Free The Ten Best Days of My Life by Adena Halpern

Penelope in the gracious style we have taught our fourth-grade students.”
    â€œHello, Penelope,” the class, except me, said in unison.
    â€œHello, class,” she smiled back with her oversized gums peering out of her mouth. To be blunt, Pen was a gene malfunction. There was not an attractive thing about her. Thing was, though, she didn’t even seem to be upset by the outburst. While this should have been my first tip that this was my kind of gal, Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret was getting really good and I was too into it to take note of anything else.
    Mrs. Hoffman led Pen to the back of the room (no doubt because she would have towered over whoever was in back of her, leaving them unable to see the blackboard). I forgot about her. She was just another kid.
    Then came lunch.
    Now, as I said, I was a skinny kid. I was also the shortest, scrawniest kid, barely topping three foot nine. The elders were always worried that I wasn’t eating enough (though no one had to worry once I hit puberty).
    I was sitting in the lunchroom with my four-square lunch set on top of the table in front of me. I remember being really hungry that day and hoping that lunch would be a meat loaf sandwich. As I opened the box, I noticed first that my four baggies were bunched up. This was odd because whenever my mother or grandmother packed my lunch, the baggies were always nicely wrapped tightly around their contents.
    As I looked into the box, there was no meat loaf sandwich at all. There was no honey crisp apple (this was late fall when, as I’m sure you know, honey crisp apples are at their peak). There was no side of pasta salad or corn or Snyder’s pretzels, my fave. Someone had eaten my lunch!
    I got up out of my seat and directed myself to where I thought the nearest supervisor would be sitting. Oddly, there was none to be seen. Where were the teachers? The lunch ladies? Where the heck was the grown-up world?
    I looked around the room. No one was looking at me, though the room was very quiet. I noticed Seth Rosso, that ass, crack a smile at his twin brother, Tom. I noticed Kerry Collins and Olivia Wilson snickering at each other.
    I walked out of the lunchroom and down the hallway to the teacher’s lounge to find an adult to hear my grievance. A sign was on the door: “Teachers Meeting,” it said. “For emergencies, please see Vice Principal Berg.”
    Oh, my parents were going to hear about this. Leaving the children without any supervision, even if it was for a few minutes, was not only irresponsible but also negligent and most likely cause for a lawsuit.
    I walked back into the lunchroom, ready to face that evil-doing progeniture. I could handle this on my own. They didn’t scare me.
    As I entered the lunchroom, fists clenched and ready to blow, all the kids were ganged up in front of the door.
    All of a sudden I was trapped in a ten-minute version of Lord of the Flies .
    â€œWho ate my lunch?” I shouted out to the gang in front of me. I wasn’t afraid of them. They weren’t about to scare me.
    â€œWhat’s the matter?” Dana Stanbury asked. “No grown-ups here to fight your battle?”
    The class started laughing.
    â€œWho ate my lunch?” I repeated. To tell you the truth, I was beginning to feel a little intimidated. It was like fifteen kids against me.
    â€œIt was just a smelly meat loaf sandwich,” Greg Rice cracked as he patted his stomach. “I think I’ve got food poisoning from it. I should have known, you’re such a bitch that your parents are trying to kill you, too, with week-old meat.”
    On the contrary, the meat loaf was not a leftover; my mother made it specifically for my lunch. Remember, I was a miracle child. Miracle children do not eat leftovers.
    â€œShe’s poison, just like the meat loaf,” Olivia Wilson added.
    â€œShe needs to be thrown in the garbage,” Kerry Collins