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The food at Hillworth Grammar School looked like someone had added food-coloring to a wonderful concoction of dog s**t, vomit, and rotted pig a**s, separated it into stained metal bins, and then stuck little white signs in each mass that said things like "Cheeseburger Surprise" or "Veggie Casserole" or "Roasted Meat Puree" or some other terribly euphemistic version of what must certainly be a poisonous, putrid meal. Unfortunately, unless you had enough money to go off campus, you were stuck shoveling down forkfuls of the stuff, all the while pinching your nose and praying to keep it down. This day was no different. Parker slid his tray slowly across the line, eying each dish like it might jump out of the pan and attack him. He settled on "Thursday Noodle Surprise" (even though it was Monday) and one of the muted brown mystery meat patties. All the fruits and veggies had been cleaned out before Parker made it through the line -- he was always last -- but he managed to grab the last chocolate milk, even if it had one badly dented side.

Lifting his tray, he began to move toward his typical seat of choice. It was in the far corner of the cafeteria, and no one ever took it because the seat was broken and made a screeching metal shriek if you so much as inhaled a bit too sharply while sitting on it. Today, however, Parker was to be denied even that small joy. Inches from his seat, he felt a hand on his collar yank him backwards. It was an administrator. Apparently, someone had scrawled "KILLINGWORTH SUCKS DONKEY BALLS" on the table just beside where Parker normally sat. And because Parker was Parker, they immediately assumed it was him.

He was forced to do twenty push-ups in front of the entire cafeteria, and then sentenced to Saturday night stadium clean-ups. Despite the general poverty of its students, Hillworth happened to excel at sports, enough to merit the construction of a cheap stadium. A stadium whose steps Parker would be marching up and down all night on Saturday. Typical.

With a sigh, Parker picked up his tray again and began to walk toward his chosen seat. The administrator grabbed him once more, practically dragging him across the cafeteria. With the strong fling of an arm, he forced Parker into a seat directly across from an unfamiliar white-haired boy. Great. Parker didn't react to the show of violence, the unfair punishment, or the mocking laughter that ricocheted around the cafeteria. Nope, he just lifted his plastic spork and began to poke half-heartedly at his meat patty.

Siiiiiiigh.

In all the ways that Hillworth loved Cygny, it had almost as much hatred for Parker. Whereas Cygny received benefits, Parker found only punishment. Whereas Cygny got a pat on the head, Parker got a punch in the face. Whereas Cygny was ethereal and pale, Parker was dark and scarred. The real kicker here, of course, was that Parker was totally innocent of all his crimes -- and Cygny was a Negaverse Lt. Oh, if only Parker knew; he would spead bitchin' and moanin' as far as the eye could see. Alas, he did not.

Instead, he looked flatly at Cygny and more or less grimaced. He had just been disciplined in front of the whole school practically (which wasn't really something new and different, but still) and now he had to sit next to Mister The-Sun-Shines-Out-of-My-a**. Great. His pale eyes flashed up to Cygny's paler ones. "It's nothing I'm not used to," he said, words full of sighing tinged with annoyance.

Parker stared back down at his mushy plate, eyes flickering briefly to the pancakes and un-dented milk at the younger boy's plate. It was a cruel mirror image, a reverse mirroring. Stabbing his fork into the hard crust of the meat patty, Parker kept his eyes on his plate and said, "I'm sure you have no idea what it feels like." He raised his chin and met Cygny's gaze. "Have they finished erecting a statue in your honor yet?" Typically, Parker was not sarcastic, just logical, but his arms hurt from the push-ups, his head from the laughter, and his a** from the force that threw him into the chair. Plus, it flat out was bullshit that Cygny's food looked so night-and-day better than Parker's. As if on cue, his stomach rumbled.

Parker wasn't really sure what to expect from Hillworth's Golden Boy. The sarcasm didn't strike him as particularly odd, nor the cheesy dragging out of that initial joke. Hm. It was vaguely interesting, certainly more interesting than the mystery meat patty that Parker was attempting to saw in half with one side of his spork. It was not going well.

