Clear Lake Academy holds the worst of the worst delinquents from around the country. Each and every student there holds a notorious background that led them there and almost everyone avoids them.
After setting the tenth building on fire, which just...
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I walked through the vast dining room, keeping my shoulders back and my spine straight. The room had fallen silent in a single sweeping hush as if a wave had fallen over them, swallowing their voices. I set my sight on the far end of the room where long tables overflowed with food. The rich scents-warm spices, fresh herbs, baked bread-drifted through the air, softening the lingering chill of all those unblinking stares.
Grabbing a tray, I stepped to the end of the line. No one moved. They were too busy staring at me-like I was some rare artifact dragged out of storage for display. Fine. I slipped past them, weaving around the frozen bodies, and headed straight for the steaming mounds of pasta and the still-warm loaves of bread. I filled my plate, grabbed a bottle of water, and turned to face the sea of tables
My gaze swept over the crowd. Some students watched with innocent curiosity, others glared as if they'd already made up their minds about me. A few offered tentative smiles, while others let their eyes travel up and down my figure, assessing, calculating.
I probably looked like one of those rich kids who appear out of nowhere-untouchable, uninterested, dripping in privilege. That wasn't me. I didn't care about flaunting anything. If anything, I always preferred giving away what I didn't need. Sure, I splurged now and then on a piece I actually loved, but wasting money just to show off had never made sense. Better to use it to help someone who needed it. Not that the people here would know any of that.
I mentally reined in my frustration as the room remained silent, before making my way to a table tucked near the back of the canteen. I should have expected it really, but it still surprised me nonetheless as a whistle streaked through the silence, the sound appreciative -edged with somethingwolfish. Without thinking, I showed them my middle finger, and continued my path towards the empty table I'd located.
If possible, the room fell even more silent, enough to hear the soft hum of the oven.
I sat down and began eating, mentally counting lots of tens in order to keep my nerves in check. But anyone in my situation would get fed up just as I was beginning to, and so when no one continued to move, I spoke up.
"Well?" I said, loud enough for my voice to carry but not sharp enough to sound like I was picking a fight. "Are you all going to eat, or are you planning to stare at me until I turn to stone?"
A ripple went through the room-small, almost shy. A few students exchanged glances. Someone snorted. Someone else ducked their head, embarrassed to be caught. The tension thinned just a little, like a bubble being nudged but not yet popped.
At least they were breathing again.
I stabbed another forkful of pasta, pretending not to care whether anyone responded. Let them think I was unbothered. Let them think whatever they wanted. It was better than letting them see how tight my chest felt.
The frustration within me only bubbled hotter as a figure appeared before me; face twisted with a wicked grin, grey eyes wide with hunger. The room slipped back into silence, eyes tracking every movement as if they were watching a scene they didn't want to miss. The sound of a clock ticking filled the room, alongside the sound of many breathing bodies.
