The special kids, the ones who wear keys around their necks, get to eat in the canteen. The canteen! Even the name sounds important. And these kids at lunch time go there because their mothers aren't home or home is too far away to get to.
I got it in my head one day to ask my mother to make me a sandwich and write a note to the principal so I could eat in the canteen too."Oh no," she says pointing the butter knife at me as if I'm starting trouble
" If I ate at school there'd be less dishes to wash. "
After three days of nagging.....
lunchtime came finally and I got to get in line with the stay-at-school kids. Everything is fine until the nun who knows all the canteen kids by heart looks at me and says:
"This is no good, till Sister Superior gives the okay. Go upstairs and see her."
I always cry when nuns yell at me, even if they're not yelling. Then she was sorry and said I could stay—just for today, not tomorrow or the day after—you go home
"You don't live far,''I bet I can see your house from my window. Which one? Come here. Which one is your house?"
In the canteen, which was nothing special, lots of boys and girls watched while I cried and ate my sandwich, the bread already greasy and the rice cold.