"Is that all?" The lunch lady asks as I push my tray forward on the line. I nod, not feeling in the mood for a snack. "Name," She says aimlessly.

"Mavis Cooper."

She types it in, "Okay." I grab my lunch tray and hastily walk over to a table. I sit in a chair away from the main cluster of girls. It's better than sitting at a table alone. I guess.

As Janette Miller, one of the most popular girls in the seventh grade, takes a seat right in the center of the cluster, she looks in my direction. Then she does something no one was expecting. She was like: "Mavis". Everyone stopped chatting in their cluster. Then six pairs of eyes were fixing a hard gaze on me.

Me, Mavis. Yes, you heard me right; there eyes were on me. "So," she continues, "how is it you get free lunch, hmm?" My heart drops at a hundred miles an hour. The eyes are still focused on my every move, so I have to say something. Or can I not?

"Um, it's not free." I try, wracking my brain for excuses. "I'm prepaid. I paid in the start of the year." Believable?

"Oh." Janette shrugs. The eyes turn away. Yeah, pretty believable.

I would never share the real reason my lunch costs nothing. It's because my family can't afford to buy lunch. And they don't have the food for me to bring lunch.

If I took lunch, we'd have to skip dinner. Sometimes, I don't take lunch and we still don't have food for dinner.

---

My gym teacher blows his whistle to beckon the class from the locker room.

We all line up on the red line of the gymnasium's floor. "Today," he announces, "I'm going to do a quick sneaker check. Make sure everyone's got sneakers... and that they can be ran in." I glimpse down at my sneakers.

They were from the shelter, two years ago. They're a couple sizes too small, and they were once white, but now they resemble dirt itself, because that's what blankets it. They're ripped and torn, and a no-name brand.

Nothing, compared to Janette's. Her blue and purple Nike's look like they've never seen the ground, which they probably haven't. She isn't the least bit athletic, still she gets all this expensive exercise outfits.

But it's not like I'm the least bit jealous. It just doesn't seem fair that kids who actually are athletic (like me, I guess. I'm a fast runner.) don't get what she does. That isn't jealousy, that's just reasoning.

My gym teacher makes his way to me. He bites his lip at the looks of my foot wear. "Can you run in those?" He asks. I nod, even though I really can't. They pinch my feet. "Are you sure? This is the year you get to run in the big race. I know your fast, you could have a chance at winning some of the girl's events." He says.

I feel color take on my cheeks, could I really win? Girls like me never win anything. And the big race? That's a bunch of races that seventh and eight graders can participate in. You get extra credit for gym, and they give out gold, silver, and bronze (not actually made from their names, but that cheap plastic thing) trophies. I've never gotten a trophy before.

"But not in those sneakers." He adds. I feel the grin on my face shift into a tight line of disappointment.

"There's no way that you could get new sneakers before the race next week?"

I shake my head. People don't donate sneakers as often as they do clothes. Mom could take me down to there, but it's really unlikely that they'd have decent ones that fit. Usually, we tell one of the workers to be on the look-out when the time comes.

She could take me to a thrift store, but money's getting really tight, and we really can't waste it.

"I understand." The teachers seem to have caught on I don't come from the wealthiest of families.

He moves on to the next kid with a look of pity for me. I really hate when people pity me. Which sometimes happens a lot. Just because I don't have what others do, doesn't mean I can't be as happy as them.

Janette steps out of line. "Mr. Harrison," she calls.

"Yes?"

"I had a question about the big race."

The gym teacher gives her a "can't-it-wait?" look, but encourages her to ask. "If we don't win, will we still earn a prize?" She's all about what she can get out of things. "No, Janette. There's only three winners per race." My teacher rolls his eyes and resumes checking sneakers.

Last year I wasn't in Janette's gym class, so I don't know how good she is in the running unit. But I make it my mental goal to beat her.

Stupid sneakers and all.