He flickered his gaze back to Cygny, eying the banana warily. Gifts were never just gifts. There was always something implied. Parker glanced over his shoulder and noted the administrator staring him down. Oh, well, that made sense. In Parker's mind, Cygny was simply offering because one of the higher-ups was looking. For that reason, he decided to trust the gesture and reached out to take it. "I think the administrator saw the offer, don't worry," he said, vaguely nodding in that direction. His voice didn't imply any judgment; he merely asserted what he believed to be a fact: that Cygny had only offered the banana to look good.

Resting the yellow fruit on the edge of his tray, Parker jumped as it teetered dangerously. It might not be such a tragedy for the food on his plate to spill, but he didn't want to lose the banana. Thinking better of it, he decided to hold the fruit in his lap, one thumb tapping hollow thuds against its side. "They're always out of fruit by the time I make it through the line. I haven't had a banana from this cafeteria since my first year here." Bananas were the preferred fruit and the first to go. The only time Parker had managed to snag one was over a holiday weekend when many of the boys went to visit relatives who still kept in contact, even if not enough to let the boys live with them. Parker didn't have anywhere to go.

The table seemed strangely empty. Parker half-expected Cygny to have an entourage of some sort, but it was just the pair of them at that end. A few seats down, three underclassmen laughed and threatened to throw food at each other, but those were the only students sitting at the long table. "I'm surprised there are open seats here. The entourage must be busy today," he commented, raising an eyebrow. Parker finally managed to chip off a piece of meat, and he swallowed it down quickly with as little chewing as possible. No need to draw out the process.

Parker lifted the banana up and began to slowly peel it, catching the fibrous skin under his nail as he worked. "'We must respect the past and mistrust the present if we wish to provide for the safety of the future,'" he said, voice hopping over the words in sighs. Usually he named the speaker of the words, but this time he did not. Joseph Joubert was too obscure of a reference to be appreciated by most people, not that anyone really appreciated Parker's dime-a-dozen quote slinging as much as he did. Either way, the quote very nicely summed up Parker's view of life.

Part A) The past had shown him that he should fear all gifts presented by classmates.
Part B) Cygny had presented him with the banana as a gift of sorts.
Part C) He should mistrust it to avoid choking on the pencil leads that had been broken off in the last piece of fruit someone had offered him.

Yep, it was a good system.

Switching the banana to his other hand, Parker continued to peel, eyes flickering over to the now-empty line. It didn't matter how early Parker got here. He would invariably be shoved out of his spot by upperclassmen and underclassmen alike, and if he tried to stand up for himself, an administrator would notice, assume he was in the wrong, and send him to the back of the line anyway. It was better to not cause a scene. He didn't share any of this with Cygny, instead taking a tentative bite out of the banana. It was a good banana, one that the lunch lady had probably set aside for Cygny. And now Parker was reaping the rewards. Yay for minor triumphs.

Under normal circumstances, Parker would have let the conversation fall away too, but he was worked up from the scolding and seemed intent on proving to the administrator that he enjoyed his new seat. In fact, he was having a meaningful conversation! Hah. Take that, Administrator Man. Besides, Cygny's puckish nature did not immediately annoy Parker, which was good. "Hm," he mused in response, chewing on the banana slowly. "My dance card is full." It was a dated reference, but one that his mother often made when he was younger. It had entered his vocabulary and stuck, and often, like now, he said it without thinking. Parker paused briefly and then continued chewing as if nothing at all had happened.

This. Banana. Was. Delicious.

