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The toast had been a bad idea. Pump rolled over in bed, hugging his arms tightly around his middle and tucking his knees up to his chin. He rode out a painful stomach spasm with a soft whine, careful not to alert his father. He could still hear the TV on, so even if his dad was still awake, Pump knew the sounds of whatever sport was on TV would drown out any noises Pump made, as long as he was relatively quiet.
The stomach spasm eventually eased and he exhaled sharply, relief making him exhausted. He hadn't eaten since lunchtime on Friday, and after two full days with nothing to eat, Pump gladly accepted the slice of semi-burnt toast his father handed him as he was slinking around the sofa to go to bed.
Pump had scarfed it down quickly, but the feeling of food was foreign in his body. His metabolism was attempting to kickstart itself into working again, but this only meant that his body suddenly realized just how empty his stomach really was, and was sending a warning ringing in Pump's ears as his body twisted in pain.
He fought a wave of nausea and buried his face into his pillow. Maybe tomorrow, he told himself. Maybe.
Pump didn't really fall asleep; rather, he passed out as his body simply shut down for a little while.
It was Sunday night; a school night. Pump could have sworn he had set an alarm. But if he did, he didn't hear it. The first thing he sensed was rough jostling, the sensation making him dizzy as he wasn't fully awake enough to be aware of his body. He groaned, and the sound was warbled as his ears were still ringing. Confused, Pump cracked an eye open and he was staring up at none other than his father.
Fear shot through him for just a moment, and Pump blinked the weariness from his eyes and the fog from his brain. The last thing to gain clarity was sound, and he winced when his father's warning snarl struck a new bolt of fear in him.
"–ys have to do everything, don't I? On Mondays you know what you're supposed to do. I shouldn't need to babysit you like this." His father roughly shook him again, shoving his shoulder into the bed as he stepped back with a scowl, arms crossed.
Pump managed to push himself up in bed and rub his eye. He must have overslept, his tired mind finally realized; his father never came to wake him up unless he had done something wrong.
Blearily, Pump dragged his gaze to the clock on his side table, aware that his father's patience was wearing thinner with every groggy second Pump took to get up. He blinked and squinted at the numbers on the digital clock. That couldn't be right. He had gone to bed just before midnight. He thought his alarm was set for 7:00. School started at 8:00.
But it was currently 11:27.
Suddenly much more awake, Pump snapped his head to look up at his father, surprise and shame rendering him speechless. His mouth opened and closed silently as he struggled and failed to come up with an excuse.
"I'm sorry," he managed to whisper instead.
His father's patience ran out.
Skid stole another glance to his left, at the empty chair where his best friend was supposed to be sitting. Pump missing homeroom wasn't unheard of; heck, Skid had missed homeroom a couple times if his mom had scheduled some kind of appointment in the morning. It was rare, but it did happen every now and then.
Usually it was only homeroom that either of them would miss. But it was nearly lunchtime and Pump was still nowhere to be found. He had missed homeroom, missed science, and was currently missing math.
This didn't make sense. The only time either of them had missed this much school was if he wasn't feeling good and had to stay home for the day. But Skid had seen Pump just yesterday, and his friend had seemed perfectly fine! They had hung out for a little while at the park, chasing the ducks and getting yelled at by security, before it started getting dark and Pump had to go home for the night. He didn't say anything about feeling sick.
Skid's eyes slowly traveled back up to the whiteboard, where the teacher was droning on and on about something. All the symbols on the board looked like a foreign language, and the numbers all seemed to curl and switch with one another. It was hard enough to focus on a good day, but today it was impossible.
Finally the bell rang for lunch, and Skid frowned in worry. Pump's desk was still empty. Skid slowly put away his notebook and was one of the last kids to leave the classroom and go to the lunch tables.
He had just sat down at one of the empty tables and unzipped his lunch box when another student set their backpack onto the table and sat down across from Skid.
Skid looked up warily, not in the mood to be bullied, but his face brightened when he saw that it was Pump who had come to sit at his table.
"Pump!" Skid cried, grinning broadly. "Where were you? You missed like three classes, I thought you were sick or somethin'!"
Pump smiled politely back at him, but something seemed off about the expression. Skid's grin faded a bit and he was about to ask what was wrong, when Pump spoke up, "Yeah, I wasn't feeling very good earlier, but I'm doing better now!" His smile stretched wider, but his eyes still looked...off. Skid didn't push it.
"Well I'm happy you're feeling better," Skid said firmly, opening his lunch box and taking out the sandwich his mom packed him. Pump continued to sit there with a faraway look in his eyes as he stared off at nothing, and eventually crossed his arms over his backpack and rested his chin on his arms.
Skid had his sandwich raised to his mouth, but hadn't taken a bite yet. "Uh... Pump?" He asked, tilting his head to try to see his friend's face better. Pump's eyes met his, and flickered only for a millisecond down at the sandwich in Skid's hands, before he was quickly—almost forcibly—staring at Skid's face.
"Yeah?" Pump asked lightly.
"Aren't'cha gonna have lunch?"
