It started on a Thursday. I sat at my usual table—under the window on the left side—at Borderland Elementary School. There I was, minding my own business, doing my best to choke down the thing the cooks tried to pass off as a chicken patty on a bun. The bun was like Styrofoam, and the patty—well, I wasn't sure what it was made of. But it didn't taste anything like chicken.
Across from me, my best friend, Abigail "Big" Wolf, picked through the salad her mom sent for lunch. "My mom hates me. It's official."
"Why?" I asked.
"This, my dear, Red." She snatched a handful of wilting baby spinach leaves out of her clear plastic bowl and plopped them onto the table. "Can you believe it? Not even any dressing to make it go down better. Wait. What's that? Can it be? Ah-ha!"