Summer Camp: Part Seven
The cafeteria held all the welcome of an interrogation chamber, and the only open seat was at the dead center of the long, slick table that divided the girls’ side from the boys’. Jenny stood in the doorway for maybe half a second before the first forkful of macaroni clattered to the floor. By the time she made it to the serving line, a hush had spread like a disease—every head craned, every set of eyes zeroed in on the new color scheme of her face and chest.