I conjugate the present tense of puer

from I stink (Je pue) to

They stink (Ils/elles puent).

The lunch bell rings.

Thanks to Chef Brigitte at Kiser Café,

gourmet food is on the menu every day,

as in artichoke pizza on wheat flatbread or

veggie burger with Moroccan cilantro spread.

Chef? Oh, yes. A chef.

A cafeteria worker simply won’t do,

nor will the word cafeteria.

Mais non!

Our private school’s too classy,

uses français

to make everything from aah to zed sound good.

But let’s call it what it is.

School lunch is for bullies

to dine on their prey.

Bon appétit.

HUNGRY GAMES

I stare down the hallway,

Katnissing in the Hungry Games,

wanting nothing more than to get out alive.

I spot muttations—

part piranha with their gnashing teeth,

part wolverine with their claws,

and part hyena with their howling laughter

—posing as students.

I’m hungry for escape.

They’re hungry for laughs.

And there’s no way out but through the arena.

“Get back! Make room! Thar she blows!”

A guy sucks in his stomach

and slams back against the hallway wall

as if my blubber takes up all the room.

Viv and I call him

Enemy Number 3,

ranking behind

Enemy Number 1, Marissa,

and Enemy Number 2, Kortnee.

The sea of students parts

as everyone crashes left or right

to hug the hallways.

It happens every day.

Every day since first grade.

Ils puent.

LIFESAVING LIBRARIANS

The library is my safe harbor since

I dare not go into the cafeteria alone,

a whale surrounded by starving sharks.

It was hard enough when

Viv and I faced them together.

“How’d your summer reading go, El?”

Mrs. Pochon asks.

I tell the librarian about my new favorite

novels in free verse.

“Imagine that, eh?”

Her Canadian accent is strong.

“Poetry at the top of your list.”

She smiles as she scans a book,

its spine snapping and plastic jacket crackling.

I breathe in the smell,

hungry to read the words.

“You’ll like this one,” she says.

“I’ve been looking forward to seeing you

so you could check it out.”

She’s the first person to smile at me today.

The first to make me feel wanted.

Understood.

I blink back tears.

It’s unknown how many students’ lives

librarians have saved

by welcoming loners at lunch.

SMOWNING

Wind chimes dangling from the door

bang and clang,

announcing my arrival at

the dollhouse-sized office with

its living room turned waiting room and

sunroom turned therapy room, which

is all so fitting for

my life turned nightmare.

Dishes rattle in a sink somewhere and

a voice calls out,

“Make yourself comfortable

in my office, Ellie.

Join you in a minute.”

“That’s Dr. Wood,” Dad says,

taking off his cowboy hat

and sitting down in the waiting room.

You can take the man out of the ranch,

but you can’t take the ranch out of the man.