Now Pump looked guilty and tore his gaze away, swallowing hard. "Not hungry," he whispered.
Skid frowned. "But it's lunchtime. Did you bring food?" Pump shook his head. "Do you want me to go with you so you can buy somethin' from the lunch lady?" Pump shook his head again.
"I don't have money today," Pump admitted quietly with a small shrug. "It's fine, I'll find something later."
"So you are hungry," Skid reasoned, and Pump didn't deny it. Skid looked into his lunch box, which still contained apple slices, a juice box, two Oreos, and a Go-Gurt. He had plenty to share.
He tore the peanut butter and jelly sandwich in half and wordlessly handed the larger portion out to Pump.
Pump startled, looking from Skid down to the proffered sandwich half, back up to Skid, down at the sandwich again, and swallowed hard, biting his lip before saying, "I can't, Skid, that's your food."
Skid shrugged. "I'm still gonna have this half," he waggled the other part of the sandwich he had saved for himself. "Besides, I can barely finish everything anyway." He pushed the open lunch box toward Pump with his elbow. "I want one of those Oreos, but you can have whatever else you want!"
Pump's breathing got harder and he swallowed again, tongue darting out to wet his lip. His hand made a half-movement to reach up, but he stopped himself. "Are you sure?" He insisted with a fierce expression as he met Skid's eyes. If Skid didn't know any better, he would think Pump was somehow afraid of it. As if accepting half of his sandwich was some sort of crime.
"Of course I'm sure!" Skid insisted, stretching his arm out farther to hold it closer to Pump. "C'mon, my arm's gettin' tired," he teased, and Pump finally reached out to take the sandwich, holding it in his hands with a reverent expression.
"Thank you," he breathed, giving Skid an incredibly grateful look before taking a huge bite of the sandwich and humming quietly at the taste.
Skid grinned back at him, feeling warm pride swell up in his chest. "Sure, no problem, Pump!" He bit into his own sandwich and the two of them fell into an easy silence as they ate.
Despite Pump's half being bigger, he finished his much faster than Skid, and was sucking the jelly off his fingers with a content expression. Skid, mouth full of peanut butter, nudged the open lunch box again, pushing it closer to Pump with a pointed look down at it. Saying, Go ahead, help yourself, without words.
Pump looked at the food in the lunch box, thinking hard. He pulled his finger from his mouth and wiped it on his leg, shaking his head. "It's your lunch," he insisted, gently pushing it away from himself and toward Skid again. "Besides, the sandwich was more than enough." Pump smiled.
Skid didn't return the smile. He put down his sandwich, which still had a few bites left on it, and gave a dramatic sigh, opening the Ziploc baggie of apples and taking out roughly half for himself and putting them into the lunch box, while the rest he left in the baggie, and set it right in front of Pump. Without waiting for Pump to even try to argue, Skid also opened the baggie with the Oreos and placed one on top of the apples that were in front of Pump, then picked up his nearly-finished sandwich.
Pump was very quiet as Skid finished his sandwich. He was still quiet as Skid took out the juice box and poked the straw through the top. As he sipped, Skid watched Pump stare at the baggie of apples and single Oreo.
Suddenly uneasy, Skid lowered the juice box. "What's a'matter?" He asked worriedly, wondering if he had done something wrong.
Pump blinked quickly, as if he were coming out of a daydream, and met Skid's eyes. "N..." He faltered, but shook his head with a growing smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Nothing's a'matter," he finally said with a genuine smile that finally reached his eyes as he picked up the Oreo. "Thanks, Skid."
It was the first time Skid shared his lunch with Pump, but it wouldn't be the last. Sometimes, just to be on the safe side, Skid would ask his mom for extra apple slices, or a second Go-Gurt, stating that he was very hungry, and his mom would give him a strange look, but would always oblige.
At one point a few months later, when Skid asked for extra food, his mom knelt down and rested a firm hand on his shoulder. "Honey, is someone taking your food?" She asked with a sad frown. Skid had told her a long time ago that he would usually only sit with Pump during lunch, because sometimes the other kids would tease him or bother him in other ways, and he found it easier to just sit away from everyone else.
But actual bullying? Like, steal-his-lunch-money and push-him-into-lockers bullying like he saw in cartoons on TV? No, he hadn't ever experienced anything like that. Besides, he was just sharing it with Pump. It's not like Pump was stealing it from him. Every time, Skid had to portion it out himself and pass it to Pump in order to get his friend to accept it. And even then, sometimes he wouldn't take it, or he already had a lunch that day, or he had money to buy from the lunch lady. The days when Pump would actually accept it were somewhat rare—usually no more than once, maybe twice, a week—but Skid liked to be prepared anyway.
Skid shook his head firmly. "No, nothing like that. Don't worry mom, I can handle myself." He puffed out his chest dramatically and grinned. "If anyone tried to take my lunch, I'd take them down!"
His mom smiled with a quiet sigh of relief. She ruffled Skid's hair and stood back up. "Alright then, mister. Two Go-Gurts today?"