Our Little Secret

Chapter 7 - Cozy Winter Classics

From all sides of me, students either stand or duck for cover, as pasta covered in sauce flies in the air.  I drop to the floor, siding with those who don't want to be covered in food.  I may have fired the first shot, but I wasn't expecting to start a cafeteria war.  It doesn't seem like a very strategic war though, the people throwing food seem to be doing it on a whim, without aim. 

I reach a hand up to the table, grab my tray, and use it as a shield over my head.  I may not be dressed fancy today, but with my new found hatred of spaghetti, the last thing I want is to be covered in it.  Beside me, Candice does the same.

I look towards Rob and see him crawling to the doors, trying to get away from the chaos.  I start following, walking like a duck on my feet to avoid all the food accumulating on the floor.  I feel the impact of spaghetti on my tray, then feel it slide down to my unprotected back.  Some of it finds its way under my shirt.

"Screw this," Candice says beside me.  She tosses her tray and stands, realizing the hunching and shield are just making it harder to escape. 

I follow her, tossing my tray and running towards the door, trying not to slip on the greasy pasta.  I'm almost to the door, so close to freedom, when a fistful of spaghetti collides with my face, blinding me.

I want to turn around, to clear off my face and see who got me, but Candice just grabs my arm, pulling me out.  When we get into the hall, I bring my hands to my face, wiping away the food.

"That was," I pull a noodle from my hair, grimacing at it.  "Disgusting."  I look at Candice, who seems to have gotten away cleaner than I did.  She's trying her best to hold in a laugh.

"You have to admit," we start walking towards the front entrance, where our cars are in the parking that, "if a food fight was going to break out, spaghetti day was the best day for it.  It's good for throwing, and it's hell to clean up.  I wouldn't be surprised if the janitors stay until midnight cleaning that."  My irritation subsides for a minute, guilt replacing it.  When I threw the spaghetti at Blaine, I wasn't trying to start a food fight.  I hate the thought of our janitors staying so late to clean up a mess I helped create.

I try to push those thoughts aside as we go outside, the fresh, cold air making the sauce on my face feel itchy.  "Where do you think Rob is?"  In the heat of the moment, I didn't grab any of my books from the table, but thankfully, I had my phone in my pocket.

As if on cue, we see him, rummaging through his car a few rows down.  We jog to him, trying to warm ourselves up.

He turns around, hearing our heavy breathing and footsteps long before we reach him.  "Well," he says, his entire upper body coated in spaghetti, "you both can add starting a cafeteria food fight to the list of insane things you've done.  I think it would fit nicely beside TP-ing our principals house."  We cross our arms.

"I think the proper words you're looking for," Candice corrects, "is thank you.  Thank you, Candice and Addy, for coming to my aid when Blaine tripped and spilled spaghetti on me."  She juts out a hip, annoyed at him for not thanking her.

Rob scowls, before turning back to his car.

"She's right," I lean against his car, watching him.  "You may be annoyed, for whatever reason, but we couldn't just let him do that and think it was okay.  Did you see the look on his face?"  Rob let's out a frustrated breath before grabbing a clean shirt from his car, finally finding what he must've been looking for.

"I didn't see his face," he pulls at the bottom of his shirt, "because mine was covered in sauce."  I watch as he peels his black shirt from his body, revealing his toned skin underneath.  Rob doesn't work out, and he doesn't have abs or anything, but he is nice to look at.