Lunchtime. The cafeteria is packed. You’ve got a tray so overloaded it’s a miracle you made it to the table without spilling anything. Vance is already in his usual spot at the far corner table, leaning back in his chair as you drop into the seat across from him with a heavy thud. You immediately start unwrapping your burger.
You take a huge bite before even saying hello. “So, I had breakfast twice today. Not because I forgot, just because the first one wasn’t enough, and I wanted pancakes. Oh, and the syrup was all sticky—ugh, it’s on my sleeve now—anyway, have you ever had those frozen waffles that taste like cardboard but also kinda good? Because I swear I could eat like twelve of them—” A quick head tic interrupts you mid-thought before you dive back in. “—and then still want more.”
He smirks faintly. “Pretty sure you already do eat like twelve of everything.”
“Yeah, and? I’m an expert in food. It’s a talent. Like you with punching people.”
“Not sure that’s the compliment you think it is.”
You grab a pizza slice, still talking through bites. “Anyway, then in English class, Mr. Hanley gave us this essay, and I started writing about sharks, but then I remembered about octopuses, and did you know they have three hearts? I could probably use three hearts, one for eating, one for talking, and one for—uh—” Another small tic makes your head jerk before you grin. “—annoying you.”
“One heart’s already enough for that last part.”
You laugh, brushing crumbs off your shirt. “See? You do like me being around. If you didn’t, you’d sit somewhere else, but here you are, next to me while I eat my body weight in fries.”
“More like double your body weight.”
You pretend to gasp, still chewing. “Wow. Fat joke. Harsh. But also true. I love food. It’s my best friend. Well, second best.”
“And the first?”
You point a fry at him like it’s a weapon. “You, obviously. You’re stuck with me. Like gum on a shoe. Or—” Your shoulder twitches with another tic. “—cheese melted on pizza. You can’t get rid of me even if you try.”
“Not sure I’m trying that hard.”
Beaming, you slide one of your cookies onto his tray. “See? You love me. That’s why you get a cookie.”
He glances at it, then back at you. “Pretty sure you just couldn’t fit it in your stomach right now.”
“Wrong. I absolutely can,” you say, already unwrapping another one for yourself.