Making Friends

The sandwich was mocking her.

Leah stared at the bread, lost in thought, hoping no one would approach her.

She had been sitting alone for twenty minutes, watching the other children chatter away. Their laughter and animated conversations sliced through the air like shards of sound, but Leah remained in her cocoon of solitude, invisible among the sea of faces.

Days like this, when she felt the sting of loneliness the most, were the hardest to endure.

As Leah trudged through her thoughts, a voice unexpectedly broke the silence that enveloped her.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Leah's gaze lifted from her sandwich to meet the curious eyes of Isadora, whom she vaguely recognized from class.

Was this a prank? A cruel joke orchestrated by her classmates? Or did Isadora genuinely want to sit with her?

After a moment of hesitation, Leah managed to find her voice. “Uh, sure. Yep. I mean, go ahead.”

As Isadora gracefully settled into the seat beside Leah, the awkward silence between them loomed over the table, threatening to smother them with it. Leah fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, her mind racing to find something to say that wouldn't make her sound like a bumbling fool.

Isadora, seemingly unperturbed by the lack of conversation, opened her lunchbox and cheerfully exclaimed, “I packed my favorite sandwich today! It's grilled cheese. What did you bring?”

“Oh, um, just a turkey sandwich. Nothing special.”

To her surprise, Isadora's face lit up. “I love turkey sandwiches! My mom makes them sometimes. They’re great! Don’t get enough attention.” She paused to take a big bite of her sandwich. Then resumed.

Her words were punctuated with little crumbs and pieces of food, and her cheeks were puffy as she struggled to chew and speak. It was both hilarious and endearing.

Something inside Leah began to unravel, the tension in her body loosening its grip on her, and she found herself smiling despite her earlier anxiety.

Isadora swallowed the mouthful and continued.

“Everyone seems so weird about their lunch. For example, I know a girl who only eats a specific type of granola bar or the same yogurt every day. And then there's the kids who just go nuts. Like they've never eaten anything in their lives.”

Leah bobbed her head up and down, still not wanting to say much.

After a few seconds, she ventured a response.

“Well, everyone likes different things, I guess.”

“Yes, exactly. Exactly. Preferences. Hm.”

Isadora took another bite, apparently deep in thought.

After a while, Isadora suddenly jumped up.

“I have an idea!”

“What?"

“You come eat lunch with me tomorrow. You don't have to say much, but it would be nice to have a friend. Besides, all the boys are scared of me because they think I'm gonna steal their souls.”

Leah laughed. “You have a soul?”

“Oh, hush. I'm serious. Come, have some fun. You can sit by me. The others won't care.”

“Okay, sure. Why not?" Leah went back to gazing at her sandwich.

“You seem pretty entranced by your lunch.”

Leah glanced up at Isadora, whose head was cocked to the side.

"It's the most interesting thing here."

Isadora shook her head and rolled her eyes.

A hint of a smile tugged at Leah's lips. “Sorry, it was calling out to me. Asking, ‘Are you just gonna stare at me forever, or are you actually going to eat me?’ And the truth is,” she gestured emphatically, “I can't quite decide. Sandwiches are serious business!”

Isadora giggled, her curls bouncing as she threw her head back in delight.

“Maybe a short verse about how delicious your sandwich is would persuade it. Your sandwich really does look good. Especially with those sliced pickles. Would it give you some if I asked nicely?”

“Depends on the poetry, honestly. Watch.”

Leah cleared her throat dramatically and leaned forward. Her slender fingers interlocked in a prayerful pose.

“O dear sandwich, how beautiful you are, with your charming pickles. You have tasty bread, delicious crisp lettuce, and juicy turkey meat, which will soothe my hunger should I consume you.

With a wide flourish and a dramatic pause, her impromptu performance ended.

The girls fell silent before bursting into giggles. Their other classmates occasionally glanced in their direction, their expressions a mixture of surprise and annoyance.

Suddenly self-conscious, Leah tugged on the tip of her ponytail. What was she doing? Acting all foolish and boisterous, making a scene, and now she had everyone staring at her, thinking what a buffoon…

Leah ducked her head, her face warm with embarrassment. She had made a spectacle of herself.

Again.

Isadora didn't seem to notice Leah's discomfort. Her eyes shone with glee. “I can see why everyone thinks you're weird.”

"Thanks," Leah mumbled, trying not to let her humiliation show.

Isadora shrugged. “But I kind of like that.”

Leah looked up, confused.  She smiled sheepishly.

Wait.

Had Isadora been put off or weirded out and quit trying to converse with her? Even more, had she found her antics foolish or absurd?

No.

No way.

Isadora wasn't laughing at her. She had liked the poem, right?

A small voice in the back of Leah's mind piped up.

It was a joke.

Leah shook her head. No, that wasn't true. Maybe it wasn't a joke. Maybe Isadora was just trying to be nice.

Leah glanced at her companion, who was happily munching away on her sandwich. Isadora met her eyes, then flashed her a toothy grin.

Butterflies fluttered in her chest.

The pair spent the rest of lunch swapping puns and stories and snacking while their classmates gawked, whispers surrounding the unlikely friends.

Once lunchtime ended, they parted ways with a cheerful "Bye, friend!" and a beaming, genuine smile.

When the school bell rang, signaling the end of the day, Leah gathered her things and went to the front of the school building for pickup. As Leah stepped out of the school, she spotted her family's white van parked at the curb, its engine idling softly. She quickened her pace and soon joined her parents and siblings in the car.

With her heart as light and free as a bird, the little girl settled in her booster seat and fastened her safety belt.