Food Fight, page 22
Lauren runs her hands through her hair and takes in a huge gulp of air. “Hold on a second.” She turns to Darren. “Now it all makes sense. You did this. You set him up. You’ve been trying to make Ben look bad all along. And I actually fell for it.”
“So that’s your stupid game, dude?” I ask Darren, glad to drop another question.
Lauren answers for him. “Yup, Darren was all Ben’s a trouble-maker and Ben’s a freak and Ben’s got anger management issues and….”
“Thanks, I’ve got the picture,” I say.
Lauren stops talking for a second, but she’s lost no momentum. She takes another deep breath and starts again, faster than I’ve ever heard her—like a blender running at full speed. “I think we should tell a teacher. Or Mr. Conrad. Or someone.”
She turns to Darren. “You can’t get away with this.”
Then she tugs on my sleeve. “Come on, let’s go.”
But I don’t move. I can hear my own heartbeat. It feels like the rest of the world has floated away and we’re the only six people left in the pavilion.
Lauren is unusually silent.
Josh’s face is blank.
Alex is studying the floor.
Nick glares at Darren, shaking his head with a movement so slight that it takes me a second to recognize it as a warning sign. Since Nick is such a laid-back guy, I’ve only witnessed it once or twice in my entire life. Slow, rhythmic head-shaking is what he does before he goes ballistic.
“You’re such a scumbag,” he says, taking a step closer to Darren. “We should have let Ben beat the crap out of you last night.”
Nick winds up to throw a punch, but I grab his arm before he can do any damage. A part of me would love to let go and watch this play out, but the last thing I need right now is more attention from adults.
Josh has been jolted out of his trance. “Seriously,” he says, glaring at Darren. “It’s so messed up—the stuff you’ve been doing.” His shoulders slump as if his disappointment in Darren is literally weighing him down.
Darren crosses his arms tight over his chest, scowling at me. “You can’t prove anything.”
“I think I already have,” I say.
“So what are you gonna do, fight me?” His voice is a little jittery.
“No, that would be too easy.” I laugh.
Josh and Nick and Alex laugh a little too, but their laughs are nervous.
“I’ll get Mr. Conrad,” Lauren offers again.
“Nope. We don’t need him.” My voice is cool, and my mind is as clear as a cloudless summer morning. I have Darren right where I want him.
I wait for a long, drawn-out moment before I go on. I hope it feels like an eternity. “This stuff between us,” I say calmly. “Whatever you want to call it—this stupid battle we have going on—it ends right here, right now.”
Darren squirms. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You know exactly what I mean. It means you need to stay in your lane. And I’ll stay in mine.” I shrug like I don’t care either way. “Take the blame for the candy. Or back off. Your choice.”
He glances around, looking at Josh and Nick and Alex and Lauren like he’d forgotten they were even here. I’d bet all the McNuggets in the world it’s because he’s just realized I have four witnesses to hold him to his word.
Nodding, he holds out his hand and we shake on it. I hang on a second longer than I need to, until he looks up and meets my gaze. After I let go, he mutters something and scurries away like a rat.
“Well played,” Nick says, patting me on the back. “That kid’s a real—”
“I know,” I cut him off before he can say it. I’m already staying in my own lane.
Josh and Alex each high-five me.
A surge of relief blankets my body like bathwater, and before I can even consider what life without Darren on my back will be like, Lauren’s small hand is holding mine.
“I’m sorry for believing all those terrible things about you,” she says apologetically.
The breakfast line has moved on without us, and now we’re last in line. Nick puts a plate in my free hand and gives me a congratulatory grin. Alex hasn’t said anything, but whenever I glance his way, he nods in what I take as a sign of approval. I’m feeling so good about what I pulled off with Darren that it takes a second before I realize I’m about to go through the dreaded Abner Farms breakfast line again. Memories of yesterday’s disaster begin to bubble up, and I remember how I had to save my flapjacks from the threat of rubbery eggs and grits.
And even though I made a public service announcement last night about my eating habits, I’m not any more confident about displaying them in front of my entire class. I already scarfed down two bagels in Nurse Parker’s office, but I decide to test my courage at the next level and stand up for myself.
The first server waves a ladle overflowing with scrambled eggs in my direction.
“No thanks,” I say, smiling.
She scowls at me. “Everybody gets served the same.”
I pull my plate tight to my chest. “No thanks,” I say again.
I repeat my move with the grits lady and the bacon lady, waiting for something to happen. But nobody says anything or challenges me. And as far as I can tell, the world continues to spin on its axis.
When I get to the pancake lady, I hold my plate out, knowing its emptiness won’t persuade her to give me extras. My two little flapjacks are a small island of bliss on the otherwise-empty plate. I smile at her anyway, satisfied with what I’ve got.
Abner Farms has not transformed me into an adventurous eater. But I’ve pushed myself in a bunch of other ways that feel more important than what I eat. I think I’ll tell Mom I’d like to keep talking to that therapist, Rob. He’d probably like to hear about how I used his trick of answering a question with another question to take Darren down.
As we all head over to the table, Albert appears and falls in step between Lauren and me. “Not now, man,” I say, trying to nudge him out of position. I don’t want him to spoil my victory lap with another one of his stupid ideas.
But it’s Lauren he wants to talk to. “When we get home, can I text you?” he asks her. “About some student council stuff? ’Cause I could really use some help.”
