Speed of Life Read Online Free PDF Page A

the color of their babies’ poop makes us both crazy. Today’s my day, but I make Amber go in exchange for typing her paper this morning.
    Last year in health class we were doing a unit on nutrition, and school lunches came up. According to some fancy study, most kids toss their lunch in the garbage. Especially the fruit. Here at Sacajawea, more than half of us get lunch for free, so there’s always a long line. Sometimes it’s the only meal we get all day. No one trashes the fruit unless it’s moldy, which is about twenty percent of the time.
    I’m in line with my friends Shenice and Han. Shenice is a school friend—​we don’t really party together or hang out after hours. Han is harder to shake.
    â€œYou skip first period?” Shenice asks because I didn’t show in the cafeteria for the free cinnamon rolls.
    â€œNope. I was typing a paper.”
    â€œFor Amber?”
    I shrug. For some reason it really annoys Shenice when I do Amber’s homework. I don’t know why—​it’s not like it hurts her. Luckily, I’m saved from the usual lecture when a bald guy the size of a truck growls, “Meat or bean?” from behind the glass-enclosed lunch counter. With that voice and the scar down his left cheek, he could be in a prison movie. He’s one scary dude.
    â€œBean,” I manage to say. I hear Shenice and Han laugh at the squeak in my voice.
    â€œGood choice.” The guy drops a greasy burrito onto a plate and gives me a wide smile that lights up his whole face. It changes everything about him, and he strikes me as the kind of guy who’d be good to have on your side. He winks and piles on extra Tater Tots, some limp salad, and a scarred orange, and then hands it over. I slide my tray toward the cashier and palm the meal ticket when I give it to her so no one sees it. Habit.
    We take our food over to the garbage cans, dump the brown lettuce, and leave the trays behind, and then we go outside to the woods behind the school to eat, even though it’s freezing.
    â€œWoods” is a fancy name for dead grass, a couple of logs to sit on, and garbage blowing around, but there’s a little bit of shelter behind some scraggly trees and, more importantly, no jocks or annoying drama freaks. We head for our usual oak. I kick a few cigarette butts out of the way and we plop down, sitting on our backpacks.
    There are only a few die-hard rockers, stoners, and lunchroom losers out here with us, and while I don’t put us into any of those groups, we do sort of look like them. Shenice is wearing her usual faded jeans, a long-underwear top, and a ratty plaid shirt she stole from one of her brothers. She’s got her black curly hair in a low ponytail, and a stocking cap pulled down over her ears. Right now I look more like her twin than Amber’s. Except I stole my flannel from Gil since I’m lucky enough not to have any brothers. Also, I don’t wear glasses, and if I did, they wouldn’t be blue cat-eye thrift-store ones that have a glob of glue on one side from a sketchy repair job.
    Han has his usual “Death to . . .” T-shirt on and no coat, which makes him look like one of the rockers. He’s got a whole collection of death shirts, and today it’s the one he wears the most: “Death to Han Solo.” He wants the world to know he isn’t some nerdy Star Wars geek.
    Han narrows his eyes, looking at me. “What’s up with you? Did you have coffee? Or maybe something better?”
    â€œNothing’s up,” I say. “I’m eating, same as you.”
    â€œYou’ve been tapping your foot the whole time,” Han says. “And scoping everything out. Are you looking for someone better to eat lunch with?”
    â€œNo.” I honestly don’t know what he’s talking about. Well, I kind of do, but I’m not going to admit it. I make myself chew and swallow, but