![]() ![]() Copyright © 2007 by Laura Dower.There’s another dead body on the orchard. In some ways, it’s like my dream cafeteria experience, only I don’t really have much to add. They talk about backfield, midfield, and goals. They tell stories about Coach Byrnes and share secrets about crazy things that have happened at Westcott soccer games in the past. The soccer table guys talk about one thing at lunch: soccer. “Um, I’m not that hungry,” I explain, severely grossed-out by the black crust on his slab of loaf. He must be really brave, too, to eat that. I see a plate of the surprise meat loaf on his tray, half-eaten. “That’s your lunch?” some beefy-looking kid asks me. Then I sit on the corner edge of the table bench and rip open my milk carton for a slurp. He tells everyone to shove over and I nod hello. I leave my friends behind and follow Walt to the table. Maybe I’ll try out the soccer table - just this once. “What about you guys? We always eat together.” The entire soccer team is sitting there, shoulder to shoulder. I shoot a glance at the table where Walt’s pointing. Why don’t you come over and sit with us?” “Yeah?” I ask, trying to act super-modest. “Coach Byrnes think you’re an ace,” Walt goes on. “Congrats, Jeff,” Walt says, extending his hand for a shake.īoth of my hands are busy holding my tray, so I grunt in his direction. We’re headed toward a side table in the main area of the cafeteria when someone grabs my elbow. I might have to start bringing my lunch from home. I figure that as long as I get one or two food groups at lunch, I’m doing okay. “No, thanks very much,” I say, grabbing a container of chocolate milk, a brownie, and a toasted bagel with cheese instead. “Have one of these,” Anthony teases, dangling a blackened banana in my face. Then I motor inside the lunchroom and grab a bright blue, jet-washed tray. I grab my stomach and pretend to laugh at their dumb joke. “What do you think they really put in the Browned Meat loaf Surprise?” I wonder out loud. We stop at the lunchroom bulletin board and check out the specials for the day. “How was your weekend?” Anthony asks as we stroll into the cafeteria with Peter. My cheeks ache from smiling so much these first three days of school. I could have come up with something better than that, couldn’t I? “This is my third year doing this,” the girl says. My brother Todd always says, “When in doubt, smile.” Todd’s a huge dork, but he’s really smart about some things. I nod and smile, not knowing what to say. “Hey, are you here for the carnival sign-up” she asks me. ![]() She has long brown hair like me, but it’s down, flowing around her shoulders. I notice this one girl, leaning up against the wall. There are some older kids from my neighborhood here, but I don’t recognize anyone else. Leslie is more into drama club, and today is Christina’s first day of tennis. I recognize a few other kids from my English and social studies classes, but none of my good friends are here. It’s already 2:35 and there’s a line up and down the hallway, but the teacher hasn’t even unlocked the door yet. Of course I have to stand on my tiptoes to read it. The sky-blue sheet of paper taped to the door of room 12C reads SCHOOL CARNIVAL MEETING, HERE, 2:45 P.M., so I know I’m in the right place. It’s time for my first school carnival meeting. At least not yet.īut I can’t think about that right now. He claims I have something called astigmatism. Wexler wrote me a prescription right there on the spot. ![]() Yesterday confirmed a sad fact: I really do need glasses! When I could barely identify the enormous, fuzzy E at the top of the eye chart, Dr. Excerpt from CANDY APPLE #2: THE BOY NEXT DOOR ![]()
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