He still wasn’t used to this. Last year it had been called recess, and it happened three times each day. But now? Now it was middle school, and they were all supposed to be more grown up, so it was “break” instead of recess and the lunch hour extended a full sixty minutes.

For the past six years, Ryan had navigated his ideal path to getting through each day. Honing how to spend the fifteen-minute recesses morning and afternoon had taken some time, and filling those thirty-minute lunches had also required some finesse. But still, he’d managed. And now this.

Someone had figured out that sixth graders still needed some semblance of play. There was a basketball court with weathered balls they could check out. An aging tetherball pole nobody played with any gusto. The track was open during lunch, too. But none of these interested him. It was enough getting through PE without everyone laughing at him.

Please, make the time move faster. When he checked the clock, the hands moved at an achingly slow speed.

Everything moved slow in middle school. The two friends he’d cultivated last year were gone—placed in different schools thanks to an arbitrary divide of the city. At least lunchtime no longer required assigned seating in the cafeteria, and that was some kind of freedom. He was hellbent on eating lunch outside away from the judgmental eyes of his peers, for as long as the autumn weather remained somewhat warm.

Who’s that? A girl with pretty, cascading dark blonde hair and striking green eyes he could make out even from a distance walked through the double doors. She carried a bright orange tray from the cafeteria and glanced around the courtyard like a new and exotic animal dumped in the local city zoo. Why’s she wearing that? With her white turtleneck and long wool pants, Ryan was hot just looking at her. His own thin T-shirt and mesh shorts still had him sweltering.

The sun demanded he squint. It was an Indian summer, and she was completely out of place. Is she allergic to the sun? She’d circled the courtyard once already, eyed peeled for a vacant seat. He’d already moved his stack of books to the floor. It was clear she could sit next to him, but she avoided his gaze and jumped on a picnic table that opened up when a group of popular girls left. She didn’t seem to care that they’d left their mess behind.

He sighed and picked up his sad excuse for a slice of pizza. “What you got there?” Ryan stiffened even as the shadow engulfed his plate. School had only been going for two weeks, but the voice was already familiar.

“Pizza,” Ryan said before he even looked up.

“Pizza, huh?” Dylan asked with a sneer as he leaned down and picked up the soggy triangle. “Looks more like your mom’s panties, don’t ya think?” Dylan hadn’t been at Ryan’s elementary school, and he was still trying to figure out how best to deflect the bully. Ryan had been used to watching all the other boys in his class shoot past him. He’d gone from average height and build in third grade to nearly the shortest by the time elementary school graduation had rolled around.

“I don’t know,” Ryan said quietly. The phrase was usually a safe bet.

“I don’t know,” Dylan mocked him. “I think you do. Shit, you look like the type that checks out his mom’s nasties on the regular.”

Ryan couldn’t bring himself to look Dylan in the face. The spray of acne across Dylan's cheeks was a constant reminder of this terrifying new world. Some of the boys, Dylan included, already displayed hints of facial hair. They’d pull at the little tufts nonstop throughout every class. When Ryan ran a hand across his face, he felt nothing but soft, smooth skin.

“What, you don’t talk?” Dylan asked. He tossed the pizza on the concrete. “You shy?” he asked with a laugh.

“Dyl, what’s up, man?” Brian, one of Dylan’s minions, suddenly appeared. He punched Dylan gently in the arm, a sign of brotherhood Ryan had never known.

“What’s up? What’s up is this little bitch thinks he’s too good to talk,” Dylan said. All around him, Ryan heard the early titters of laughter.

Enough. This is enough. Sure, it had only been two weeks, but the pattern was already established. It happened every single day. Usually Dylan started it, but sometimes it was another bully. It had felt like prison, these first few days, and it was clear he was earmarked to be the weakling. He couldn’t help it—his fists bunched up tight like they were out of his control.

Ryan was already swinging toward Dylan as he stood up. He heard his tray hit the ground as his fist connected with nothing but air. Any momentum was already lost, and the missed target shot him off balance.

