They.
That word stayed with me.
Kelsey had not chosen the table because she wanted a place to eat. She had chosen it because she wanted an audience. She wanted people to watch a junior get pushed aside.
And now that I had refused, walking away would not end it. It would reward her.
Still, I did not want a fight.
I had spent most of my life avoiding fights. My father worked nights at a distribution warehouse, and my mother cleaned offices downtown before sunrise. They had raised Jordan and me to keep our heads down, finish what we started, and never give school staff a reason to call the house.
So I tried one more time.
"Kelsey, there are plenty of open tables. Sit at one of them."
Her eyebrows lifted.
"You're giving me instructions now?"
"I'm asking you to leave me alone."
"That's not how this works."
"How does it work?"
"The person with seniority gets what she wants."
"That's not a school rule."
"It should be."
A tray clattered somewhere behind me. Several students turned to watch. I could feel the moment becoming bigger than the table, bigger than lunch, bigger than Kelsey and me.
She had built a little stage.
I was standing in the middle of it.
Kelsey placed both hands on the table and bent down until her face was only inches from mine.
Her perfume smelled like artificial vanilla. I could see a tiny silver star glued near the corner of her left eye.
"I said I want this one," she whispered.
Her voice was lower now. More dangerous because she was trying to sound calm.
I kept my hands in my lap.
"Then you should have gotten here first."
A sharp silence fell between us.
Kelsey's mouth opened slightly.
The students nearby waited for her answer. Tessa stopped recording and held her phone still. Even the lunch monitor looked over from the counter.
For one second, Kelsey seemed unsure what to do.
Then her expression hardened.
She reached across the table and swept her hand toward my tray.
I caught her wrist before she could knock it onto the floor.