The Sweetgum Knit Lit Society (21 page)

Lunch was the worst time of the day for Hannah. Thirty-five minutes of torment, and she could only spend so much time standing in the cafeteria line or dawdling in the bathroom. The worst part was at the cash register. She was a check mark
girl, had been since her mother dropped her off that first day at kindergarten.

“Burrito or chicken patty?” Luellen, the ancient cafeteria lady, asked the question in her usual monotone.

Hannah paused to consider which option would keep her stomach full longer. “Burrito, please.”

Luella picked up one of the prefab burritos and plunked it on a plastic tray, which she pushed down the line to the next worn-looking cafeteria worker. Sometimes Hannah felt as old as the ladies looked. One by one, they slapped her green beans, fruit cocktail, and peanut butter cookie on the tray.

She grabbed a carton of milk, accepted her tray from the last worker, and approached the cashier, Mrs. O’Brien. The cashier looked at her expectantly and then heaved a big sigh when Hannah didn’t flash any cash. Mrs. O’Brien lifted the clipboard from the counter beside her.

“Name?”

You’d think after all these years the old bat would acknowledge that she knew every kid in Sweetgum like the back of her hand, but the routine never varied. It was designed for maximum humiliation each and every day. Mrs. O’Brien didn’t approve of the free lunch kids.

“Hannah Simmons.”

Ogre O’Brien, as Hannah liked to call her, scanned the list four or five times before heaving yet another enormous sigh and making a check mark by Hannah’s name.

“Next?” She looked right past Hannah, as if she were as
transparent as glass. Ogre O’Brien didn’t need to perform her elaborate ritual every single day. Hannah had gotten the message long ago.

The second worst part of lunch was emerging from the cafeteria line. There she was faced with long rows of tables filled with her peers. Also known as her tormentors. Except for Kristen, but she wasn’t speaking to Hannah these days. Not since Hannah had refused to make out with Jimmy Clausen in the cemetery on a regular basis. Or on any basis at all.

Today she was lucky. She spotted an empty table near the door at the far end of the room. She could wolf down her food and make a break for the bathroom.

Hannah plopped her tray on the empty table and herself in the ancient folding chair. She’d brought her book too, carefully covered. She’d used a sack from Munden’s, turned inside out, to make a plain brown wrapper for
Heidi
. All she needed was for someone to spot her carrying around a kid’s book. She’d be more of an outcast than she already was, if that was even possible.

Five minute later Hannah was lost in the book, mindlessly chomping on her burrito, when a lunch tray thumped down next to hers. She jumped, looked up, and felt like the burrito might reappear. Courtney McGavin stood next to her, the world’s fakest smile planted on her face. “Mind if we join you?”

Crap. Double crap
. She shrugged, playing it cool even while her heart climbed up in her throat. “Whatever.” She
shut the book and put it in her lap. Instinct told her to pick up her tray and run for the door, but she couldn’t back down. Courtney had two other girls with her, Heather Brown and Lindsey Myers. Hannah studied them out of the corner of her eye. Heather was a barracuda, but Lindsey had always seemed okay. In fact, she looked uncomfortable as she sat down across from Hannah and shot Courtney a worried look.

“So what are you guys wearing to the winter dance at the club?” Courtney asked, including Hannah in the question. “There’s nothing decent in that lame dress shop on the square.” She paused to pick at the dressing-free salad on her tray. “Of course, if my mom weren’t so involved in her
charity work
,” she cast a meaningful glance at Hannah, “she might have had time to take
me
to Nashville to shop.”

This was going to be bad. Hannah clutched the book in her lap.

“Yeah, your mom must really be into helping poor people,” Heather said. She was going to enjoy this just as much as Courtney. Hannah kept her silence. Either they’d get tired of goading her and leave, or it would get so bad that she’d have to be the one to flee. But she wasn’t going to concede the field of battle without putting up some sort of fight.

“Maybe Hannah has something I can borrow?” Courtney turned to face her, and Hannah could feel the gaze from Courtney’s MAC-heavy eyes boring into her. “Maybe you could knit me a dress?” She snickered and Heather joined in.

“Guys …” Lindsey looked around and leaned forward to speak in a low voice. “Come on. Let’s go back to our table.”

“You don’t think Hannah’s enjoying our company?”

Courtney flicked that hair like it was Zorro’s blade. “What do you say, Hannah? Want to knit me a Dolce & Gabbana cocktail dress? Or maybe a Vera Wang?” Her snicker turned to a full on laugh. “God, how lame can you be?”

Hannah bit her tongue until she tasted blood. If she said anything, did anything, she knew what would happen. The free lunch girl versus the prepsters. She’d never stand a chance in the kangaroo court known as the principal’s office.

“You’re so pathetic,” Heather said to Hannah, all pretense of politeness gone, claws fully extended. “If you really want to be Courtney’s clone, you’re going to have to get some decent highlights. And lose a lot of weight.” She exchanged a look of triumph with Courtney, and they both burst out laughing. Obviously they’d been rehearsing this for a while. But Hannah refused to give them the satisfaction of so much as a wince.

“Not my problem if your mom would rather hang out with a slacker than a wannabe princess.” Hannah kept her voice low and didn’t look at any of them when she said the words.

“What did you just say?” Courtney’s voice rose to a squeaky pitch. “Tell me you did not just say what I think you said.”

“I didn’t just say what you thought I said,” Hannah replied, sarcasm dripping from her words like poison.

“OMG,” Heather said, her jaw hanging open. “Do you have, like, a death wish?”

“Y’all, that’s enough,” Lindsey said quietly. “Let’s go.”

