Lunchtime used to be a no-brainer for Nola. Every day from kindergarten until eighth grade, she and Marnie would sit and eat together, although Nola never really enjoyed the cuisine in the brown paper bag she’d brought from home. Nola’s mom, Carol, was a doctor who had done some research and discovered that the school cafeterias in the region hadn’t been providing their students with enough “healthy choices.” Thus, since the age of five, Nola had gotten stuck with a variety of salads, or “lawn clippings,” as Marnie had referred to them last year.

Back in grade school, when Nola had opened up Marnie’s Powerpuff Girls lunch box, all she’d find was junk food with fun, neon-colored packaging that had phrases like BURSTING WITH FLAVOR! written on it. Nola was jealous, and rightfully so. Thankfully, Marnie began sneaking Nola some Milky Ways and extra bags of Doritos, never forgetting to give Nola a stick of cinnamon Trident so that Dr. James wouldn’t smell the Polysorbate 80 on Nola’s breath – the woman’s nostrils were that strong.

In middle school, the girls would be off in their own little world during lunch, recapping what had happened in each class as if they hadn’t spent all morning together. Those forty-two minutes had become precious to Nola; for once, she was able to relax and not worry about being called on by a teacher, or going up to the chalkboard to solve a math problem.

Yet all of that was in the past. Now Nola was holding a tray stacked with unhealthy items that her mother would never approve of, wondering what to do with herself. While the cafeteria wasn’t too big, the scariest thing about it was the shape of the blue tables. They were circular, which meant that everyone seated around them could be included in a conversation, or a castle-defense-strategy plan like the Knights of the Round Table.