Work Text:
There’s a chip in the table where Jeremy usually sits. A singular blemish made by a stranger in the past, forever marking the surface of the plastic and vinyl cafeteria table. It looks grey against the table’s usual white. But not white white, some kind of off white. Maybe eggshell.
Their table is far away from every other table, smaller too. Maybe that’s why there’s a mark on it. Jeremy likes it there, at the corner of the cafeteria, it’s quiet.
Michael sits beside him, as always, the brushing of fabric between cardigan and hoodie is a comforting sensation. He places down his food, there is no blemish on his side of the table. Jeremy thinks it matches them.
Michael always brings such different food, sometimes sushi and a slushie, sometimes a warmer filled with rice and chicken from home. Jeremy knows his mama once tried to give him kare kare (oxtail stew) when he had a cold but it spilled inside his bag.
Jeremy’s homemade sandwiches pale in comparison, but he can’t be jealous (he can’t he can’t he’s not allowed ) because mama and Ina always send enough for the two to share.
It’s familiar. It’s normal. It’s a dent in the cafeteria table.
Until there’s not.
When he moves to the popular kids table, the Squip doesn’t let him look for a dent. ‘Look up’ it says ‘it’s not chill to duck your head like that’. There is no hoodie rubbing against cardigan, instead Brooke is latched into his bare arm, the sensation setting off a tingling feeling that is bordering on unpleasant. It feels like when he wore the itchy sweater his aunt sent him for Hanukkah but weirdly muted. The Squip assured him this was normal.
This table is not quiet. There is loud chatter everywhere, emerging from all sides to assault the popular kids table right at the centre of the cafeteria. The sound grates on Jeremy’s ears and reminds him of nails on a chalkboard but this one feels muted too.
It’s foreign. It’s weird. There’s no dent at the cafeteria table.
He’s not allowed to admit that he misses that dent and all it brought with it.
After the Squip, he doesn’t go back to that corner table. Instead he and Michael are squished onto the one in the centre. The familiar sleeve of a hoodie wraps around his shoulders and blocks the world out. Brooke is beside him, a comfortable distance away, and her rambling voice distracts him from the noise of the other tables. And if it doesn’t, he could always borrow Michael’s headphones.
He places down his homemade food. Made by his dad this time. They’re sandwiches, like he always has, but they feel different this time. They feel special.
There is a dent in the table in front of him.
It’s small, a different shape from the old dent. But his isn’t the only one. There is a dent in front of Michael too, on the surface instead of the corner, he has a habit of placing his slushie perfectly on it. There is a dent in front of Christine. There is a dent in front of Jake. And Brooke. And Chloe. And Rich. And Jenna.
The space feels lived in, strangers from years past leaving their marks there. The table has so many stories to tell.
And every day they gather at the table and make more. Leaving their own dents on cafeteria tables.