Four Of A Kind

Chapter 31: [2.4] Personal Space is a Luxury I Can’t Afford

The cafeteria roared with the white noise of teenage existence.

Conversations overlapped. Trays clattered. Someone laughed too loud at a joke that probably wasn’t funny. The usual chaos of Hartwell’s lunch period, where futures were decided over overpriced salads and social hierarchies were maintained through strategic seating arrangements.

I had seventeen minutes of peace.

That was my calculation. Thirty-eight minutes for lunch period. Eight minutes to eat the sandwich Iris made me. Three minutes for cleanup because I wasn’t an animal. Ten minutes to walk to the library where I could claim a corner desk before the study rush. That left seventeen minutes, give or take, to outline my Gatsby essay response for Ms. Vance’s class.

I found my usual spot. A wobbly table in the back corner, wedged between a support pillar and a window that overlooked the faculty parking lot. Not prime real estate by any standard. The chair leg was uneven, the table surface had a mysterious stain that had been there since freshman year, and the angle of the sun meant I squinted for approximately twelve minutes every lunch period.

But the location had one crucial advantage.

Nobody bothered me here.

I sat with my back to the wall because three years at Hartwell had taught me that rich kids could be just as unpredictable as the customers at the Velvet Room after their third whiskey sour. The pillar blocked the view from most of the cafeteria, creating a natural blind spot.

I pulled out my brown paper bag.

Inside the bag: a turkey sandwich on wheat bread, an apple, and three cookies wrapped in a paper towel. She’d packed extra today. Probably worried about my first official day as the Valentine family’s newest indentured servant.

I unwrapped the sandwich. The bread was still soft. She’d added extra mustard because she knew I liked it that way, even though she thought mustard was disgusting.

I raised the sandwich to my mouth.

A shadow fell across my table.

“You forgot!”

I lowered the sandwich.

Harlow Valentine stood before me, hands planted on her hips, bottom lip pushed out in a pout. Her hair caught the afternoon light from the window, and her uniform looked like it had been designed specifically to showcase her figure while technically meeting dress code requirements. The bow tie she wore was slightly crooked. The sleeves of her blazer were pushed up to her elbows.

Behind her, a cluster of guys in matching polos and expensive watches glared at me with the collective hostility of people who had just watched their favorite toy get taken away.

“We had a business lunch meeting!” Harlow’s voice carried. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! The cafeteria, the library, that weird hallway near the science labs where nobody goes. Do you know how big this school is? My feet hurt!”

Every head in my section of the cafeteria had turned.

Phones appeared from pockets and bags with suspicious speed.

My seventeen minutes of peace evaporated like morning dew under a nuclear blast.

I looked at the sandwich in my hand. Then at Harlow. Then at the sandwich again.

The sandwich is innocent, I decided. The sandwich deserves better than this.

I gestured to the empty chair across from me. “My apologies. Please, sit.”

“Apology accepted!” Harlow’s pout vanished instantly, replaced by a smile bright enough to cause seasonal affective disorder in reverse. “I knew you’d come around! You seem like the type who honors commitments!”

The guys behind her exchanged glances. One of them, a blond specimen with a jawline that screamed trust fund stepped forward.

“Harlow, are you sure you want to…” He trailed off, shooting me a look that suggested I was something unpleasant he’d found on the bottom of his boat shoes. “We saved you a seat at our table. With the rest of us.”

“That’s so sweet, Chad!”

His name was actually Chad. Of course it was.

“But Isaiah and I have official business to discuss!” She waved her hand dismissively. “I’ll catch up with you guys later, okay?”

“If you’re sure,” Chad said.

“Super sure! The surest!”

The wall of polo shirts retreated to a table approximately fifteen feet away. Close enough to watch. Far enough to pretend they weren’t watching.

Harlow turned back to me, completely oblivious to the social grenade she’d just detonated in the middle of the Hartwell Academy cafeteria.

“So!” She pulled out her phone. The case was aggressively pink, covered in stickers featuring anime characters, fruits, and at least three different types of hearts. “My schedule is a total mess! I tried to organize it this morning after you set up that calendar thing but then I got distracted by this really cute video of a dog wearing a tiny hat and then I remembered I had a quiz and…”

She kept talking.

I took a bite of my sandwich.

The turkey was good. Iris had added lettuce and tomato. The mustard to mayo ratio was perfect.

“…and then Vivienne sent me like seventeen messages about the fitting this afternoon and I screenshot them but I can’t remember which folder I put the screenshots in and now my camera roll is just chaos, you know?”

I chewed. Swallowed. Took another bite.

“Are you even listening?”

“Yes.”

“What did I just say?”

“Your camera roll is chaos.”

Harlow’s eyes went wide. “You WERE listening! Most people just tune me out after the first minute!”

“I’m being paid to pay attention.”

“That’s… actually kind of sweet? In a weird way?”

I wasn’t sure “sweet” was the word I’d use, but I let it slide.

Harlow held up her phone, screen facing her. “Okay, so let me show you the disaster zone. It’s really bad. Like, apocalyptically bad. Vivienne calls it ’catastrophic organizational failure’ but I think that’s just her being dramatic.”

She didn’t turn the phone toward me.

Instead, she stood up from her chair, circled the table, and dropped into the seat directly beside me.

Not across from me.

Beside me.

As in, the chair that had been empty and was now occupied by approximately one hundred and twenty-five pounds of Valentine heiress pressed against my side.

Her shoulder touched mine. Her thigh pressed against my thigh. The warmth of her body radiated through the thin fabric of our uniforms.

Personal space, I thought. A concept apparently not taught in finishing school.

“See?” She angled the phone toward me, leaning in closer to point at the screen. “This is supposed to be my schedule but it’s just… look at it.”