“Sure,” she says, smiling.
I’m smiling, too, as I watch him walk away.
When we get to the only open table, Lauren takes the spot next to mine. Once we’ve all gotten settled, I reach for my fork and—splat—two more flapjacks fall from the sky and onto my plate.
I turn around to find Olivia standing behind me. She’s sporting an entirely red, white, and blue outfit like some sort of Yankee wackadoodle. She sets her plate of food on the table and pulls a gold medal ribbon out of her pocket.
“This is yours. We won. You won it for us.”
I had completely forgotten about the orienteering award.
“Oh my gosh. Didn’t you hear about that?” Lauren asks as she puts her two flapjacks onto my plate next to Olivia’s.
I want to say something to Olivia about our win, but I’m distracted by Lauren’s flapjacks, which somehow seem too special to eat.
“See you later,” Olivia says, grinning.
“Wait,” I say. “Want to sit with us?”
“That’s okay. I’m gonna go read.”
“Come on, we winners need to stick together.” I turn back to everyone else at the table. “You guys know Olivia, right?”
Lauren scoots closer to me. “There’s room right here,” she says, patting the spot to her right. “Oh my gosh,” she says again, noticing Olivia’s wrist, “that’s the most incredible friendship bracelet I’ve ever seen.”
“Thanks. It took me forever.”
I figured out a long time ago that Olivia had made the bracelet herself. But as I look at it now, I notice something I didn’t really think about before. The woven pattern is both complicated and ambitious—just like Olivia’s personality. It suits her perfectly.
Lauren leans over to admire the bracelet and then looks back up. She thinks for a second, and then she asks Olivia, “Would you be interested in helping me start a peer tutoring program at school?”
“Absolutely,” Olivia says.
Nick stretches across the table, and without saying a word drops his flapjacks on my plate. As soon as they hit, Josh and Alex do the same. I nod a thank you. Now I’ve got an even dozen, and my plate looks like the mystical flapjack feast I had imagined would sustain me for two and a half days.
From behind, two more pancakes land on my plate. A look of alarm crosses Nick’s face, and I turn around to see Darren right behind me. My stomach drops. Maybe this was all too good to be true.
“Maybe we should call you flapjack.”
Everyone is still, waiting for my reaction. Even Darren has tensed up.
“Nah,” I say smiling. “I kinda like cornbread.”
As soon as I’ve said it, I start to laugh, and after a second, we’re all laughing—the kind of contagious out-of-control howling that makes kids from the other tables stare like we’re from another planet.
Nothing at Abner Farms has gone the way I’d planned. But as I look around the table, I realize it’s all turned out better than I ever could have hoped. And Olivia makes a good point—navigating my world might be getting easier.
I jab my fork into the stack.
Acknowledgments
While writing a book might seem like a solitary endeavor, Food Fight was decidedly a group project. I remain deeply grateful to those Ben might call my “squad” – my friends, my crew, and the people who cheered me on – for helping me get to the finish line.
To my first writing teachers, Alice Moody and the late Linda Baker Frazen, I thank you for cultivating a welcoming and encouraging community where new writers could take chances. It’s because of you that Food Fight was developed from a short story to a novel.
To my genius writing coach, Pamela Dell, I thank you for both your expertise and the invitation to join your weekly workshop for middle grade writers many years ago. Along with Sharon Ashley, Diana Cohen, and Liz Gordon, our Friday fivesome continues to elevate each other as eager writers and reluctant grammarians.
To SCBWI, the ultimate squad for people who are passionate about children’s literature, I am grateful for more than just the endless practical and inspirational wisdom. At an SCBWI retreat ten years ago, I met my critique partner, Shannon Schuren, who has been my dear friend and guide throughout the entire process of writing, editing, and querying. As Ben and I both know, sometimes sitting next to the right person can change everything. In fact, without Shannon’s tireless encouragement, Ben may not have ever made it out of the cafeteria.
To the numerous kids and adults who read and critiqued versions of Food Fight along the way, I thank you for your thoughtful feedback and support. A special thank you to my nephew, Kevin Slowey, as his gracious honesty about the challenges he faced as an extremely picky eater during middle school helped to inspire and inform Ben’s story.
To Jaynie Royal, thank you for embracing Ben and offering me a seat at the cool kids’ table, where the talented and welcoming Regal House Publishing crew hangs out.
To my OG squad member and mother, Julie Bennett Lefkow, I will be forever grateful to you for nurturing my love of reading and writing. A professional writer over for sixty years, she set the table for accomplishing great things when we commit to our craft. One of my most soothing memories is the now-obsolete clicking and whirling sound of her electric typewriter.
Thank you to my brilliant and unflappable sister and BFF, Lesley Bennett DeMartini, for being my go-to partner in navigating a lifetime of real-world orienteering courses. You are my compass, always steering me (and Ben) in the right direction.
To my daughters, Marie and Megan, my in-house editors and tireless cheerleaders, thank you for reading, brainstorming, and riding the highs and lows of this journey with me. Watching you brave your worlds gives me the courage to reach for my own dreams.
Lastly, a special thank you to my husband, Phil, for fueling me with confidence and enthusiasm and for making me laugh every day. Our love story began when we weren’t much older than Ben and Lauren, and I wouldn’t rewrite a single word.
Linda B. Davis, Food Fight
