Twelve. That is the number of people who can fit at a lunch table in my school cafeteria. Twelve. Yet, despite that small number, as I eat my bagel I may be sitting in between the class valedictorian and a kid who is struggling to pass his classes. Or, I could end up next to a black atheist and across from a strong Hispanic Catholic. Like most high schoolers, I eat with the same 12 people every day. Yet my table is far from ordinary.

In both high schools I have attended, students organize themselves in the cafeteria subconsciously by race, class, and GPA with few exceptions. When people see my lunch table, it confuses them. They call it a “hot mess.” It's out of the ordinary; to them it just doesn't make sense.

However, to me it makes more sense than sitting with a bunch of people who are reflections of myself. I have learned more about different cultures in the U.S. from that table than I ever learned in a classroom. I have tasted a true Mexican tamale, learned what it takes to maintain a black girl's hair, and have been taught how to properly pronounce the word “swagger.”

But most touchingly, I have learned the trials that face each culture. I have gotten a taste of the prejudice they still face. I have begun to break down the walls I had subconsciously put up in my mind. All this from a little daily exposure to 11 people.

My lunch table is more than a place to eat. It has taught me a lesson about prejudice and stereotypes, and has opened my mind to a whole world full of people, a lesson I hope to take with me wherever I go.