Worlds Apart Read Online Free

times in life that people have a ‘usual table.’ The first is in the high school cafeteria. The second is when you’re rich enough that people who own restaurants remember who you are, where you sit, and what you like to drink. Most people only experience the first. The boys and I were discussing our classes and teachers when Delancey walked in, unseen by me.
    “Wow,” said Sam, “Delancey really grew over the summer…in all the right places.” Carlos, amused, agreed with Sam and then went back to eating. This was typical of Carlos, always in agreement with Sam, and never really saying too much. Some people are leaders; Carlos was definitely a follower.
    John, my closest friend, asked if any of us had classes with Delancey this year.
    “I have English class with her,” I said with a sheepish grin. We kept eating, none of us saying another word on the subject. The wheels were turning in Sam’s head. I was friendly with Delancey, and found her very attractive, but never had asked her out, chased after her, or expressed my feelings. She was out of my league. I was a realist, pragmatic to the core. She was too much of a long shot, and too much of a dream. She was someone I could reach out towards, but never hold.
    September was shaping up to be a busy month. I had to work on the paper after school and could not go with the guys to the park. I told them I’d see them tomorrow, and explained that I had to “work all night on the school newspaper.” They laughed, detecting my sarcasm and what I was alluding to. John had to work at his strict Korean parents’ fruit and vegetable store, which was usually the case.
    After gym class, I was in the boys’ locker room changing out of the required Stanton gym t-shirt. The room smelled like jock straps and sweat, and that was with the windows open. The boys were talking about a street gang attack after school and the best ways to leave the school and head for the subways. This street gang, the Deceptors, was infamous.
    The Deceptors always planned a secret attack on the first day of school. Everyone always knew about it, except the police and school officials. I was more than familiar with the gang’s well deserved reputation for terror. I wasn’t concerned. By the time I finished my sports articles, the gang would be long gone.
    At six o’ clock, I exited the newspaper office. Bellicose voices roared in the background. They continued to argue about the lead story, sounding like a parliament meeting of a third world country. The only thing missing was fisticuffs. The editors smirked and made snide comments that I didn’t work as hard as they did and that sports was easier than the news or the entertainment section. This of course, wasn’t true, but probably was not false either. I never had the patience for office politics.
    I walked my normal route to the subway on Dekalb Avenue. There was a clairvoyant’s store front I was accustomed to passing. I don’t call them fortune tellers because that would give them credibility. The psychic was a slightly chubby woman, probably in her late thirties. She wore black clothing, and often sat outside her storefront. She smiled a sexy smile and asked if there was anything she could help me with. I said no, thank you. She smiled back, and continued with her sales pitch.
    “I could tell you your future. It’s very interesting.” Or, “Maybe I can help make your dreams come true.” Or, “I know what you’ll do after high school. I know the right path for you to study. I have the answers to your questions.”
    I never paid her any attention. Her customers always looked desperate. Sometimes her clients were high school students. When this was the case, the girls always came out crying, and the boys always came out nervous. I may not have had all the answers to my future, but she didn’t have any. Her profession implied that the future is already written, and ready to be foretold. I made my own future and not a single person