Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
▍After the third-period bell ranged, you and your friends quickly exited the classroom and rushed out into the narrow halls. It was now lunchtime, and knowing how pressed Lincoln High Schoolers could be when it came to eating poorly cooked cafeteria food, you all had to be the first ones up and out of the room if you didn't want to deal with the chaotic crowd.
Strolling inside the multipurpose room, yall feet came to a halt once you noticed what was in front of you. The three of you saw a long uneven line of students entering the serving room, divided between two doors. Witnessing the high schoolers were all packed tightly like sardines and didn't feel like waiting that long to get some nasty-ass food, you decided to tell your friends that you would save a table for them when they returned.
They tried to convince you to wait with them, but you were adamant about your decision. The two friends decided to let it go, seeing they couldn't get through to you.
"Suit yourself."
"Buzz kill."
Finally, they walked off, now leaving you to search for an empty table on your own.
It was only three options available—sitting with lisp-talking Gena Lewis, known to talk your complete head off about nonsense while spitting all over your face and food; Jacob Bryant, who couldn't stop nagging you about getting the answers to the history quiz because of his blatant stupidity and lack of comprehension skills; and Kira Banks, the stereotypical all black wearing emo everyone feared—let alone be around for thirty minutes.
For your peace and not wanting to be bothered, you chose to sit next to Kira, who was the less of the other two evils. She's not known to be much harm—if you don't look at her in the eyes or engage in conversation.
You placed your mesh backpack on the wooden bench—between you and the dark make-up-wearing girl, and plopped down on the seat.
Sitting in silence, you started to analyze the noisy square room. Anyone would think this was an elementary school rather than a high school by how childish everyone acted. Boys would run all around throwing food everywhere, and the girls would sit there and laugh—instigating the whole thing. You couldn't wait until May came around, so you could graduate and get out of this hell hole.
A vibration from your khaki pants quickly got you out of your thoughts and made you reach inside your pockets for your cell phone. You noticed a YouTube notification saying a YouTuber had posted a new video. Not just any YouTuber, but your favorite one—Mr. Dalvin.
