Chapter Text
Erica glances at her watch again. It's purple and plastic, but it looks almost like a grown-up watch, with a dial and hands and everything. It still takes a minute to work out in her head: when the little hand is on the 12 and the big hand is on the 5, it means... it means lunch is almost over.
She looks at the contents of her lunchbox: the turkey sandwich she was too excited to eat, the bunch of grapes she's been nibbling on. But no cookie or fruit snacks or anything, because Mom is bringing the cupcakes. One for everyone in the class -- Erica had stood by the table that morning and counted them all in the boxes, just to make sure there were enough. They were vanilla, not chocolate, which is Erica's favorite, and the grocery store hadn't had purple icing, her mom said, only pink, but there were 24, enough for all her classmates and Ms. Covington and one extra, just in case.
Erica swings her feet harder under her chair and squirms. She won't look at her watch again. She won't. Mom will be here any second, and Ms. Covington is nice, she'll let them stay just a few more minutes in the cafeteria so everyone can finish their cupcakes and sing "Happy Birthday" to her. Even the mean ones will sing, because they get cupcakes too and everyone loves cupcakes.
Finally, she breaks down and looks at her watch. The big hand is moving past the 6 now, which means... "I'm sorry, Erica," Ms. Covington says, crouching down next to her. "I waited a few extra minutes, but we need to get back to the classroom now. We can still sing 'Happy Birthday' if you want."
Erica shakes her head, biting hard on her lip so she won't cry. It's no good without the cupcakes.
She zips her lunchbox shut, suddenly realizing how hungry she is since she didn't eat the sandwich. Maybe she'll have time to eat it before she gets on the bus, even though that's not until the little hand is on the 3.
When she gets out of her seat, she nearly runs into a boy in front of her. He's got short hair and big brown eyes and he's holding something out to her. It's a Ding-Dong, a little smushed so that some of the filling is coming out, but still in its clear plastic wrapper.
The boy blushes. "I already ate the first one, sorry. But it was more smushed anyway. Happy birthday."
She peers at him suspiciously. One time somebody gave her an Oreo that had been opened up and a dead fly stuck between the cream and the cookie, which she couldn't see until she bit into it. Everyone in the class laughed at her for the rest of the week.
But most everyone else has filed out of the cafeteria, and Erica remembers overhearing that this boy's mom had been too sick to bring anything on his birthday. Erica hopes she's better by now.
The boy -- he has a funny name, she never remembers it -- starts to pull his hand back, but she reaches out and snatches the Ding-Dong. "Um, thanks," she says.
He nods and walks off in the direction of the rest of the class. Erica stuffs the Ding-Dong in her pocket and follows him.
She waits forever and ever through math worksheets until the little hand is on the 1 and raises her hand to ask Ms. Covington if she can go to the bathroom. Ms. Covington looks at her a little sadly and gives her a hall pass.
Once she's in the bathroom -- in the big stall -- she pulls the Ding-Dong out of her pocket and eats it quickly. It tastes really good, even if it's almost flat by now. The filling gets all over her fingers and she has to check the mirror to make sure her mouth isn't covered in chocolate, but her stomach has stopped rumbling.
She's thinking about the boy with the big brown eyes when she remembers: Stiles, his name is Stiles.