“I thought the boy scouts were supposed to be better than the girl scouts at that kind of stuff.”
I picked up another piece of Salisbury with my fork. “So did I.”
.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ah, lunchtime.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that who we are is inextricably linked with the company we keep whilst eating lunch. This is especially true in school cafeterias.

I found Bobby Singh easily; he was at the center of a gaggle of girls, seeming to enjoy himself well enough. Mike Thatcher was easy to spot with his being tall and his hair being light blond almost to the point of albinism. There was a spot next to him, but only one spot. This normally wouldn’t have been a problem except I came into the cafeteria with Rebecca, who despite being, if not the most attractive, the most well put together girl in the school, was apparently a social pariah. I could sit beside Mike and abandon my new friend, or I could sit with my new friend, which might make Mike feel snubbed. Furthermore, I did not know the degree to which Rebecca was a pariah. I had a friend or two I could sit with despite being not so popular, maybe she did as well, and maybe I would actually be cramping her style. I could ask her where she was sitting, but then asking that question would imply I wanted to sit with her, which would put undo pressure on her. And while I did want to sit with her, I also kind of wanted to sit next to Mike because I hadn’t been able to talk to him all day, due to my series of adventures.
The whole business reminded me somehow of completing the square in Mr. Manley’s Pre-Calculus class. You had to sort of have an idea of what you wanted before you could rearrange things to fit. Then again in math there was really only one answer while here…
“So where do you want to sit?” Rebecca asked, effectively ending my inner debate.
There was a prime portion of cafeteria real estate recently vacated by a band of Visigoths so I motioned toward it and Rebecca and I sat down . Visigoths were my name for the motorcycle gang Goths, as opposed to the emo Goths, which I called hairflippers, or the Victorian Goths, which I called Gothics. Having three types of goth at my school made for an interesting dynamic. Goth kids weren’t made fun of as much, because there were so many of them. A few of them were in the student council. I heard a rumor that there was even a goth cheerleader, but I couldn’t confirm it because I only sort of knew one of the cheerleaders and none of the Goths, and at any rate it’s difficult to recognize a Goth when they aren’t all gothy.
“So what classes are you taking?” I asked Rebecca as I cut into my Salisbury steak.

“French and Gym,” she responded taking a sip of juice.
“Only two classes?”

“I was homeschooled before now. I don’t need to take math or history until next year. That’s why they put me in charge of the library.” She forked a few string beans and put them in her mouth delicately.
Homeschooling. That explained a few things. I went back to cutting my “steak.” There was a hard bit in it, which wasn’t cutting properly. It wasn’t a bone. I decided to cut around it and leave the petrified bit for posterity. “So what’s that like? I’d think it’d get a little lonely.”
Rebecca shook her head. “Not really. My family’s pretty active in church, and I had girl scouts and ballet.”
I swallowed a piece of meat, and nodded. “I’m in the boy scouts.”
“Boy scouts?”
Whoops. “I…uh…extreme tomboy remember?”
“Sure, but how did you get in? Your parents would have to sign you off, wouldn’t they?”
“They…uh…they were cool with it.” I should have just said I was a boy maybe, but I wasn’t strictly a boy anymore, what with my penis having been replaced with a snake, and my testicles and Adam’s apple having gone missing.
“Huh. I guess that could happen, but you probably won’t be able to stay in. I mean you could pass for a boy now but...” I must have given her a look because she changed the subject. “So what’s it like, boy scouts?”
I shrugged. “We meet every week to talk about the campouts we’re going to go on and knots and so on. Then about once a month we go on campouts.”
“You ever go to Yellowstone?”
“No.”
“Ever go white water rafting?”
“No.”
“Rock climbing?”
“No.”
“Well, what do you do then?”
“We go out to the park near here, the one that’s not a swamp. We pitch tents, try to cook something, wake up and leave, usually wet and bitten up by mosquitos.”
Rebecca looked confused. “Why would you be wet?”
“It usually rains at night and the moisture comes in through the bottom of the tent.”
“Did you forget to dig a trench or something?”

