The lunch lady plopped a spoonful of mashed potatoes on my tray. They were as cold as Abe Lincoln and lumpier than the ground he was buried in. They landed with a wet splat.  How delectable.

“Are you the new kid? Have a nice first day!” Her fickle voice was filled with such sincerity that I forced my timid eyes to peer up through my poorly-cut bangs. She had flaming orange curls that poked through her hairnet, a few extra chins that hung over her neck, and, of course, a smile as crooked as her two front teeth. What a nice face.

“Thanks,” I squeaked; my quiet, mousy voice fit me perfectly, for I was a quiet, mousy girl. I proffered a quick, forced grin to return her kindness before I quickly scurried away to the lunchroom. There I stood. Alone. A stray without a home. Everyone else quickly found their seats and settled in, fitting together like a jigsaw puzzle. I was the piece that didn’t fit.

I wasn’t expecting to fit in. As a habitual new kid, I was used to peer rejection, but every time they ostracized me, it still stung. Earlier that morning, my usually stringent mother was actually trying to comfort me. While she was eating her dishwater-coloured oatmeal, she said to me “don’t worry, Ash. They'll love you. You have nothing to worry about.” Her words, although meant to soothe, did little to assuage my anxiety. My stomach had been filled with butterflies all day, and with each minute that ticked on, it felt as though more bugs had crawled under my skin. By lunchtime, I was filled with an angry swarm. The other kids were clumped together, like a cabal ganging up on me, staring at me with their laser gun eyes. They shot me with all their force, and told  me to go back to where I came from. The red, plastic tray began to rattle in my hands.

I stood at the threshold, trembling in dread for what felt like a million years, when a voice behind me said “Hi! You’re Ashley, right?” I turned around. “I’m Summer. I’m new here, too.” Standing next to my elvish stature, Summer looked like the Empire State Building. She had hair the colour of sunlight and eyes the colour of a crystalline ocean. Summer was beautiful; the graceful swan that made me an ugly duckling. The other kids must have had a persnickety and unusual taste in friends because, although I could understand why they didn't like me, Summer was as warm as her name and twice as lovely.

“Some of us don’t belong," she said. She then paused, fat drops of trepidation leaking through her face, “but those who don’t fit in belong with each other. Would you like to sit with me?” For the first time that day, a genuine smile grew on my face, and the butterflies began to flutter away. The other kids no longer mattered. The acceptance of one was more than enough.

“Yes. Yes, I would,” I replied.