I blew a strand of hair from my face as I prodded my lunch with my spoon. If it wasn't fried meat balls, it's soggy pasta for lunch. But hey, it's free. What could I expect?

Porter, my "friend" and classmate for about two subjects sat beside me, opposite Nicola, my other "friend" and classmate for three subjects. These two were the ones that permanently stuck to me during lunch because apparently, we have friendships that I wasn't aware of.

I memorized all their lines even when I was barely with them since I usually go back home for lunch, go out to the nearby steak place, or never eat lunch at all. Between those choices, I usually pick hanging out with them when I am in the mood for soggy pasta...or gritty meatballs.

Porter licked his fingers, the sound irking me more than it should have. He insisted on tearing at his meatballs with his bare hands and he ate them everyday. Before, I tried keeping him from doing it because there's no soap in any of the comfort rooms and his hands would smell like meatballs for the rest of the day. He listens to me for a day but after the reset, I would have to do it again.

I just didn't bother anymore.

Nicola had her head propped on her fist, her elbow resting on the table. She had her phone in her hand, the bright pink sequins jingling on the back cover was enough to give me vertigo. She barely looked at us during lunch and would only do so when Porter drops his meatball piece on his gravy.

Sometimes, I stop Porter from doing so by a well-timed distraction that always seemed to work, because I couldn't look at Nicola's heavy eye make-up for the life of me.

It's not because it's bad or anything. The colors she used on her eyes just makes it look like she plastered the sequins from her phone cover to her lids. It's unsettling.

But, who am I to judge people based on their make-up tastes? It's not like Nicola can change it just because I want it to. Hmm...should I crash her house before she goes to school?

I shook my head, dismissing the thought. It's just like with Porter and his method of eating meatballs. I'll get tired of it eventually so why start doing it now?

I thrust my fork into my soggy pasta and twisted a forkful. It tasted like garlic and mayonnaise.

It wasn't bad or anything. It just wasn't to my liking, probably after hundreds of days of eating nothing but it for lunch. I was just avoiding washing dishes at home so I was eating out here.

Lunch began around fifteen minutes ago, which means five minutes before any of my companions speak. Which also means forty more minutes before lunch is over. Ugh.

After a ton of thick silence, Porter smacked his lips, his breath whiffing towards me in an unholy mixture of mints and frying oil. "So, Mr. Miller shaved my goatee at PE earlier," he began.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I hear this everyday. Instead, I shrugged. "Should've listened to him when he told you to stop showing up with a goatee," I droned with a bored voice.

"What's wrong with goatees?" Porter demanded, tearing a bite out of his meatball. "They are a fashion statement as much as anything else."

I waved my hand at the students clamoring around us, each one drowned in their own circles. I don't even remember what Porter looked like when he had a goatee on. "Have you seen anyone wearing revealing clothing or having shaved heads?" I asked.

Porter glared at me. "Yeah, the rules sucks sometimes," he muttered, chewing his food slowly.

I sighed. "Sometimes, you just gotta accept some realities and move on," I said.

Porter huffed before dipping his meatball into his gravy platter. I took another bite of the pasta, my own words ringing in my ears. It made me want to shove my fist into my mouth because I regret what I just said.

I just have to accept some realities, huh? I should move on?

Move on where? Or should I say, when? The world didn't even let me move on. Was I supposed to just accept that and live my life alone, without any real relationships?

Because, let's face it. None of these were real. Porter and Nicola were hanging out with me not because they wanted to. No, it's because something tells them they have to. Was Travis talking about that game with me because he wanted to? No, it's because something tells him he has to.

Something tells each and everyone of them what to do, when to do it, and how to do it. And that something didn't even have any creativity left so it just reuses a day and sets it on loop. What's worse was that I don't know what or who that something was. I don't know the hell about anything.

Was I supposed to just accept that and move on?

"Jule?" Porter's voice tore into my thoughts. He was waving his hands slick with oil in front of my face. I hastily slapped it away.

"What?" I snapped.

"You're looking at thin air with that angry look on your face," Porter said, his voice a thick timber to my ears. "Oh, you also look like you can bend that fork with that tight grip. Are you sure your hands don't hurt?"

I sighed and let the fork clatter to the table. My hands indeed hurt. I shook my head to clear it. "I..I'm alright," I lied.

"Yeah, you don't look alright," Porter insisted. "Are you sure—"

That's when his meatball flew out of his fingers and straight into the gravy platter. Nicola looked up from her phone and straight into my eyes. Her bright blue contact lenses dug into me, her pupils dilated.

