Chapter 7 Thank God I’m not Homeschooled (1)

Frankly, I've never understood why they changed the name of "The Feast" to the "Nutrition Center." Over seventy percent of the food here is high-fat, high-calorie "American fast food." Given we're in one of the most remote towns in America, finding diverse and multicultural chefs is even harder than getting truant students to attend class. Vegetarians even staged a public protest at school, leading to two chaotic weeks of everyone bringing their own lunches! Can't blame them, though—other options are either atrociously bad or might as well be diet pills.

Gazing at the crowded hamburger stand, I'm glad I kicked my junk food habit. For those not concerned about their weight, a cheeseburger with chicken strips is a heavenly delight. The aftermath, however, is a struggle with belts and shirts strained by fat.

I made my way to the yogurt stand, scooping up a few spoonfuls into an empty bowl, then garnishing it with blueberries, raspberries, and mangoes. As expected, the checkout was swamped. I resigned myself to the back of the dense line, staring at my yogurt, hoping the cashier would speed up.

When it was finally my turn, I couldn't help but silently thank God for saving me from the embarrassment of a growling stomach. I also hoped the student council would suggest the school buy more cash registers for the famished students. As I swiped my card, Mrs. Blyman gave me a smile and handed me a small bag of nuts. "You're the hundredth card transaction, so this is a gift from the 'Nature' club."

Luck was finally on my side. "Thanks." I smiled back at her and turned to leave.

"Oh—by the way," Mrs. Blyman called out to me. "They instructed me to tell you these nuts are all naturally fallen, purely organic."

Sounds good to me. Every year, these fruitarian enthusiasts go out of their way to promote their club. They even have a special farm dedicated to collecting these fruits.

Holding my tray, I surveyed the cafeteria—chaotic football players and cheerleaders, Daniel and Leila sharing an intimate meal (great, I don’t even need a burger to induce vomiting), the fit girls clique flirting around, "zealots" praying earnestly at their table, "mad scientists" dissecting their food with goggles on, and the "mafia" decked out in black, cigarettes dangling...

I navigated past those who watched me closely (especially the sisterhood and Penelope) to the old spot I shared with Stephanie. It's secluded, reserved for the most "inconspicuous" types at Seayers High, not that you get to choose. Stephanie was an exception. She was a member of the drama club, having played minor roles in musicals, definitely more renowned than me.

Until… she was cast as Juliet in "Romeo and Juliet." Overnight, almost everyone knew her name. But she chose to stick with me. Why? I don't know, or maybe I do… but don't want to admit it? Because I'm a top student in Miss Ewen's class… and Stephanie always pestered me to study literature with her. Well, let's not complicate things. I don't like to speculate maliciously about others. Not out of naivety, but out of respect for them.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to take so long." I apologized as I noticed Stephanie's plate was nearly empty.

"It's okay, Scarlett. I was quite hungry today, so I ate fast~ And, they really are improving the food quality, at least it's not like chewing on trash anymore." She put down her spoon, her face lighting up with gossip.

"So, tell me, Scarlett~ What did Taylor want with you? It wasn't because your answers were too good, making that old guy jealous, was it?"

"Of course not. He thinks I'm not up to standard."

"So he gave me a book, to prove him wrong." I deliberately skipped the rest of the conversation.

"Scarlett, he's definitely going to regret underestimating you! Even Miss Ewen values you highly, Taylor—let alone, he's not even close to Miss Ewen."

"Alright."

I cut Stephanie off.

"He just wants me to write some reflections, that's all."

"Sounds like something he would do."

"Anyway, good he didn't do anything to you. I heard rumors about sexual harassment in Chandler's class. Teachers... students... you know. And he's new, we don't know much about him."

"It won't happen."

I reassured her with a "don't worry" smile, spooning up some yogurt.

Stephanie had signed up for a "Health" seminar. Besides the general "knowledge" every American teen should know, it included lots of tips for protecting women. For instance, the Anti-Sexual Harassment Club, founded in memory of Cordia Stephenson, a poor girl driven to suicide by sexual harassment, a friend of my cousin Elisa, who had even received an acceptance letter from Columbia University before her death.