Through the Break in Her Hair

Chapter 24

I don't think there was ever a time in history that I was eager to enter the trough. I was so excited that I even thought about accepting a tray of food from the trough sloppers, and foregoing my pre-packed lunch of Doritos and a ham sandwich all together. But, walking down the long hallway that paralleled the trough changed my mind.

The tight lane was packed with kids, packed with the scent of sweat, and sickly sweet perfume, and something vaguely spicy. I wrenched my neck above the crowd to catch a glance of the chalkboard that donned the tough's door. Cheesy Chicken Enchiladas was scrolled across the muted black surface in a font that teetered somewhere between messy and script. I groaned.

The sloppers always tried to make Spanish food look more appetizing by writing it in fancy penmanship or drawing cute little piñatas at the top of the board, but nothing that plopped out of a cardboard box and had to be nuked in a microwave could be considered appetizing, or Spanish.

Honestly, it was such a discredit, a turn off to real Hispanic food--which was mouthwatering and appealing to look at, dissimilar to its pre-packaged, ethnicity-lacking friend that now adorned half a dozen plates swarming around the trough. I swear, one girl passed me with a steaming pile of that mush, oily red sauce dripping down its sides, and I almost vomited...in front of everyone.

Under normal circumstances, I would be worried about tarnishing my reputation if I projected my stomach's contents all over the cafeteria. But in that moment, when the ooey, gelatinous plate of garbage passed under my nose, I only worried that the smell and memory of the subject matter would stay with me forever. My stomach gurgled in response, and not in a, "I'm hungry," sort of way.

I hurriedly jumped out of line and took off for the bathroom. Kids all around me darted out of the way, probably noting the green tinge of my cheeks, the pale sheen of sweat covering my forehead. Emissions of panic and small cries of fear burst from their minds. Trust me, if I ran past me like this, I'd jump out of the way too. I'm pretty sure there was nothing worse in life than being vomited on by someone other than yourself. Which, if you think about it, is miserable too. Vomit = bad. No way around it.

The men's room was empty, gratefully. All the real men had the stomachs to, er, stomach the smell of cheesy chicken enchilada imposters. Kudos to them. If anything, this gave me a goal to work towards. Iron stomach, here I come.

Actually, it was more like my stomach was coming for me, and with a vengeance. A few wet burps bubbled out my throat, and I had to swallow down a mouthful of bile. I grimaced. The taste made me gag a little, but at least nothing else came up.

I hunched over the sink, splashing cool water in my face. Aw dangit! Now my stupid bandages are all wet. Those soggy things would take all day to dry! And I hated the way wet fabric sloshed against my skin, making it feel eternally clammy. Hated it.

As I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, I took slow measured breaths until my heart rate leveled out. That seemed to settle my stomach. Now if only I had a piece of gum, I thought, a waft of my own breath hitting me square in the nose.

The smell was absolutely putrid. Revolting even. I couldn't sit within five feet of Lindsey without her picking up the scent. She's a teenaged girl, not a bloodhound, my brain scolded, but it didn't make me any more confident about my wretched breath.

I let my face air dry, not wanting to stick my head under the air vent and come up sporting a new style. Today was not the day to try the "messy" look. Then, taking in an enormous breath, I dared to step back out into the hallway.

My pulse slowed, I wasn't bombarded with the stench of failed experimental edibles. Don't misunderstand me, the odor was still there, but slightly lessened. Or I was adjusting to it. Either way, I could only hope that the smell stayed subdued, but I doubted it. I was still a good four or five yards from the trough. The closer I got, inevitably the stronger the smell was going to become.