Chapter 2: Favors and Frustrations

She wore this blue plastic badge on a lanyard, the kind that got you past the front office without a second look. Even Coach Martinez—who made us run extra laps for fun—would just nod and wave her through. Everyone else was stuck behind the chain-link fence until the final bell, but she’d flash her pass and walk right out, the world waiting on the other side.

On one side of the fence was the chaos of our youth; on the other, the breeze and freedom of after-school adventures.

It was like living in two worlds. Inside: lockers slamming, teachers shouting, and the hum of teenage drama. Outside: open sky, maybe a cold Coke from the corner store, and a few minutes of peace.

As more classmates figured out she could leave campus, the requests rolled in—Starbucks runs, fried chicken, snacks from anywhere. At first, she could handle it in one hand, but soon she was juggling extra bags, her backpack bulging with other people’s orders.

At first it was, “Hey, can you grab me a vanilla latte?” But it turned into her lugging greasy takeout and sloshing drinks, swarmed at her desk by kids grabbing food and disappearing before they even said thanks.

The worst part was, most of them never paid her back. Some forgot, others just didn’t care—a pretty common thing for middle school boys.

Her wallet got thinner, her sighs got heavier every time someone called her name. Some kids would duck their heads or pretend they’d never asked when she reminded them about the five bucks they owed.

She was too polite to say no, but I saw it wore her down.

She’d fake a laugh, but her eyes always darted to her shrinking wallet. Her shoulders slumped a little lower each time. She’d fidget with the drawstring on her hoodie as the others grabbed their stuff and left.

One day, right before lunch dismissal, Tyler and his crew rolled up again. Tyler was famous for borrowing money and never paying back—not even for the caramel frappuccinos he made my deskmate fetch.

Tyler swaggered in, his letterman jacket draped over his shoulder even though it was a sauna outside. He barely glanced up from his phone. "Yo, grab me my usual—caramel frapp, extra whip," Tyler called, barely glancing up from his phone.

His friends echoed him, “Yeah, and one for me!” They snickered, tossing napkins at each other, not even noticing how trapped she looked.

I knew she’d never say no—she was too shy.

She bit her lip, drumming her fingers on her notebook, eyes darting between the clock and the floor.

“She’s not going home today,” I cut in, my voice sharper than I meant. My palms were sweaty, but I stared him down, hoping nobody could see my hands shaking.

Tyler looked up, skeptical. “What?”

He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to correct me. His friends hung back, waiting for drama.

“She’s not going home for lunch today,” I said, louder this time, meeting his glare.

Tyler scowled, but he didn’t push it. He muttered to his crew, and they slunk off, shooting me dirty looks as they left.

The tension in the room faded. A few kids flashed me a thumbs-up across the aisle.

After they left, the classroom went quiet. Neither of us said anything.

You could hear the hum of the vending machine and birds outside. I spun my pencil, staring at the floor.

"Thank you," she whispered.

She tucked her hair behind her ear, relief flickering across her face.

"Mm… yeah," I mumbled, suddenly feeling awkward. My foot tapped against the desk leg. "You should hurry home. We still have class this afternoon." I shot up and left, face burning, practically running down the hall.

For a few days, Tyler and his crew couldn’t catch her for errands. She started ducking out early, slipping into the library or down side halls. Tyler would hunt for her, but I’d block his path or wave him off.

But she still brought me snacks, which only annoyed Tyler more.

She’d sneak a Kit Kat or bag of chips onto my desk when no one was looking. Tyler’s crew grumbled about favoritism, glaring at me in study hall.