“No.” Courtney’s cheeks were flushed beneath her expensive blusher. She looked like a clown Hannah had seen once at a low-rent circus her mother dragged her to. Of course, her mother had been more interested in entertaining one of the roadies than her daughter. “No,” Courtney repeated, her tone edging toward hysterical. “I don’t think Hannah here has quite gotten the message yet.”

Before Hannah could do or say anything, Courtney slapped her hand down on the inside edge of Hannah’s cafeteria tray, flipping it. Quick as lightning, the contents—burrito stub, green beans, fruit cocktail—hit Hannah’s chest before falling into her lap, covering the book that lay there.

For a moment Hannah was so stunned that she couldn’t move. Courtney and Heather laughed, high-fived, and scampered off as quickly as they’d materialized in the first place. Lindsey started to get up, shot a longing look at the departing queen bees, and then sank back into her chair.

“I’m sorry.” She pulled her napkin from underneath her silverware and thrust it toward Hannah. “I swear I didn’t know they were going to do that.”

“Whatever.” It seemed to be the only word she could say, might be the only word she’d ever say again. She knew Courtney McGavin was going to make her pay for that whole trip-to-the-yarn-store disaster sooner or later. “Just leave me alone.”

“Come on. Let’s go to the rest room.” Lindsey stood up and came around the end of the table. She grabbed Hannah’s backpack off the floor and motioned for her to stand.

Hannah hesitated. Was Lindsey sincere, or was this just a setup for another humiliation compliments of Courtney McGavin?

“The longer we stand here, the more people will gawk.” Lindsey jerked her head toward the door. “Let’s go.”

Hannah scraped the jumbled mess of food from her book and shirt back onto the tray. She stood up on legs so shaky she thought they might collapse underneath her, but she refused to give Courtney and Heather that satisfaction.

“You’re committing social suicide,” she hissed at Lindsey, reaching out to snag her backpack off the other girl’s shoulder. “Just go back with your pack of she-wolves. You’ve done your good deed for the day.”

“Quit being stupid.” Lindsey turned and headed toward the exit closest to their table. The girls’ rest room was just across the hall. Left with no choice, Hannah started after her—scared, confused, and biting her lip hard so she wouldn’t cry. She refused to give Courtney McGavin the satisfaction of making her cry.

Hannah looked at herself in the bathroom mirror and took a deep breath to remain calm. The juice from the fruit cocktail had soaked through her T-shirt, leaving it practically see-through
in critical spots. Her coat was in her locker, two hallways away, and she had nothing else to wear. The bathroom didn’t have an air-dry machine, so she dabbed at the stains with a paper towel. The bell was going to ring any minute, and she couldn’t go to class like this. But she couldn’t stay in the bathroom either. One more screwup and she’d be spending a whole lot of quality time in detention with Mr. Wharton. She could get a lot of reading done there, but he wouldn’t let her knit. She’d tried to last time, and he’d almost confiscated her yarn and needles.

“I’ve got another shirt in my locker.” Lindsey was standing in the corner watching Hannah dab at the stains. The other girl looked at her cell phone, checking the time. “We have six minutes before the bell rings and every girl in Sweetgum Middle School comes in here to reapply lip gloss.”

Hannah’s hand stopped midswipe. “Why are you doing this?” She was looking in the mirror, but she could see Lindsey’s reflection next to her own. “Being someone’s
charity
case is what got me into this. Go back to your pack and leave me alone.”

“Bite the hand that feeds you much?” Lindsey smiled, but not in a mean way. “Just because Courtney’s my friend doesn’t mean I approve of everything she does. She’s lashing out at you because she’s mad at her mom. It’s not fair, just fact. I’m trying to minimize the collateral damage.” She stuck her cell phone back in her purse. “And now I’m about to risk detention
on your behalf by sneaking to my locker to get you something to wear.”

“You don’t have to.”

Lindsey gestured toward Hannah’s now see-through T-shirt. “Oh yeah, I do.” She paused. “Look, I really am sorry about Courtney. I’ll try to keep her away from you.”

Hannah didn’t get it. Since when did any of the popular posse care about the feelings of a free lunch kid? But before she could say anything else, Lindsey slipped out of the rest room. Hannah took one last swipe at her shirt and finally, now that she was alone, allowed the tears that had been threatening to fall freely. No good ever came of other people’s kindness. She ought to have learned that lesson by now.

Munden’s Five-and-Dime hadn’t changed since Camille was a child. While the elderly Mr. Munden had been replaced behind the cash register by his daughter Maria, the all-purpose store continued to offer the same array of goods that couldn’t be found at the Rexall drugstore or Callahan’s Hardware. Munden’s was where you went if you needed office supplies, craft items, toys, or holiday decorations.

Camille and Hannah moved across the brown tile floor underneath the fluorescent lights, passing shelves of picture frames, candles, and plastic flowers for decorating graves. Camille averted her eyes when they passed the flowers. Death haunted her enough without having to be reminded of its consequences in aisle three.

“What colors do you want?” Camille asked when they reached the back wall. Shelves of yarn stretched six feet high
and ten feet across. Hannah had a pattern clutched in her hand.

It looked like a freebie she’d downloaded off the Internet.

Hannah shrugged in response. If they had developed any closeness during their ride home from the last meeting of the Knit Lit Society, it had evaporated. Camille wanted to brush off the disappointment she felt, but the girl’s cold shoulder bothered her. Hannah hadn’t spoken more than three words to her since she’d picked her up at school.

“Can I see the pattern?” Camille tried a different tack. Honestly, she didn’t have the time or energy to put up with Hannah’s sullenness. But the continued silence of her cell phone had her acting strangely, more like her mother than herself.