FICTION
on her wrist when you saw her that afternoon, just before school let out for Christmas, her black eye not yet completely faded. You see the third girl outside the cafeteria for the first time on the first day of spring break. You’re at someone’s party, one of the only people outside, and – …we didn’t know her goddammit we didn’t even know the name of the person who invited us we just went along as we always do but now we can’t forget about her and it’ll always be like this we’ll always be left wondering what if we’d just said something done something and now there’s nothing we can do except keep on living… She’d been forced into leaving. You’d not said anything yourself, but you didn’t stop it either. Hyper aware of how the abuse, the slurs, the bitter taste of disinfectant and blood seemed to follow her out the door, you left shortly after. You’re suddenly aware of how their existence is a call to arms. You’re not sure it changes you much, noticing the three girls at the table, but you do take a minute to look around you at the senior dance in your final week. The speakers are mind-numbing, loud enough to drown out speech, and you’re not particularly enjoying yourself. The food is vaguely good, but nothing memorable. You suddenly notice how they’re not there. Somehow you’re not surprised. Why celebrate a place that seems to hate your entire being? You’re still not sure when you first noticed them. They sit in the corner of the cafeteria. The air seems thicker around their table; the light pallid and washed out. Except this time, you can tell them apart. You’re able to notice how they sit in solidarity, bodies turned towards each other. There may as well be glass walls surrounding them. You will never forget how three girls that sat in the corner of the cafeteria were not friends because they wanted to be. They were friends because it is the only way they knew how to survive. Somehow, you move on.
day someone is gonna look in that sketchbook and its all gonna crash down right on top of her… It becomes apparent to you across a number of days that the three girls that sit in the corner of the cafeteria are not friends because they want to be. They are friends because it is the only way they know how to survive. One morning in December, with looming end of semester finals and a paper cup of filter coffee in your hand, you’re sitting in the empty cafeteria. The bell is dangerously close to ringing but you have one more question on your biology homework that you really need to get done. As you get up to go to class, you nearly miss her. She’s in the corner, at her usual table. The same seat. You’ve heard stories about this one. Her hair falls over her face, and she’s got a book open in front of her that she doesn’t appear to be reading. Instead, she’s focusing on the wall in front of her, as if she could count every single one of the bricks behind the chipping white paint. You’re about to go over and ask if everything is okay when she pushes herself up. She makes it seem like a fight, some internal struggle over whether it’s even worth going to class today. Her hair falls back from where it covered her face just seconds before and the black eye you’ve heard your classmates murmuring about in the parking lot becomes visible. …they say hes not all that nice to her but i’m not sure i believe that i mean hes gonna go to law school and hes on the debate team like what hes got to be a good guy right she’s probably making it up for attention… There’s nowhere else to sit, you realise. It’s better to ally yourself with strangers than to be alone. Slowly, she picks up her backpack and throws it over her shoulder, taking hesitant steps towards the door as she does so. There’s no noise in her movement. You will always regret not approaching her that morning. Or the next time you saw her. She had a cast
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