Free The Thing About Leftovers by C.C. Payne

year, unlike me, everybody knew who he was because of Buffy Lawson’s crush on him.
    â€œYou’re Fizzy,” Zach said.
    â€œYep, I know that, too,” I said.
    Zach chuckled.
    I glanced over at him. Buffy was right to like him: Zach was cute with his messy blond hair, icy-blue eyes, and lopsided grin.
    â€œYou sure do walk to school early,” Zach commented.
    â€œI can’t be late,” I said.
Again,
I thought.
    Zach nodded and we walked the rest of the block in silence.
    Again, he held the door open for me at school, and again, I said, “Thank you,” as I passed through it.
    Zach hurried into the building behind me. “Come with me,” he said. “This way.”
    I looked up at the clock in the hallway.
    â€œWe’ve got time. C’mon,” Zach insisted.
    I followed him into the cafeteria, where some kids arrived early and ate breakfast, up the center aisle, and to the counter.
    â€œGood morning, Mrs. Hunt. You sure do look nice today—I think you’re the only woman I know who can really pull off a hairnet,” Zach told the lunch lady.
    Mrs. Hunt smiled at him.
    â€œThis is my friend Fizzy,” Zach told her.
    â€œHello, Fizzy,” Mrs. Hunt said.
    â€œHi, Mrs. Hunt. It’s nice to meet you,” I said.
    Mrs. Hunt held up her index finger as in,
Just a minute
, and disappeared into the back.
    I looked at Zach.
    â€œJust wait,” he whispered.
    Mrs. Hunt returned with two steaming hot chocolates topped with mini-marshmallows in Styrofoam cups and handed them to Zach. “Y’all go on now. Hot chocolate’s supposed to be for faculty only.”
    â€œThanks,” Zach said.
    Mrs. Hunt smiled, nodded, and said again, “Y’all go on now.”
    â€œWow,” I said to Zach as soon as we were out of earshot.
    He grinned his lopsided grin. “Imagine what I could do in cool clothes.”
    â€œCool clothes?” I repeated.
    â€œYeah . . . like black leather. I probably wouldn’t even have to talk if I was wearing black leather—because my clothes would tell everybody how cool I am.”
    I laughed. “If that’s true, then I need some black leather, too—no one around here seems to recognize my coolness.”
    â€œI do,” Zach said.
    I smiled, certain that was because of my new walker status.
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    Lush Valley has more of everything, so naturally Lush Valley Middle School has more of everything, too. Where my old school just served lunch, LVMS serves breakfast
and
lunch, and where my old school had only one picture day per year, LVMS has
two
picture days: one in September and one in January. But I’d stopped paying attention to the announcements about picture day at school years ago. What difference does it make? No outfit is going to hide my freckles.
    But nobody else felt that way, apparently. So today everyone looked very . . . matchy-matchy for pictures. Even Zach Mabry in his khakis and loafers. Even Miyoko, who wore a sweater set with a plaid skirt, matching plaid headband, and shoes with little plaid bows on the toes. It was the shoes that were a problem.
    When Miyoko reported to gym class, Coach Bryant took one look at her shoes, shook his head, and said, “If that’s all you’ve got, you won’t be able to play kickball with us today, Meryoko.”
    Does he ever get anybody’s name right?
I wondered.
    Miyoko turned and looked at me with pleading eyes, as if she hoped I could yank gym shoes out from under some other girl’s feet—like her ruby marble.
    â€œI forgot my gym shoes, too,” I said to Coach Bryant.
    Coach Bryant didn’t look surprised. “Fissy, how is it that you always remember your coat and your book, but never your gym shoes?”
    I didn’t exactly have an answer handy.
    Coach Bryant opened his mouth to say something more—probably about the reports Miyoko and I owed