Chapter Text
You take brief desperate glances at the clock every minute—drawing random scribbles on the desk and breaking your lead from your mechanical pencil as you do. Sweat taints your clothes as a result of your nervousness. You’re hungry, no, starving and you’re not sure if you’ve just flunked your test you did not prepare for at all, nor wrote any notes down prior to said test.
The harsh fluorescent lights are giving you a gnarly headache, nearly tainting your appetite. You keep flicking your eyes to the clock and your notebook in an inept manner—as if hoping time would advance any quicker, you try focusing on messing around on the stupid simulation your teacher has provided the class. You literally do not care nor do you want to play the game of how fast you can arrange a set of organs in the human body. The buttons hardly work, it screams in need of an update from how buggy it is.
You sit in a classroom full of idiots from left, right, forward and back. You are bored of your mind as you tap your foot against the tiles. Turning to look outside the window, it’s not so sunny today, but its real fucking humid out there. That’s probably why everywhere in this damn building smells like body odor. You have a big fear of smelling bad, infact, you wear so much deodorant it fucking itches. You don’t even know why these kids act like it's not there, like hello? Do you even smell yourself? Poor old Terezi. You wonder how she's holding up. Ever since this year started, she’s been cranky.
And fortunately, fucking finally; almost as if blessed by Chronos, your classmates begin loudly shutting their chromebooks one by one, like a chain reaction. They all wait in anticipation for the last minute, some already up from their chair and inching towards the door. Your teacher seems too engrossed in her laptop to give a damn, but she's always watching, like she’s got some third or a mechanical fourth eye surrounding her classroom like some sort of generic horror story of “it’s not what it really seems” school where they have a secret layer. That would’ve been kinda sick. What’s that one game called? Kindergarten? 1? 2? 3? Whatever. You haven’t been on Steam in a while.
Anywho, everyone's rushing out the door—and so do you. Despite your claims on hating the school lunch, and how alien nut from a sloppy, fucked out butt isn’t tasty whatsoever, beggars can’t be choosers. And you are a beggar who keeps on trying to choose despite your struggles. You’re a teenage boy who lives in the suburbs despite the lack of privileges you have (because of your annoying fucking bro), you tell people the phrase, “It’s not that deep” about 4 times a week, maybe 13 when the latest online discourse has grown to stir utter chaos. And you struggle to comprehend hypotheticals and triumphantly reply with, “But im not tho” over the internet, basking on the attention of acting like a jester and labeling it as trolling, or in other words— you tend to forget you are not in the liberating life you think you are in.
Alright alright, you’re getting side tracked. You better get into the lunch queue before the Hungry Motherfuckers crowd their way in with their friends who stick close to each other and border on homoerotically.
You stand in line with the plastic red tray in your hands. Feeling the tiny grooves that textures the tray, it's warm to the touch, and it has just been eaten out of and touched by millions of hands, then finally ran through a hot pressure washer. Not that you really care. You’re hungry and kids don’t fucking slobber over the trays, at least you hope they don’t. You know a certain G1RL who would, and that’s why you don’t like sitting with H3R at lunch.
The chow hall is monochromatic in metallic greys and parchment paper beige.
It makes you sweat a little as a reaction to the heat that keeps the food more palatable than it already isn’t. You don’t have much of an appetite, at least you won’t have to force yourself to eat the cheese sticks there, a carton of milk and a bag of shitty Dick & Janes’ cookies will do.
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The issue you run into is quite tedious.
As your eyes scan the cafeteria, searching for your friends—you take in the unfamiliar faces, well—ever since you and your friends moved schools. A lot of grey skinned trolls, and humans here and there. Awkwardly stumbling through row to row, you hear your friend, Jade, screaming your name from behind you. Quite embarrassed, you rushed towards them.
Finding your table of friends, and finally sittingdown, resting your cheek on your palm as you join in the conversation. You’re pretty tired today, so you remain quiet— occasionally putting in your 2 cents here and there, you swirl your jello into mush using your fork, and drank it down when a lunch staff announces the last 5 minutes of lunch time, along with your milk that's half frozen, the frozen bit floats around your carton—it gives you a mild brain freeze as a result to your chugging. That was a shitty meal, but it’ll have to work. You still have left overs from last night in your fridge, and you’re looking forward to reheating it. Yum. Maybe aiming to eat the cookies sounded more desperate than you thought it did. Maybe even more aimless than the act of your aiming, actually—what the hell are you talking about?
When it’s time for everyone to put their trays away, you follow along with your friends, dumping your trash and handing it to the window with all the sinks and a few staff inside. Everyone rushes to discard their trays, a stupid handful cuts the line so you both awkwardly bump into each other when you turn around to leave. Seriously, get out of the way if you don’t want to wait. You chat with your friends along the way as you guys went to recess. You won’t have recess in 7th grade or something, so you’ll have to make it last.