Life's a Gem

1.D Cafeteria

Sam and I trek our way forward through the crowd of snot nose kids and broken dreams. The cafeteria doors, which are just double decked and are the only ones that permit entrance into the room, are absolutely packed. It's like a zombie epidemic and the students are the zombies, clawing over each other to get into the room, to get in to feed, to feast.

 Finally, after two minutes of waiting and getting breathed on by people, we get in. The room has painted walls of civil war soldiers fighting each other. One wall depicts a falcon, soaring majestically over the horizon, guarding our troops with its life. Ironically, it's placed over where the trash bins are.

"Dude, you think there will be anymore food left when we get up there?" 

Sam has a look of mixed emotions: anxiety and anger, maybe even hunger, but that's not an emotion. The line progresses forward, kids punch in their I.D numbers and leave, the lunch ladies flash a fake smile and curse their position here, then the process repeats. The line marches on, shoes stomp upon the ground as we advance like little soldiers into the battle field, though our weapons are utensils and our enemies are mashed potatoes and chicken tenders.

"I hate and love Tuesdays. Love them because it's Chicken Tender Tuesday, but hate it because it's Chicken Tender Tuesday, ya feel me?" 

She nudges my side with her right elbow. She means that the lines aren't usually this long, it's only this long when it's Tuesday, the day when the cafeteria serves the school's favorite lunch item, chicken tenders. 

We get our trays, our serving of milk, some tenders, a cup of mashed potatoes (Sam gets hers with extra gravy), a bread roll, an apple, and some chips; they're all part of our government's healthy food program. We sit down in a booth by the windows closest to the doors that lead outside to the courtyard. Sam sits in front of me, eyeing my plate and hers eagerly. 

"Yeah, I know the deal, Sam." 

She claps rapidly as she squeals in delight. I give her my four tenders for her chips. I don't really like chicken tenders, or farm meat, but fish is alright, so you could call me a pescatarian. I mainly stick to my tofu and veggies, thank you very much. She quickly gets down to her ritual: Sam breaks each tender in half, and dumps her potatoes with gravy into the slot where you hold your milk. She then dunks her tenders in the potatoes and eats them happily. 

"You know, you're an odd one, the no meat thing, but I like our deal," bits of crumbs spew from her mouth slightly as she speaks, she picks up her chocolate milk and glugs it down, "so I won't question you." She says this as she finishes half her milk in one setting. 

Despite how she eats, she's actually really slim, maybe it's her metabolism or genetics. Maybe it's aliens, who knows. She finishes her tenders, but there's still some leftover potatoes and gravy, as usual. So Sam breaks her bread and swirls it around the gravy, much like a painter does when they're about to create art. I think Sam eating is art.

God, I'm cheesy.

She eventually finishes her food, I nurse my bread, pick at my chips, and sip my plain milk; there's no need to rush. 

"Let's go, yeah?" 

She cocks her head towards the doors that lead back into the halls. We hand our trays to the trash bins that humbly accept our gracious donations of half eaten apples and empty chips bags. We leave the cafeteria and the noise. I hate all that noise, all of it, the yelling, and the shouting. JUST. MAKE. IT. STOP.

"Yo, why'd you stop, Max?" 

She swirls around and looks quizzically at me. I hadn't noticed that I stopped midway and was just standing there, just smack dab in the middle of the room, surrounded by people, just people, swarming over me, taking my oxygen from me, and they're laughing, laughing at me, laughing at—

"Max, come on already."

"Alright, chill out, dude." I struggle to breathe a bit. I'll be fine, I'll be fine, I'll be fine. I repeat my mantra until it becomes true, and I do become fine, it subsides, for now.

We walk to English together; I'll be fine there.