Oranges

The bell would ring,

Snack time!, it called

The teacher would pack her books with a sigh

My friends would squeal, chittering, metals chairs scraping against linoleum

They would all rush to piled biscuits in the corridor, sickly sweet

But not you

Head down, lips pursed, you would shuffle to my doodled-on desk

And I would reach into my bookbag

Pull out an orange for us

Carefully peeled, curls of skin dropping with its summer smell

You held out your hand, cupped, eyes wide

A silent ask, to which I obliged.

Slices pulled from between the fiber spiderwebs, soft and bursting

One by one, we would eat them all

Tang and juice squelching between our teeth

A dried peel the only remnant of our time together.