I keep my head down as I walk, not necessarily to hide my face—even though that’s part of it—but mainly to not burn my corneas from the blaring sun. It’s unreasonably sunny today and the practically white concrete is doing nothing to help, just blinding me as I walk down the school’s front steps. Luckily, I know where I’m going through muscle memory.

Fellow students pass by me as I walk, chatting, laughing and knocking shoulders with me. I have to hope they do it accidentally, blame it on the sun. I just focus on my feet as I walk. If the wrong person caught sight of the shiner on my cheek, they might feel inclined to give me another.

When the concrete turns to grass, my nerves settle slightly. I pull my backpack further up by the straps, finally lifting my eyes so as to not ram into a goal post or anything. Whistles and coaches screams fill the air as I walk the field, consciously aware of flying balls that could come—and have come—flying right at my face. Again, I would have to hope it’s not intentional.

Having half the mind the run across the rest of the way, I muster up whatever courage I have in me to not do that. Lord knows I’m an embarrassing runner. I pass the soccer nets and the goal posts, the water boys and the bleachers, heading out into a direction that many people wouldn’t even bother looking at.

It’s a place I found a few months ago, after I’d expressed all possible options of places to eat lunch in peace. The cafeteria was never even an option, bathrooms were always occupied or gross, and teachers started locking their doors so they could have a second to peace without me begging for a safe haven. So, one day, I just started walking. With my chin tucked to my chest, my breaths heavy from anxious thoughts of getting caught up in trouble, and a determined stride, I stumbled across the perfect place.

It’s hidden behind the bleachers on the football field, a nice and shady bush concealing me from the rest of the school. It was quiet and still. Exactly what I needed.

Only thing was, it was already occupied.

Before I could even let out a breath of relief, I spotted you, leaning back against a rock with a cigarette between your lips—well, I thought it was a cigarette at the time. When you had heard my shaky steps, your eyes peeled open and landed on me. I stood frozen like a statue, as if you couldn’t see me if I was still enough.

The first thing you said to me was, “What happened to your face?”

“I, uh… I tripped.” It was a lie, and you knew that. For some reason, I didn’t want to seem like a loser in front of you. I didn’t want you to know that I didn’t fight back when Bryce pushed me against my locker and it cut my forehead. But you didn’t acknowledge it, didn’t make it a big deal. Instead, all you did was move your backpack to the side.

A silent invitation. A peace offering.

We barely spoke during that first lunch. You didn’t mention my crunching of baby carrots, and I didn’t mention how disgusting the ‘cigarette’ you were smoking smelled. It was easy. It was nice. I wasn’t alone, but I also wasn’t afraid.

It’s been like that ever since. But, now, we’re, like…friends? I think? You probably wouldn’t classify us as that, and I’d say that I’m hopelessly in love with you, but that’s all besides the point.

I plop down in the grass beside you without a word, but I can feel your eyes on me. On the bruise that covers most of my cheekbone. Sometimes you point them out, ask what happened and who did it. Sometimes I tell you, hoping you can somehow make the problem go away.

Sometimes it does.

I wait for the questioning, but it must be delayed. Maybe it can wait until after I’ve eaten some lunch? I pull out two plastic bags full of baby carrots, tossing one at you. I don’t miss the small, lopsided smirk that grows on your face out of the corner of my eyes.

I don’t understand fully what’s been happening here, between us, but I’m too terrified to bring it up in case of ruining it. I might just have to settle for the silence, baby carrots, and smell of weed—which, I now know of.