“You know what I mean.”
“No.”
“Tradition.”
Nyla laughed once.
“Is this still about the table?”
“You got senior lunch moved.”
“I found that out yesterday.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Yes.”
Sloane stepped closer.
“You’re always innocent.”
Nyla’s expression changed.
“I didn’t say innocent.”
“I said uninvolved.”
Sloane shook her head.
“Same performance.”
Nyla looked toward the classroom door.
“I have class.”
“Of course you’re leaving.”
Nyla stopped.
She had heard that before.
From Cassie.
From Sloane.
Walking away had somehow become evidence of cowardice and arrogance at the same time.
She turned back.
“What do you want?”
Sloane seemed almost surprised.
“I want you to admit you knew exactly what you were doing.”
“When?”
“All year.”
Nyla considered the question.
“I knew exactly what I was doing when I told a freshman he didn’t have to move because you wanted shade.”
Sloane’s face hardened.
“That’s it.”
“That’s literally it.”
“You embarrassed me.”
“I disagreed with you.”
“In front of everyone.”
Nyla sighed.
“You keep describing witnesses like they’re something I did to you.”
Then she entered class.
That sentence bothered Sloane for weeks.
Spring arrived.
Nyla accepted an offer from San Diego State University and planned to study kinesiology. She was relieved to finally know what August would look like.
Monica bought an SDSU sweatshirt before Nyla even submitted the enrollment deposit.
Jordan immediately stole it.
For a while, Fairmont Ridge became fun.
Prom announcements went up.
Serena chose a dress.
Seniors argued about graduation songs.
Even Sloane seemed busy enough to leave Nyla alone.
Then the sycamore table became a joke again.
A group of juniors started calling it “the democracy table.” Someone taped a tiny paper sign beneath the bench that read NO MONARCHS.
Nyla did not make it.
She barely noticed.
Sloane found it during lunch.
Students laughed.
The old anger returned all at once.
She ripped the paper down.
Cassie said, “You know who started all this.”
Sloane looked across the courtyard.
Nyla was eating with Serena.
That afternoon, Sloane sent Nyla a message.
You happy?
Nyla replied:
About what?
No answer.
The following week, Sloane sat at the table with her friends before Nyla arrived. Nyla chose another seat without caring. The next day, Sloane did the same.
Serena noticed.
“She’s guarding it.”
Nyla looked over.
“She can have it.”
“Really?”
“It is still a table.”
That answer should have ended the game.
Instead, Sloane needed Nyla to care.
Without that, months of anger started looking one-sided.
By May, graduation was less than five weeks away.
Principal Bell held a senior meeting reminding students that disciplinary incidents could affect end-of-year activities. Nyla barely listened because she was studying anatomy vocabulary under the desk.
Sloane listened.
Then ignored the warning twelve days later.
The Thursday started normally.
Nyla completed a government presentation first period, received an eighty-seven on a calculus quiz, and texted Monica that she needed more shampoo on the way home. Serena left campus during lunch for a dentist appointment.
Nyla considered eating in the library.
The weather was perfect.
She went outside instead.
The sycamore table was empty.
Nyla almost laughed.
After an entire school year of conflict, it was simply sitting there in the shade.
She sat down.
Her lunch was minimal because she had eaten during break.
Water.
An apple.
A yellow bag of chips she bought from a vending machine.
Nyla opened the bag and started eating.
Students filled the surrounding tables.
She was halfway through when Cassie noticed her.
Cassie was walking with Sloane and Megan.
She nodded toward the tree.
Sloane looked.
Then stopped.
Megan later said she told Sloane to ignore it.
Cassie said nothing.
Sloane crossed the courtyard.
Her cream cardigan moved lightly in the breeze.
Nyla did not notice until she was standing behind the table.
Sloane reached down.
Took the chip bag.
Lifted it away.
Nyla looked up.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Sloane smiled.
“Seriously?” Nyla asked.
“What?”
“My chips.”
Sloane looked inside the bag.
“Maybe I wanted some.”
“Then ask.”
Sloane shook the bag.
“Would you say yes?”
“Probably.”
That answer annoyed her.
Students nearby began watching.
Nyla extended one hand.
“Give them back.”
Sloane pulled the bag farther away.
“You really love taking what belongs to seniors.”
Nyla stared at her.
There it was.
She slowly lowered her hand.
“The table?”
Sloane smiled.
“Everything.”
Nyla stood.
Not aggressively.
She simply no longer liked looking upward while someone stood over her.
“Give me the bag.”
Sloane stepped closer.
“You think because Bell changed a rule, you won something?”
“No.”
“Everyone thinks you did.”
“Everyone needs hobbies.”
A few people laughed.
Sloane heard.
Nyla saw the same change she had seen months earlier.
Embarrassment becoming anger.
“Stop trying to be funny.”
“I want my chips.”