Grilled Cheese

By Anonymous, 22

“If you have any extra grilled cheese after everyone has gone through the line, please let me know. They’re my favorite,” I told Gina, the head lunch lady at the tiny, rural school that had housed the entirety of my educational career. Gina let out a loud, hearty laugh; she had the kind of laugh that would make you smile no matter how difficult a day you’d had. “I’ll definitely let you know, Chloe,” Gina said. Attending high school with less than one hundred students had several perks, and being pals with the lunch lady was definitely one of them.

I picked up the chipped, tan tray that held my beloved grilled cheese sandwich and walked over to my usual table. My friends, an interesting mix of band geeks, athletes, drama kids, and math nerds, were busy chatting about anything from chemistry labs to upcoming track meets to rehearsal for the winter band concert. We did not have the need for cliques at River Valley High School; there were so few students that everyone had to get along with one another. I sat down to join in on whatever conversations were happening at the time, though I usually bounced back and forth because there was so much going on. If there was one thing the cafeteria was not at 12:25 p.m., it was quiet. That’s how I liked it.

I liked the dark green tables whose benches often fell over with a loud crash, eliciting an embarrassed expression from whoever accidentally tipped it. I liked the ginormous windows that faced the blacktop, where you would see all of the tractors parked during Future Farmers of America week. I liked hearing the cheers of the younger students outside playing kickball if the weather was pleasant enough for the windows to be open. I liked the burnt smell in the air that still hung a week after my friend Jamie accidentally set the microwave for ten minutes instead of one when he was making popcorn. These thoughts passed through my mind and I smiled; this room had offered a place of happiness in the middle of the day, an escape from stressful days full of midterm exams, bully problems, and boring classes. I smiled to Bianca, my best friend, and she raised her eyebrows as if to ask “what?” I shrugged my shoulders as a familiar voice snapped me out of my contemplation.

“Chloe!” I heard Gina shout from the kitchen as the bell was about to ring, signaling the end of lunch. I hurried back, and Gina gave me another grilled cheese. “There were only two left,” she winked, “but you had dibs.” I exited the kitchen, grinning from ear to ear as the last of the students remained in the cafeteria in the hopes of scoring any leftover food. “Is there extra grilled cheese, Chloe?” some of my peers asked me as I began to eat my sandwich. “No,” I responded. “Not for you.”

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I was inspired by a writing prompt listed on YBH’s website. I read the prompt and was immediately inspired to write in detail about a specific memory of high school.

Photo by Asnim Ansari