Personal Narrative: Picture Me

Picture me: a seventeen-year-old Andalusia high-schooler on the free-and-reduced lunch program. Now, picture me slowly going through the cafeteria lunch as I pile food onto my tray with a growling stomach. It’s a new school year, and I am now on reduced meals rather than free ones, but I’m only paying forty cents a day. My plate is growing exceptionally taller with steaming broccoli and chicken nuggets as I add a bit of ketchup to my plate. When I finally get to the end of the line, I type in my lunch code on the obnoxious number pad and start to zoom off to my lunch table. Instead, a sharp, “Come back!” interrupts my pace. Naturally, I’m confused, but I still look at the lunch lady with a smile-- albeit a questioning one. Apologetically, she explains herself, “You need to put your plate down and get some money from the office or something.
“How much am I over?” “Forty cents.” I quickly ran to my lunch table to try and pretend like nothing happened. I didn’t want to ask the people in the office for money. By the time I got to the office and back, I wouldn’t have time to eat my lunch-- not to mention the mortification that comes with having to ask for spare change. I also didn’t want to ask my friends. I knew they would not think less of me, but I was ashamed of not having enough cash to cover my bill. Despite my efforts, my friends know me well enough to figure out when something is wrong. They wasted no time getting me to spill my guts, and throwing me a dollar or two so I could eat. That was my first experience with lunch