“Trench? You mean a latrine? It wasn’t pee water that was getting through.”
Rebecca made a face. “Ugh. No, I mean you dig a trench around your tent so the water goes into the trench instead of into the tent.”
“Uh…they never taught us that one.”
“I thought the boy scouts were supposed to be better than the girl scouts at that kind of stuff.”
I picked up another piece of Salisbury with my fork. “So did I.”
“Hey! You’re Ashley right?” I looked up and realized I forgot about another type of goth, one I’ve only ever seen girls pull off. The cheerful goth. Otherwise known as gothic Lolita, made famous by Abby on NCIS.I realized this because Abbey’s sister in fashion was talking to me. She had very tall black boots, black and white striped tights, a black frock and sleeves that look like they were made from panty hose, as well as the requisite black lipstick and nail polish. Really, she was a few marks around the eyes and a vow of silence away from being a mime.

I nodded. “That’s my name, yeah.” I realized afterward that maybe I should have used my male voice, but it was too late, and it might not have been that great an idea anyway.
“I’m Rita!” She put her tray down quickly and made to shake my hand. I took her up on the offer hesitantly, because I didn’t know what this was about. Oddly it was a good shake. Usually I feel like my hand’s too big when I shake a girl’s hand. Then I looked at my hand.
Shit.
Rita released my hand and sat down next to Rebecca. I introduced Rebecca to her, since I seemed the polite thing to do.
“Oh, we know each other already,” Rita said, “We go to the same church.”
“I was just telling Ashley about girl scouts,” Rebecca said.
“Yeah, it’s a lot more fun than you’d think. This weekend we’re going out on the swamp boat to look at the alligators.”
“You mean those boats with the big fan in the back?” I’d always wanted to go on one of those.
“Yeah, you want to come?”
“Sure!” I said with out thinking. Whoops. “I mean, if I can.”
“Yeah, we’re going to meet at the church tomorrow morning before we head out. If you show up, you can join us.”
“Doesn’t it cost money?”
Rebecca put a hand on my shoulder. “Ashley, that’s what the cookies are for.”
This explained much. With boy scouts everything was paid out of pocket with dues. We kind of had a fundraiser but that was for some charity. Don’t remember what it was. I had to sell poppies to people. I think the poppies had something written on them. Something like “We will never forget.” So yeah, the girl scouts get to sell things that people actually want, like cookies, while the boy scouts have to hock frilly little plastic flowers. Something’s wrong with that picture.
I shook my head free of my internal rant and addressed Rita.“No offence, but why are you being so friendly?”
Rita laughed. “I just had to say hello to you at least. I saw you making fun of the cheerleaders, and then Rebecca told me how you saved her in the bathroom.”
“I was just ah…” I didn’t really know how to explain anything so I just let it trail off.
“I swear, when I saw you in the bleachers doing your mock routine I nearly dropped my breasts. I mean pom poms.”
I felt heat rise to my cheeks. Apparently Rita was the mythical Gothic cheerleader. It no longer seemed so strange a concept.
“I still don’t understand why you’re a cheerleader if you hate them so much,” Rebbeca wondered.
“I don’t hate them, I just think they take themselves too seriously. Being a cheerleader is fun. It shouldn’t be serious.” Rita turned to me again. “Siobhan really hates you by the way. If she does anything, don’t let it get to you. I think she secretly despises cheerleading, she just does it because her parents expect her to.”
“Yeah, she really wants to be a basketball player,” I said before I could stop myself.
“How did you know that?”
I bit my lip. “I saw a note Shaquonda left for her.”
Rita nodded. “She and Shaquonda are best friends. Shaquonda’s a bit weird though, if you ask me.”
“That’s a bit like the pot calling the kettle black, isn’t it?” Rebecca pointed out.
Rita laughed. “Fair enough. But having a shrunken head key chain and sacrificing a rabbit before every game is weird on a different level.”
“Poor rabbits,” said Rebecca.
“Poor guy with the shrunken head!” I noted.