Sharon’s Note: I never got into a food fight in school. There even was one when I was in high school, it just wan’t during my lunch. This may be one of my deeper regrets. I have been in a cake fight, though. I highly recommend them. Warning: Characters doing things the author wishes she had done.
Both Max and Clarissa are focused on Alex. Wannabe is hovering by my shoulder. Pretty much the entire cafeteria is frozen in silence, waiting to see who makes the next move. I’m not one to wait for anyone, and besides, bitch owes me a shirt.
I scoop up the hand full of nasty spaghetti from my plate, the oily noodles mashing inbetween my fingers, and hurl it at Clarissa’s face.
Spaghetti is not aerodynamic. Oh, it hits Bottle-blond, but not before coming apart mid flight and splattering over Max, her, and a couple of random bystandards behind her. For just a second, the perfect silence stands. Max is staring at me in pure puzzlement. Then sound resumes as Clarissa begins to cry.
She puts her hands to her side and tilts her head back to wail like a siren. Max winces and takes a step away from her. He picks a noodle off his shoulder and holds it up to me with a raised eyebrow.
Alex burst out laughing. They laugh so hard they double over, all menace gone from their demeanor. Once Alex laughs, others start, and soon the entire room is filled with laughter. Then someone gets brave and throws a second handful of spaghetti at Clarissa. It seems like no one likes her any more than I do.
“Hey, stop that!” A girl yells. I think she’s one of the girls Clarissa was with this morning. She takes a small carton of milk and throws it. I don’t know who she meant to throw it at, but it hits some poor guy who was just watching. Milk soaks his nice clean letter jacket.
Well, shit. The food fight is on.
Food is flying everywhere. I duck behind the table for cover, near Alex’s legs. They are standing up, grabbing stuff from my lunch tray to chuck with reckless abandon. Clarissa’s voice is still audible above the din as she screams like a banshee. A spatter of cream corn catches my shoulder from over the table. Where did that come from? There wasn’t any cream corn on the lunch line.
“That’s enough! THAT’S ENOUGH!” The voice that’s breaking through all the other noise is older, male, and authoritarian. I started this fight. Well, not the original fight, but they were going to pin the food fight on me.
Wannabe is crouched down near me, protecting his leather jacket. He said he could sneak me out before the fight started, so he may know the quickest way out. Then again, he’s a jerk. Do I really want to be alone with him? If I stay, I’ll have to face the music and possibly get in trouble on my fist day, but maybe I could get Alex or someone else who hates Bottle-blond to lie for me and say I didn’t do it.
The chaos is starting to calm. If I’m going to do something it has to be now.