Free Lessons I Never Learned at Meadowbrook Academy by Liz Maccie Page B

she smelled like, Nurse Brown gently said, “Do me a favor, would you, Roberta? Keep an eye on Mervin. He’s…sensitive.”
    â€œHe’s my best friend. We’ve known each other for, like, ever.” I knew she knew I was lying, but I didn’t care.
    â€œWell, good. He’s lucky to have you then. It’s easier out there when we have friends. Sometimes they’re even more understanding than family.” She chuckled a little, and I wondered if she had a mother that drove her crazy as well.
    I thanked Nurse Brown again and left her with the promise of stopping by to say “hi” even when I wasn’t sick.
    And then a very curious thing happened.
    On my way to lunch, I passed by Twiggy’s office. Her door was closed, but through her little window, I could see her and Ms. Dalton talking. Twiggy was standing, and Ms. Dalton was leaning up against the silver metal desk. Ms. Dalton started laughing at something Twiggy said and then she stood up, leaned into Twiggy, and quickly kissed her mouth. Oh. My. God…it was Ms. Dalton that couldn’t bear to live without Twiggy!
    It was clear I had just seen something I was not supposed to see. But an instant warmness, like drinking a mug of hot chocolate, filled my chest and something inside me felt happy for them. Like they both had these gigantic boxes just filled with little stuffed bears holding purple signs about love. I had never been in love before, but in my imagination, there was something about love that just felt fair.
    For everyone.

Lunch
11:10 a.m.
    Meadowbrook’s cafeteria was called the “Dining Hall.” It looked very fancy: tablecloths on the tables, marble on the floors, and two huge crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. There was a salad bar in front of a real fireplace, and above its mantle hung a gigantic oil painting of the honorable headmaster, Dr. Murphy.
    In this hideous picture, Murphy was standing in front of a bunch of trees, wearing a grey cable-knit sweater under a blazer and a pair of tweed pants. His left hand was loosely placed in his pants pocket, his right hand rested upon his hip, and his face was slightly turned up, gazing at a small blackbird in the distance.
    Soft classical music played through tiny speakers hanging on each corner of the ceiling. Even though it looked nice, there was still this weird smell of mass-produced food in the air. The whole thing reminded me of the cafeteria at the nursing home where my parents had placed Nonno when he had gotten really sick. I was only five, but I remember visiting him one Thanksgiving, and the cafeteria smelled like Fritos and tuna fish. I don’t care how many chandeliers hung from the ceiling; Meadowbrook’s “Dining Hall” was still just a cafeteria to me.
    Annie and Mervin were sitting side by side at a small, square table near the back. I guess Mervin spotted me first because he started calling out my name and waving me over. I was so relieved that I actually had a table to sit at. Being one of those kids that has no friends makes finding a place to sit at lunchtime an absolute nightmare.
    I quickly walked over to them.
    Annie smiled, clearly in a better mood from earlier. “I know it’s hard to believe, but we happen to have an empty seat today.” She pointed to the seat across from her, which I immediately sat in.
    Mervin started to laugh. “Everyday there’s an empty seat. I don’t know if you picked up on this yet, Roberta, but Annie and I don’t have much besides each other.”
    â€œHey, speak for yourself. I intend on winning homecoming queen.” Annie waved like she was Miss America greeting her public.
    â€œYeah, and I’m most popular,” Mervin said sarcastically.
    The table was littered with grey fiberglass trays loaded with all kinds of bizarre-looking food. I was happy to see that normal color had returned to Mervin’s face. When I’d last seen him, he