Dylan laughed as he rocked back on one foot. Ryan saw nothing but that balled up fist headed straight for his face. The shock of knuckle against nose was stronger than any kind of pain, but Ryan knew that wouldn’t last long. He’d caught himself with nothing but a palm and elbow when he hit the concrete, and the pain pierced through his hand like a wasp sting. A warm, coppery stream started to pour out of his nose, and he saw Dylan start to set up for another punch.

“What the fuck?” Dylan said as the full soda can hit his temple. It connected with a dense thud, and bright red fruit juice sprayed across his face.

“You think you’re so tough now?” The new girl was at Ryan’s side, a second soda in her hand—this one in a glass bottle. “Come on, then. Show me. I dare you.” Her voice wasn’t what he expected. It was lilting and feminine, yet cool and steady. She sounded years older than she must have been.

“What wrong with you?” Dylan said. “You—”

“Try me, and I’ll show you.” She tossed the glass bottle between her hands. Dylan looked down, and his beady eyes widened.

“You’re crazy,” he whispered. He clutched his head as he turned and ran away. The crowd that had gathered, that had been egging Dylan on, dispersed as if nothing had happened. Ryan could hear some murmurings as small groups gossiped over what they’d just seen. It was like one of those prison movie scenes where everybody was trying to figure out the hierarchy.

“Hey,” the blonde girl said to him. She offered her hand to help him up, and he took it with his good one. He didn’t want her to see how badly he’d hurt his right palm.

“Hey, uh. Thanks,” he said as he brushed off his shorts.

“That guy’s a real jerk, huh?” When she spoke, her full lips parted to reveal incredibly white, straight teeth, save for the smallest of gaps between her front teeth. Like she’d had braces already, but the orthodontist couldn’t bear to have her smile too perfect. It was in that so-called imperfection that Ryan got lost.

“Yeah, well,” he said. “I’m used to it.” Shut up! Shut up!

She cocked her head to the side, curious. “I’m Poppy, by the way,” she said.

“Ryan,” he said. He felt like he should shake her hand, but their hands were still clasped from her helping him up. He dropped her hand quickly, suddenly aware of the heat of her palm and the softness of her skin.

“Bullies can’t usually take their own medicine. At least that’s what I’ve discovered,” she said. “Trust me, I’ve gone to a lot of schools.”

“How come?” he asked. He wasn’t sure if he’d even be able to follow her answer. All he knew is he didn’t want her to go.

She just shrugged and smiled. “Long, boring story,” she said.

“I could use a long, boring story,” he said. “You wanna sit?”

She laughed and exposed that perfectly imperfect smile again. When she sat next to him, automatically offering up half her lunch, it didn’t feel awkward or forced. He didn’t feel like a charity case, like he usually did when one of the more empathetic kids took temporary mercy on him. It was just natural. Poppy straddled the bench and faced him directly. He searched her face for sweat or some kind of sign the weather got to her, but found nothing. It was like she existed on a totally different plane beyond them all.

“So you’re new here?” he asked as she popped open the soda. Stupid. We’re all new here.

But she just nodded. “Yeah, but new new,” she said. “We moved here from the West Coast. At least this time I started a new school the same time as everyone else! Usually it’s in the middle of the year after everyone’s already made friends.”

“Yeah,” he said. As if he had any clue. He’d been in the same elementary school his entire life, had known the same group of kids since kindergarten.

There was some kind of security in elementary school, and even though the other kids might not have necessarily liked him, they tolerated him. There was a sense of camaraderie when you were in the same group for six years. This was all new, and not in a good way. Poppy was the first good thing he’d encountered.

“So, what’s your story?” she asked as she tore into a peanut butter sandwich. She didn’t eat like the other girls, all tiny careful bites and hyperawareness someone might be watching. Poppy ate like she enjoyed it.

“Not much of a story,” he said as she handed him half her sandwich.

“I don’t believe that,” she said with a smile. A tiny spot of strawberry jam clung to the corner of her mouth.

Somehow, he just knew. They’d be friends for keeps.