Parker was eating it at a steady pace, chewing slowly so as not to look like some kind of ravenous animal. It wasn't that he had never had good fruit before; he'd just never had it at Hillworth. Were there entire storage units packed with real, non-processed food hidden in the bowels of the school? Parker would not be surprised. The remaining food seemed like rotting dog chow by comparison. He knew then and there that he would not be touching anything else on the plate -- maybe just the milk. That night Parker planned to go out to eat anyway. Alone, of course, but still out. His mind wandered briefly to the Meadowview girl, Dani, he had met earlier that week. If he asked, she'd probably go. She seemed like the type who was always up for a little socialization. Too bad Parker didn't know her last name... and that he lacked the basic confidence to even ask.

Pulling his mind away from Dani and some imagined meal with her, Parker refocused on Cygny and the words that the younger boy was speaking. He shrugged. "The words of great men," Parker said, "are solid building blocks for any developing person." He sounded more hopeful than he actually was, but it was mostly true. Much more went into it than that, but Parker was certain Cygny didn't care to hear it. And Parker knew he didn't want to share it.

Much to his surprise, Cygny didn't immediately call out his grandmother-ly idiom. Hm. Pleasant surprise. "I'm sure you'll manage. There will be plenty of fruit to raise your spirits," Parker said, taking another bite. Seriously -- the banana was yummy. "I, on the other hand, will be stuck with dog food." He inched the styrofoam tray forward with two slender fingers for emphasis.

With one finger, Parker bounced the slack peel of the banana he held up and down. The pithy skin slapped against the flat of his hand. "Perhaps I should have put my books down and taken up... what sport is it that you play?" His comment was sidelined by his lack of knowledge on any and every thing having to do with school spirit. Parker knew that Cygny was some kind of star, well, everything, but he had heard the most about the boy's athleticism, and something about a violin too. Yes? Yes. He shrugged again and started back at the banana.

There was something about Cygny that made Parker want to simultaneously punch him in the face and buy him a beer. It was an odd dichotomy, and one that Parker found intriguing enough to linger in this social setting. One second, the kid was sharing Parker's morose and scathing outlook on things, and the next, he was highlighting how perfect everyone thought he was. Sure, he was doing it sarcastically, but it served to remind Parker simply how privileged Cygny was compared to him -- the King of the Crapshoot.

Nudging his tray forward with disdain, Parker shook his head."I would not be surprised if it was pumped full of experimental drugs. The whole school could be part of some experiment, and we'd never even know it." He paused and then added, "Except you." There were other boys who sat at the top of the food chain, but that was usually for toughness or general brown-nosing. Cygny was almost in his own category of "model student who no one messes with." It was a category Parker would never make.

"I'd rather write a book than shoot a ball," he said, with a hint of distaste. Parker did not respect athletes for simply being athletic. Granted, Cygny was a little bit of both, but Parker had no intention of giving him credit there. "Or perhaps you are a good actor," he added, pursing his lips. No one was perfect. No one. There was no such thing as perfection. Parker was painfully unaware of how on-the-money his comment was; he simply meant to suggest that there is no such thing as true perfection -- not accuse Cygny of being a Negaverse Lt.

Oh, if only...

Cygny must be the theatrical type. It was the only explanation Parker had for his odd little speech about radiation. "If they were going to save anyone, it wouldn't be us. It wouldn't be Hillworth," he said, shaking his head. Even if the boy was kidding around, it was lost on Parker. Logically, he couldn't follow it. Why would anyone save Hillworth? They were clearly the unwanted. Well... maybe that wasn't something Cygny could understand.

"If you tried acting, I'm sure you would get the starring role," Parker said, shrugging. It made sense. He had succeeded at everything else -- so why not that? Parker had never really considered theatre. He liked it. He liked watching it. But it just wasn't something that called to him, and he felt like he would be permanently stuck playing the second tree on the right or the a** of the horse. Such was his luck.

Finishing the last bit of banana, Parker laid the peel down on the tray. Absolutely delicious. Really. "For all the things you do that the school praises you for... do you even enjoy any of it?" Cygny had surprised Parker in other ways; perhaps there was even more unraveling to be done here.