Chaz and Leeza flag me from a different table than usual. It’s the only round one in the cafeteria, and it’s the opposite end of our usual seats. Worse, it’s close to Mrs. Buckman, who is Lunch Monitor, too (yay for a skill set!), and I don’t want her hearing anything too juicy. Why did they have to move? I know I’ve only been here five days, but I like a routine, especially one that cements my in-group status. A glance back at “our” table tells the whole story. Gordo, Vin Weasel, Red, and a few more of their buddies have taken it over. It’s not accidental. As soon as I pass by with my tray, Vin Weasel loudly says to Gordo, “You’re right, this new table is better. Guess it’s ours now.” I’m a few steps away by the time Gordo says something in Spanish, and I am this close to turning around and letting him wear my lunch, but I hear a splash and a ripple of laughter.

Of course, it’s Ernie. He’s trying to wipe up chocolate milk that is spreading right in the middle of the path and because he is flustered, he’s decided to use his sweatshirt instead of running for a paper towel. Taking off his sweatshirt reveals that he is wearing the world’s most beat-up T-shirt underneath, once probably forest green and now faded to bad AstroTurf. In my day, a hundred phones would surround him, snapping or streaming his embarrassment. For the second time, I’m glad it’s the ’80s.

It’s Chaz and Leeza who get to him first, pressing their napkins into the brown slick, and then Ma Elena arrives with an entire roll of paper towels. I realize I am just standing there watching, not helping, so I drop my tray on the nearest table and join them, ineffectually patting at the spill with a lunch napkin. Leeza frowns at me, and I feel seen, not in a good way.

Why didn’t I help sooner?

Leeza’s frown tips over into a full-on scowl as Mrs. Buckman arrives on the scene with a mop and shushes us away. When the mess is cleaned up, I join my squad at the table, complimented by Ernie, who gushes about how nice it was to have help. My day brightens a little when Chaz catches my eye and flickers the quickest wink. When Ma Elena slides in next to me, I feel even better: aside from Ms. Silverthorn, every person I like in this timeline is in one place. There’s no excuse for me to be such a douche. Sunshine it is.

Almost immediately, permission is granted for my inner kraken to return: Gordo comes over.

Ignoring the rest of us, he leans over Ma Elena. “We saved you a seat.”

“Did you? 'Cause it looks like a testosterone party.”

“Ha ha. Come on.”