The Misfits: Royal School

Chapter 2: "There's no pop-tarts?"

Chapter 2: "There's no pop-tarts?"

September 16th, 2015

The first breakfast of the school year is always the busiest. Catching up with old friends, gossiping about the freshmen, trying to fit into the new clique, and for them, it means planning on their yearly 'back to school' mission.

That is if they can make it to the dining hall in one piece without being 45 minutes late or without someone getting injured. But they don't really have the luxury of choosing both.

Unlike the students' dormitory that's basically full of woods, marbles, and old paintings; the dining hall is sleek and modern. But still, sending the usual high school stereotypes with group sitting and all. It's packed with round birch tables and plants in the middle. Not really a strategic place to put living plants, since some students might just dump their morning juice if they don't like it, and therefore killing the poor plants.

The walls are white and fresh lemony color, and there's a chef in a white chef's hat serving meals that's—suspiciously—fresh. There are some bottled drinks, but instead of high-sugar and high-caf, they're filled with various kinds of juices and mineral water. There's even a table set up for coffee. Coffee. This is the exact school some Starbucks-starved teenagers would kill for, in-school coffee. But for some people, that coffee is their life-saving ingredient to survive morning class.

The chairs are already filled with people, talking with their friends over the shouting of the chefs and the clattering of the real china plates. The five teens stall in the doorway, their eyes scanning around the room. As they goes to a completely empty table near the window, they feel multiples eyes staring at them. Some in adoration, some in jealousy, or even hatred.

Daniel Barnes smirked at the looks he's getting. He flipped his bangs of dirty blond hair, as his grey eyes sparkles with mischief. TJ is right behind him, but looked like his total opposite. His hands are in the pocket of his cream colored pants, His white customized white shirt fits him in just the right place. His eyes keep darting around the room, then occasionally to the floor.

Behind them walked Carlise Manson, walking at his own pace. His messy hair is styled effortlessly on top of his head. His face wore a blank expression, like he's rather be anywhere but here. But there's a slight trace of a smile on his lips.

Even farther from Daniel and TJ, Eleanor and Hayley walks side by side. Eleanor's trusty heeled boots clicks on every steps it takes. It fits her legs like it was made custom—it probably is—just for her. Their movements are quick, their smiles mesmerizing—like it was there just for you, and a voice that makes men's knees go wobbly and women's head go floating. Hayley's eyes is smiling at some people, looking like it's made from the finest jewel. It's the kind of blue eyes that you would find in pictures, pulling you in, drowning you, pulling your strings until everything played out the way she wanted to.

They walked pass the jocks, some fist-pumping TJ as he walks past, they said hi at few familiar faces and sent back smiles to shy freshmen that has the courage to greet them. They pull the chairs out and sat down. And like it was on cue, the conversations around the cafeteria starts back.

Carlise and Hayley are the first one to stands up so they can stand in line for foods. Monsieur Gillet is the chef in charge today. He's French, if you haven't notice already, and he's also their favorite chef. Because one, he has a funny accent, and two, he likes to give them free dessert.

As he passes from one corner of the hall to another, pairs of girlish eyes and an occasional sighs follows him. It's not a secret that at least 65% of the female population of Georgefield Prep has a crush on the light brown haired boy. And Hayley is feared by the same amount of the same species of population. What a pair.