At a table in the corner of the cafeteria, a Mexican girl and a white girl were talking to each other, in what I could only assume was English! I was, of course, astonished at the intelligence and academic achievement of this Mexican girl, who, on second thought, had probably been adopted as a baby by white people.
And THAT’S when I first saw THEM.
There were five of them. They were either goths, punks, or metalheads, I couldn’t tell which. But it didn’t matter because I already knew that I hated them. I mean, who were THEY to be so depressed, and hate their life and everyone in it? Have THEY ever had to move from their mothers’ house to live with their dad in another town!? GAH! They need to quit complaining and being so melodramatic.
I promise, I didn’t care about them at all. But I kept looking at them, because Fatty was droning on and on about boring things like the housing market collapse and credit default swaps and junk. Like I care what those are. So I had to distract myself somehow, as I’m sure you understand, and that’s why I kept looking at the weirdo table. They were wearing nice clothes, which deeply disturbed me, because I normally respect people in nice clothes. I know you’re probably asking, “Stella, why on earth do you hate them, if they’re rich and white and Christian and so far not annoying you?” Well... the truth is, my dear, well-meaning, unconditionally supportive readers... These freaks, all 5 of them, were so close to being prettier than me, it was scary. I know you don’t believe that, but please for the sake of my story just imagine they’re REALLY pretty.
“So then, if I buy insurance on your loan...” Fatty was saying.
“Who are THEY?” I asked casually when I perceived an appropriate pause in her stupid little game of pretend. I pointed at the beautiful bastards way over in the dark and gloomy corner of the cafeteria. I asked the cheerleader instead of Fatty, because I knew she wasn’t pretty enough to know who these people were. The cheerleader snapped out of her adoring gaze at the average nice guy, delighted to finally have something to talk to me about. I’m so popular already, I congratulated myself. Jessica dropped her squeeky annoying voice to a dramatic whisper, and announced,
“Thoooose... are the Bloodsuckers!”
“The what?!” I snarled, realizing that she had just made a pitiful attempt at verbal revenge at me.Bloodsuckers, I thought. What kind of joke was that. So not funny.
“They’re siblings. That’s Alice Bloodsucker, Jefferey Bloodsucker, Ernest Bloodsucker, Rosary Bloodsucker, and Edgar Bloodsucker. They moved here about a year ago from Alaska, and their dad is a surgeon, and he’s really young and gorgeous, and no one knows anything about their mother and they probably never will because she’s really not that important of a character. They’re Mormons, I think, and they go hiking about once a month, or whenever the sun comes out. Ernest and Rosary are together, and Alice and Jefferey are together, and Edgar is single but he’s too good for any of us. I asked him out once but...”
“Shut up,” I whined. “I didn’t ask for their life story, gah.”
“Sorry,” she apologized apologetically.
“Wait, so, they’re siblings and they date each other?” I asked, confused, but tentative because I didn’t want her to start talking again.
“Yeah!” she lit up with enthusiasm as I asked the question she was obviously waiting for me to ask. “Isn’t that just weird!? And SO not fair. I guess that’s ok if they’re Mormon, I don’t really know anything about Mormons, except they...”
“What do you think about them, Fatty?” I asked in desperation.
After a few seconds of awkward silence, which I, for one, thoroughly enjoyed, Fatty said, “They’re not Mormons, Jessica. They’re goths.”
“Whatever.” Jessica shrugged.
I stared at the Bloodsuckers some more. I suddenly realized I had a lot in common with them. We were all very pale, even though we loved the outdoors. We had all recently moved to Spoons from someplace better, and therefor had the experience and wisdom to judge the people here according to higher standards. Also we had all purchased lunch trays from the cafeteria but were not eating, probably because we were all vegetarians and wanted to publicly convey our disgust at the atrocity that was the school lunch. And finally, most importantly, we were all stunningly beautiful, so much that the people of Spoons could only gape adoringly at us and wish they were our best friend. I noticed, too, that all five beauties looked a good ten years older than they probably were, even if they were seniors. I was sure they probably acted more mature as well. It was then that I realized, I didn’t even care if they were Mormons. They were cool in my book.
“Which one’s the single one?” I asked Fatty.
“Edgar,” answered Jessica before Fatty had even opened her fat jiggly lip.
“Which one’s Edgar?” I asked Jessica reluctantly.
“The really really hot one.”
“They’re ALL hot!” I yelled, annoyed.
“The one that’s staring at you like he wants to bite your face off.”
“Oh.“ I looked back at their table, and sure enough, the most beautiful one of them all, the single one-- obviously-- was glaring at me with a hatred that burned of pure passion and violence and anger. His canary-yellow eyes poured into my soul, as his shampoo-comercial-esque silky brown, carelessly ruffled hair bounced with its natural buoyancy. His stone white ivory lips were curled around a perfect set of ivory white, shiny, freshly brushed and sharpened teeth, which I noticed were chattering ever so slightly as he continued to rip my heart in two with his eyes.
I was absolutely positive that the tingling feeling I felt low in my stomach at that moment was something much deeper and more meaningful than physical attraction, because he and I both were above that. I didn’t know what it was, but I was determined to use my acute deductive reasoning skills to figure it out.
Option 1: He was my secret soulmate from the future, come back to valiantly rescue me from the terrible demise for which I was evidently destined.
Option 2: He had an insanely powerful desire to rape me, which I’m sure you all agree, is very sexy.
There was no third option.
Suddenly I became aware, for the first time, that since he was staring at me, he would see me and might think that I was staring at him. I looked away from him, and brought my mind reluctantly back to my table. The average guy and Fatty were trading lunch items.
“My cookie AND the rest of these Doritos?” Fatty proposed.
“Hmm...” He thought for a moment. Noticing my attention, he jumped at the opportunity to address me. “What do you think, Stella? Fair trade for this pack of two Twinkies?” He waved them seductively in the air at her, which I thought was extremely cruel.
“No!” I asserted. “You can’t give her those Twinkies. That’s so inconsiderate of you! How will she ever learn to be healthy, if she can’t even rely on her only friends to know what’s best for her? You need to be more supportive. Take the cookie and give her one of your carrot sticks, for Pete’s sake.”
I was determined to help Fatty not be her disgusting and obese and repulsive self. After all, that’s what friends were for.
But I stil couldn’t get my eye off of the menacing pile of pure hot beef who had glared at me with such malice. If he only drove a shiny Volvo.