Chapter 3: Strawberry Milk Goes White

Chapter Three

I don’t know when Derek and she became close.

One day I looked up and there they were, sharing a textbook, laughing at a private joke. It was like someone flipped a switch and I was suddenly on the outside.

It just happened one day—very suddenly—the strawberry milk Derek was supposed to bring me every morning, as Mr. Peterson had told him to, was replaced with plain milk.

It was a little ritual—he’d started bringing it after a brutal algebra test in eighth grade—and he’d grab my favorite from the corner store before first bell, always with a straw tucked under the flap. Suddenly, the carton was white, not pink, and it didn’t taste right.

"I hate plain milk the most, don’t you know that?"

I said it quietly, more to myself than to him. The words tasted bitter, nothing like strawberry milk.

Staring at the carton of plain milk in my hand, I was a little upset.

My fingers tightened around the box. I couldn't bring myself to take a sip. I felt a pang of something—loss, maybe, or just the end of something small but special.

"Alright, isn’t it just because the strawberry milk box is pink? You’re already grown up, still drinking strawberry milk every day—what does that look like? From now on, drink plain milk, it’s healthier."

Derek patted my head.

He said it like he was giving advice, but it stung. I ducked away from his hand, blinking hard.

Lauren was also holding a carton of plain milk. Hearing this, she turned and smiled apologetically.

She gave me a quick, innocent look, the kind that makes adults say "Isn't she sweet?" even when you know better.

"Sorry, Pinkie. I like plain milk, so I asked D to bring this."

She spoke my nickname loud enough for the whole table to hear, making sure I knew who was really in charge now.

"But strawberry milk is too sweet, really cloying. Do all you little girls like that stuff?"

She scrunched up her nose, as if the thought alone was enough to make her gag. The boys at the next table laughed.

I put down the milk, frowned, and stared at her.

My hands shook just a bit. I forced myself to meet her eyes. I was tired of feeling invisible, tired of her games.

"Do you always give people nicknames?"

I made my voice steady, but inside, my heart was racing. I tried to keep my jaw set like I'd seen my mom do when she was mad at Dad.

She froze, then looked surprised and helpless.

Her lips parted in a perfect little "o." She blinked dramatically, like she couldn't imagine I'd take offense.

"Haha... why so serious? I was just joking. You’re too sensitive, honestly..."

She tossed her hair again, looking at Derek for backup. He shifted awkwardly.

"Am I being sensitive, or do you feel guilty? You know the answer."

I didn't look away, letting my words hang in the air. A few heads turned at our table, the tension suddenly thick.

"Alright, Natalie," Derek interrupted, looking troubled. "Lauren sometimes says things without thinking, don’t take it to heart."

He tried to smooth things over, but his voice was tired. For the first time, I realized he wouldn’t always take my side.

...

A heavy silence settled over the table. I could feel the burn of everyone's eyes, waiting for someone to crack.

I was so angry my eyes turned red. I shoved Derek hard, not forgetting to snap at Lauren.

I felt the tears threatening again, but I refused to let them fall. My voice was sharp—sharper than I'd meant.

"If you can’t say something nice, then don’t say anything at all!"

It came out loud, echoing across the cafeteria. Lauren's smile faltered for a split second.

Derek was startled and quickly wrapped his arms around my waist, blurting out,

He tried to calm me down, his hands awkward and stiff—then, with everyone watching, he rushed out his promise.

"Alright, alright, my fault, don’t be mad. I’ll bring you strawberry milk tomorrow, okay?"

His words were rushed, desperate. But it was too late—something had already shifted between us.

Seeing this, Lauren’s face changed. She glared at me fiercely.

Her eyes narrowed, lips pursed tight. It was the look of someone who didn't like to lose, especially not in front of a crowd.