I swallowed a bitter garlic taste at the back of my throat. Seriously, Nicola could murder someone with her stare, pink eyeshadow or no. "Would you keep it down?" she snapped, clicking her tongue. "The Research group is bothering me to pass this infernal proposal before the end of the day. I'm trying to finish it."

Porter whistled. "Which Mister did you have on Research?" he asked.

"Johnson," Nicola replied absently, tapping at her phone's keyboard like she's being chased, her long nails clinking against the screen. I guess that's what social media does to people. They make you an excellent touch-screen typer. "I hate his guts. Our proposal's been rejected thrice."

"Only thrice?" Porter's tone of disbelief shone through. "Davis threatened to fail us if we don't submit our sixth title proposal any time soon."

Nicola shrugged. "This is highschool," she said. "You won't actually fail. The least you could do is to get a good grade out of it."

"That's a valid point, Nicola," Porter said. "So, what part are you working on?"

They proceeded to talk about their proposals, completely forgetting that I was there. It's fine. I know I have nothing to contribute to their discussion. I don't have Research in my daily schedule so I couldn't really relate. I forgot which teacher I had as well.

So I fade into the background, prodding pasta with a spoon I took from the coaster but will never really use. Various voices blended and muffled in my ears.

I decided to do what I don't usually do when I'm around the cafeteria. I propped my elbow on the table and rested my chin on my hand. I let my gaze wander.

I never realized the Campus has so many students. The cafeteria was as big as the supermarket's parking lot, which was about thirty pushcarts across and every table was filled with students of different ages, heights, and backgrounds. Each one of them has a life I don't know about.

My gaze landed on Rom, just a few tables from ours. He has his back turned to me but I wasn't about to forget his blue and red flannel, not when I'm still reeling about how he actually mentioned my name without knowing of it first.

He sat with his back hunched over as he finished the last of his meal. From the color of the plate, I'd say he's had the soggy pasta. Yay.

He kept pushing his hair off his face since it's probably too long and silky. He had headphones slung around his neck like a DJ, his army-green backpack resting beside him, deflated. What else does he carry around in there?

His friends looked lively. And damn, he has a lot. There were two girls and about five boys, all of whom looked like they were part of a certain unstoppable world-mechanics. Which, for the record, they are.

Rom laughed with them when the guy with wavy blond hair made a joke about something I didn't catch. Rom's smile was bright and innocent, his teeth crooked yet somewhat perfect. Well, he's perfect. At least for me. He's the only one who could get me out of this loop. He's special. He's...different.

"Oooh," Nicola's voice resurfaced in my ears. "Jule has a crush on Rom."

Porter looked between me and Nicola. "For real, girl?" he asked Nicola. I rolled my eyes, grunting. I'm right here, genius!

"Ugh, have you noticed how Jule was looking at him from a couple tables away with that crazy, lovesick look in her eyes?" Nicola said.

I crossed my arms. "That didn't happen," I defended. "I wasn't 'lovesick'."

"Psh, you ain't fooling anyone, girl," Nicola said. "You've been looking at him like he sealed off your future or something."

I choked. I was at least grateful it wasn't because of the soggy pasta.

Nicola wasn't far off. That's because Rom did seal off my future, sort of. "Well, I don't have a crush on him," I insisted. "I was looking at...that blond guy over there."

Nicola took one look behind her and knit her eyebrows. "Tristan?" she asked. Ah, so that's the name. "He's a jerk."

"If he's a jerk, Rom wouldn't be friends with him, right?" I said.

Nicola turned from her seat again. I almost hissed at her to stop it. She popped back before I could. "You seem to know more about him than I do," she said.

"Yeah girl," Porter said. Oh, believe me, this didn't happen on a normal day. This...was an entirely new chapter in my book. "You look like you've been exposed to the sun with that red tint on your cheeks. Have you been trying out Nicola's stuff lately?"

I slapped my hands on my cheeks. "What red? I'm not red!" I said. God, can they stop this already? I don't like Rom. I just need him to get out of here.

Nicola shrugged. "No need to be ashamed, Jule," she said. "We all love someone some time."

I glared at her. "Aren't you supposed to be typing the hell out of that proposal?"

Nicola cursed audibly and went back to tapping on her sequined phone. Good. That's more like it. Porter looked like he was about to say something when I glared at him into silence.

Inwardly, I was scoffing. Love. Why would I love Rom? No. He's just a way to get out of this loop. Somehow, he could answer the questions I have regarding this reality. Somehow, he was the only one who could do it.

Something clicked and I whirled to Nicola. "What did you say?" I said, in an effort to clarify. "Do you know what love is?"

Nicola shrugged. "It's an attraction to something or someone?" she guessed. "You could find that in any dictionary."

God. This was really happening. The world around me has changed.

Was it because of Rom? Or was it because of...me?