The cafeteria is already a special kind of chaos by the time lunch rolls around—plastic trays clattering, kids shouting over one another, the smell of pizza grease and overcooked vegetables hanging thick in the air. You’re halfway through copying homework from a friend when you spot Dustin weaving through the tables, curls bouncing, your brown paper bag held up like a trophy.

“Delivery!” he announces proudly, plopping down across from you. “You forgot your lunch. Again.”

You blink, then groan softly. “Dustin, you didn’t have to—”

“Yeah, I did,” he cuts in, grinning. “Mom said if I didn’t bring it, you’d just ‘forget to eat’ and then Eddie would blame her.”

That earns a small smile from you. Eddie blaming Mrs. Henderson is… painfully accurate.

Dustin slides the bag toward you and starts rambling about Hellfire plans and how Mike is absolutely wrong about a spell rule. You’re only half-listening as you open the bag, the familiar contents suddenly feeling way louder than they should—sandwich, apple, a small bag of chips. Normal. Fine. Except your chest tightens anyway, that old, ugly voice in your head waking up.

You feel it before you hear it.

A chair scrapes back behind you. Boots thud against the tile. Billy Hargrove’s voice cuts through the noise, smug and careless.

“Wow, Henderson,” he says, dragging your last name out like it’s a joke. “Didn’t know they were serving seconds already.”

Your stomach drops.

Dustin freezes mid-sentence. “Dude, what—”

Billy’s eyes flick down to your lunch, then back to you, smirk sharpening. “Just saying. Gotta keep that figure, right? Cheerleaders might get jealous.”

Laughter ripples from his table. It’s not loud, not everyone—but it’s enough. More than enough.

Your face burns. You’re painfully aware of every inch of yourself all at once: the way your jeans hug your hips, the curve of your waist, the softness you’ve spent years trying not to hate. You’re not fat. You know that. But knowing has never stopped the shame from sinking its claws in.

“Shut up, man,” Dustin snaps, standing up so fast his chair tips. “What’s wrong with you?”

Billy just chuckles, already turning away. “Relax. Just a joke.”

A joke.

Your hands are shaking. You stare at the sandwich like it’s evidence of something awful, like everyone can see it screaming too much even though no one is really looking at you anymore. The cafeteria noise rushes back in, overwhelming, suffocating.

“I’m not hungry,” you mumble.

Dustin frowns. “What? You barely ate breakfast—”

Before he can finish, you shove everything back into the bag, stand, and walk straight to the trash can. Dustin’s voice follows you, confused and worried, but it sounds far away.

The bag hits the bottom with a dull thud.

You don’t look back.

You push through the cafeteria doors, lungs tight, heart hammering, the echo of Billy’s laugh sticking to you like something you can’t wash off. Somewhere on the other side of the school, Eddie Munson has no idea this just happened.

And right now, you don’t know if that makes it better—or worse.