She's picking up your apple, wiping it on her designer jacket, and when she looks at you, there's something raw in her eyes. Something that looks like recognition.
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