TOXIC ~ STEVE ROGERS [1]

Chapter Three

The bell rang shrill in my ears, and students immediately began to file out of the classroom, eager for a break. Even after the bell stopped, I still had a ringing on my ears, which only made me headache worse. Slipping my laptop into its bag, I walked with heavy steps to the door.

"Keight? Can I have a word?" My teacher, a slim, caramel skinned Latina woman stood by her desk, her long finger nails tapping on her folder. I stopped, rolling my eyes before turning on my heel to face her.

"Yes, Camilla?" All the teachers and lecturers here insisted that we called them by their first names, and while those how had gone to regular schools struggled with it, I found it easy and natural. Camilla had only joined the staff at the start of this semester after our other teacher resigned out of nowhere, so I was still vary of her.

She gestured my over to her desk, and reluctantly I obeyed, vary I was due in to work at the cafeteria this lunchtime.

"I noticed you seem, troubled these last few days. Is they anything you need help with?" Her kind eyes searched mine. I folded my arms, a zip-zapping up and down my spine as my headache intensified.

"I, uh, I've just been getting headaches. Its nothing, really. Just stress or something," I said, looking away from her.

"Maybe you should go to the doctor? Or even just the school nurse?" she suggested, her voice smooth like honey. I shook my head.

"No, I'm sure I'll be fine. Maybe I just need a few days off," I rubbed my neck, itching to leave. There something about Camilla that made me nervous, but I couldn't put my finger on what it was.

"Ok. But remember, if you need to talk about anything, I'm always here to help," she smiled, her teeth white and shiny. I mumbled a thank you and left, her words making a chill slip up my spine. She sounded, odd, like she wanted to talk to me, like she was pressuring me. I had always been vary of her but after that encounter I didnt know what to think.

Taking a detour through the screen-printing room (man those guys made a mess) I slammed through the swing doors of the cafeteria, the wood splintering slightly under my force. I didn't take the time to stop and wonder why because Maurice was already yelling at me for being late.

"Why are you always late these days chica? Hurry up and get your apron on, we have hungry students to feed!" Maurice shoved an apron into my arms, and hastily I hung up my bag and slipped it on. Maurice was old, maybe in his early 60s and extremely fat. His double chins far outweighed anyone elses, and when he got angry his face would go blotchy red, and veins would stick out of his forehead.

Sliding into my place at the server, I started my weekly job of serving brain dead students mediocre mac 'n' cheese and boiled vegetables. Maurice was not an amazing cook, but when you have hundreds of droopy eyed students on the verge of mental breakdowns, they didn't really care what they ate, as long as it was hot.

"Hey there Keight," a friendly voice said. I looked up into the pale blue eyes of Max, still in his cleaning gear after a morning of sweeping floors and cleaning paint off of desks. Max wanted to be an engineer, but his criminal record as a teen meant he had it hard getting into collage. I had used my connections to get him a job cleaning at the New York Academy of Art where we studied, and as a bonus he got lunch provided. It was not unusual to see him lining up with the other students, although he was far from a master of any art.

"How you doing Max?" I replied, my hands trembling ever so slightly as I slopped a decent amount go mac 'n' cheese on his tray.

"Not bad. I do have to talk to you later about something, important," he said the word carefully, as though he was afraid someone would pick out a different meaning from it.