The Volunteer

"Stop! I hate vanilla," groaned Regan. Selina glanced at her nervously.

The high school kid behind the counter paused, metal scoop halfway to her plate. "Uh... okay, then. Do you want chocolate?"

Regan pouted, thinking. "Nah."

Snatching up her plate from the counter, Regan flounced off to sit with her friends, brown ponytail swinging.

Selina felt bad. The high schooler had probably signed up for some sort of service project and landed up serving lunch at a middle school cafeteria.

She hefted her book on the Ancient Romans under her arm, moving her curly dirty-blond hair out of her eyes.

There were still thirty minutes left of lunch, but the teen behind the counter would probably spend most of it in the back, washing plates. Selina did appreciate he was here, though; the usual lunch lady was always cranky and this was a welcome relief. 

By the time she realized she should probably tell him that, the high schooler had noticed she was still standing there. “Oh! Uh, do you want some ice cream?”

The poor guy. Selina had watched the line. The volunteer had had to go through Brady Kell, the monster of seventh grade (Need ways to confound teachers? Distract associates? Prank substitutes? Come to Kell’s store of infinite knowledge, located at locker 31 in the seventh-grade hallway! Five dollars a trick!); Cindy “Devil” Delfis, the jock from eighth grade who (with the help of an incident where a sixth-grader fell down two flights of stairs--she says she didn’t do it) still manages to invoke fear by the mere uttering of her name; and Harris Treston... The geek who hacked the school computers to say it was a snow day three times last year (and succeeded).

All had many methods for taking advantage of new people, like this volunteer. Selina had seen all the cards come into play in the last ten minutes--including a totally fake “whoops, I didn’t mean to splatter my ice cream on the kid next to me” by Brady and a scarily real “darn, I wish I could have some of that stuff, but my martial arts teacher says no sweets. It deducts my chances of pulverizing my enemies” from Devil Delfis (who somehow didn’t seem to realize that martial arts weren’t meant to harm anyone).

By now Selina guessed the high schooler would rather go back to Algebra than deal with more middle schoolers with serious attitude issues. 

Selina herself would rather just spend the lunch period in the library. She never talked to anyone, anyway, so what was the point? But food wasn’t allowed in the library--or anywhere outside the cafeteria, for that matter. Such a shame.

Selina glanced over at her sister’s table. Regan never acknowledged her in school. Selina always shot her looks during lunch and recess, but the fourteen-year-old steadily ignored her sister from eight till four every weekday.

Of course, Selina always made her pay for it on the weekends. Pepper in Regan’s soup, or butter on her doorknob, something like that. The sisters always laughed about it afterward, of course, but Selina did get lonely at school sometimes.

“It’s because I’m older,” Regan would say. “And more mature. I want to hang out with friends my age at school. I see you every day after school and all weekend long and all summer and all winter break--don’t you get exhausted of me, too?”

No. Not really. Because “every day after school” was just dinner, since Regan was always texting her friends and doing homework. And “all weekend long” was just meals--and sometimes not even that, since Regan had volleyball, tennis, and soccer matches constantly on Saturdays and Sundays.

Selina never said anything but, “Okay, Regan.” Because what was the point in arguing if her sister wouldn’t ever change her mind?

In any case, Selina was left to sit in the corner of the lunchroom most days. Sometimes this sixth grader, Tammie Parker, joined her and they read books in silence while they ate. But not always. 

Like today; Tammie wasn’t sitting at their usual table. Selina frowned.

“Yes,” she said finally, looking back up at the counter. “Chocolate, please.”

The high school student nodded and fumbled with the scoop. He kept casting reproachful glances at Brady Kell’s table, and Devil Delfis with her group of softball friends. When he finally had the scoop filled, ready to plop onto my plate alongside the carrots and pizza, the melting chocolate goop slid out and landed pitifully back into the bucket of ice cream.

“Bother!” he cried, wiping a mop of black hair from his forehead with a latex-gloved hand.

Selina felt a twinge of sympathy. Maybe she should remind him he only had thirty more minutes before he could leave. That’s what she would have wanted to be said to her. Steeling herself to talking openly to a total stranger, Selina opened her mouth--

In his hurry, the high schooler reached down without looking. To Selina’s horror, he scooped from the vanilla bucket instead of chocolate. 

Selina’s lips clamped shut 

Like her sister, she hated vanilla. 

Unlike her sister, she never wasted any food. Selina would eat everything on her plate no matter what it was--she knew there were unfortunate people not even getting a meal today. And so she would eat her lunch.

Even if it was vanilla ice cream.

She shuddered.

The poor student reached up and unwittingly plopped the horrible scoop onto her plate. Selina gritted her teeth, already tasting it melt on her tongue and slither down her throat. She could already feel the putrid aftertaste that would accompany her for the whole rest of the day--or at least until she managed to get to a toothbrush.

“Anything else?” said the high schooler wearily.

Selina looked at him, biting her lip, and shook her head. 

“All right.” He handed her the plate, then looked past her. She saw his face brighten when he saw she was the last one in line. Selina almost smiled too, suddenly happy for the volunteer lunch server.

She hefted the plate, balancing it with her milk carton and book.

She should say it.

Now.

Now or never.

Say it!

Too late.

The high schooler moved off into the back behind the counter, stripping off his latex gloves.

“Thank you,” whispered Selina, moving off to sit in her corner, as usual. She’d spend the rest of that lunch placidly eating her pizza and reading about Remus and Romulus, Trojans, Greeks, and Romans, the Caesars, the legions, the battles, and everything in between. It almost distracted her from the food.

But not quite.

She still hated vanilla ice cream.