Cafeteria Invasion

Mort poked at his kale salad with a plastic fork.

“What is that?” Douglas asked.

“It’s kale. It’s supposed to be good for you.” Mort brought a fork full of kale up to his nose and made a face, dumping it back into his mom’s Tupperware.

“Allergic to the hamburgers they’re serving today, Mort?” Douglas slapped Mort on the back as he passed by to dump his peanut butter and banana sandwich crust.

“Of course I’m allergic.” Mort frowned and looked around the cafeteria at all the other students biting into their juicy burgers. He never got to eat cafeteria food. Some said he was lucky, but he thought the food looked good - burgers, pizza, mashed potatoes, hot dogs, sloppy joes. He was allergic to all of it!

“I can’t believe you bring a peanut butter and banana sandwich everyday when you could eat the cafeteria food.” Mort said. He pulled a green apple from his lunch sack and took a big bite.

“I hate cafeteria food. Besides, peanut butter and banana sandwiches are my weakness. I’ve been eating them every day since I was a little kid.”

Mort doubted that Douglas’s mom would let him eat peanut butter and banana sandwiches every single day of his life, but he was letting this one go.

“There’s the bell.” Mort took one last bite of his apple and tossed the core. The bell ring was different. It rang longer than usual and sounded like the motor on his grandpa’s old fishing boat.

“Is that the bell?” Douglas laughed.

The bell droned on and the cafeteria lights flickered and then popped.

“What’s that smell?” Mort covered his nose as a cloud of thick gray smoke floated through the cafeteria, accompanied by the smell of an old tire. Cool water poured from the ceiling sprinklers, and the smoke alarm sounded. Everyone fled the building and waited outside of the cafeteria door for further instructions. After a few minutes, Principal Cornblooth squeezed through the crowd.

“Everyone back inside,” she called. “We had a little fire in the kitchen, but everything is fine now.” She shooed the students toward the door, fanning her hands impatiently. Mort lollygagged at the back of the line, in no particular hurry to get to Spanish class. He paused to look up at the darkening sky, which had cast an ominous shade over the school building, almost like an umbrella was overhead. A blinding beam of light suddenly cut through the darkness and a high pitched beep rang out so loud that he covered his ears and shut his eyes. He felt someone grab his t-shirt and pull him inside.

“Everyone means everyone, Morton Baker,” Principal Cornblooth gripped his t-shirt roughly and gave him a firm shove through the doorway. Mort struggled to maintain his balance. Startled by her force, he whipped around and faced Principal Cornblooth. Her mouth curved up slightly, but she wasn’t smiling. Mort felt a chill as they locked eyes.

“Now, go to class,” she said in a whisper.

Mort had never been so glad to see a school day end. What a weird day; a fire in the cafeteria, umbrella shade over the school, beeping noises and bright lights, and then a rough shove from Principal Cornblooth. What was going on?

The cafeteria breakfast crowd was unusually loud the next morning. Principal Cornblooth stood glassy-eyed in front of the trashcans as students rushed by, talking loudly and sloshing milk on the wall as they threw cartons into the trash. Unaffected, she stared ahead dreamily as a droplet of chocolate milk rolled down her cheek.

Douglas was at the end of the line, picking out his milk. “Hey, Mort, did you see Principal Cornblooth? She must be sick,” he laughed. “She’s got nothing to say this morning.”

Miss Holly, the cafeteria helper, gazed into Mort’s eyes as he reached for a soy milk. Her lips curled up slightly, yet she wasn’t exactly smiling. Mort froze. The other students scooted by, reaching for plastic plates full of scrambled eggs and sausage. Mr. Carl always served the meat. He was usually friendly and had a joke or two to share, but not today. Today he just stared straight ahead and plopped sausage links onto the plates without even looking. His lips also curled up slightly.

“Douglas, something’s going on in here.” Mort whispered.

Mort and Douglas lingered at the fruit bar, trying to see what was happening back in the kitchen. Mort carefully slipped by the servers to get a better look and Douglas followed. The boys hunkered down behind a large bag of flour. They saw head cook, Mr. Dimond, with that same creepy half smile, pouring a smoky liquid into the scrambled eggs. The yellow mound bubbled up and sizzled as he poured.

Mort gasped. “He’s putting something in the food?”