Lessons I Never Learned at Meadowbrook Academy by Liz Maccie

was a distinct shade of grayish-yellow.
    â€œMervin, are you feeling better?” I asked.
    â€œYeah, how mortifying—”
    â€œWhat happened?” Annie inquired.
    Remembering my conversation with Nurse Brown, I said, “Number two pencil; he’s deathly allergic.”
    â€œOh,” Annie said dryly as she took a sip of apple juice. “Gym class?”
    Mervin hit her arm. “Shut up, Annie! It’s true, I’m allergic to lead—”
    Annie patted his shoulder. “Sure you are. And I’m really an alien from the planet Mookbar.”
    â€œGod, you’re acting like a total jerk. Just wait ’til you have a breakdown one day,” Mervin said.
    Annie threw a pretzel in her mouth and turned to me. “Some older kids locked Mervin inside the kickball cabinet when we were in fourth grade, and he was stuck in there for an entire night. There were search parties and the police and we thought he had been abducted or something. It was horrible. Ever since then, he freaks out over gym. Last year, he got a medical pass and he barely had to go.”
    Mervin crossed his arms. “Okay, fine, maybe that’s true, but I’m still allergic to an entire list of things. I can’t help it if I was born with sensitive skin.”
    Annie put her hand up to her mouth, pretending to tell me a secret. “Hypochondriac…”
    â€œI’m sitting right next to you. I can hear you.” Mervin stabbed a ravioli with his fork. “Okay, so the whole school thing has been a bit challenging for me. I’m not trying to deny that. My God, when I found out Annie was coming to Meadowbrook last year instead of going to our public high school, I begged my parents to send me here. They didn’t want to, but I wore them down.”
    â€œWhy didn’t your parents want you to go here?” I asked.
    Mervin’s glasses slid down his nose a little. He pushed them back up, but didn’t answer my question.
    Finally Annie said, “They didn’t want to waste their money on him, which is totally crazy because they’re loaded.”
    â€œDid they say that to you?” I asked him.
    â€œNo, not exactly in those words.”
    Annie shot him a look.
    â€œOkay, well, yes, maybe in those words. I don’t know, my parents are weird. I think their primary function in life is to make me feel guilty.”
    â€œAbout what?” I asked.
    â€œAbout everything,” Mervin said as he gulped down an entire ravioli.
    A quick image of my dad driving his truck fourteen hours a day to send me to Meadowbrook raced through my mind. An intense sense of regret washed over me.
    Mervin stabbed at another ravioli.
    My stomach grumbled, reminding me I was hungry. I got up and headed over to the food line next to the salad bar and stood behind an older male teacher wearing a navy blue sport coat. A menu was hanging on the wall, enclosed in a glass case. It was printed on thick-looking cream paper and it read:
TODAY’S MENU
    Chicken Cordon-Bleu
    Grilled Atlantic Salmon
    Steak Teriyaki
    Goat Cheese Ravioli
    It all sounded totally nasty. My palate was definitely not used to such cuisine. My family’s idea of “gourmet” was pretty much Chinese takeout on Friday nights. I inched my way forward and listened to the older teacher order a “generous helping of the steak teriyaki, please.”
    It was my turn. The lunch lady standing behind the case of unidentifiable food was pretty and well-groomed. She had on a crisp, white uniform with Meadowbrook Academy Established 1904 embroidered across the pocket in purple stitching.
    â€œMay I help you?” she sweetly asked.
    â€œUmm…” I scratched my forehead and leaned in a little so nobody else could hear my question. “Could you just give me whatever is the most…normal thing?”
    She nodded as if we were part of some covert operation. “I understand,” she whispered back. She