Mirror, Mirror (Book 2)

Chapter 15: Banquet Hall

As they reached Banquet Hall, the children's stomachs began to rumble, as they take a closer look at the grand building. Other than its size, it has a slanted roof, two windows glued on either side of the building, and a wooden porch which contained three honey brown rocking chairs, an empty cat bed, and a white porch swing, creaking silently on the right side of two, large gray doors. 

"Here we are," Jake smiled to the class.

"This is the Banquet Hall, a place where you can eat the best food on the planet! Do you guys like steak?"

"Yeah!" the students exclaimed.

"Well, come on in!" Jake encouraged. "I think the chef is finished putting the final touches on your lunch!"

"Lunch,"  everyone thought hungrily; they wondered what exotic dish the cook has prepared for them.

Meanwhile, Amelia, who can go for weeks without food, stood beside Oliver, studying her perfectly trimmed nails.

Pushing through the two gray doors, Jake introduced them to the cafeteria, as he takes a deep breath an inhale the smell of roasted meats.

When they got inside, everyone crowded into the cafeteria, like a package of hot dogs.

White blinding light bore down the twenty-four gray tables, as orange-brown tiles reflect its shimmer like water; and just like any cafeteria, the tables came with a dark gray trashcan, which stood on the end of each row.

Orange lunch trays waited expectedly for them on each table, as they each contained smoky barbecue-coated steak, white mound of mashed potatoes drizzled in melted butter and gravy, and last, but not least, three stalks of asparagus stacked on top of each other, like wooden Jenga blocks.

And as for the refreshments, thirty-two water bottles sat stiffly next to the trays of food, allowing the light to go through the clear liquid.

"Wow!" Ms. Fern studied the steak intently.

"Did you make these meals yourself?"

Embarrassed, Jake shakes his head no.

"I am a lousy cook," he admits sheepishly. "The person who made lunch is somewhere in the kitchen."

He points his finger at the dirt-smeared door at the right-hand corner of the room; it has a rusty knob, and a black sign with bold white letters, which says Chef at Work: Keep Out.

Suspicious, Amelia asked Jake if his colleagues are present.

"No," Jake says, sighing. "They're stuck in traffic, so for now I'm assisting you guys."

"That's okay," Ms. Fern smiled. "At least we're eating lunch. After that, you can show us to our cabins."

Then while eyeing the children, Ms. Fern adds, " I also expect everyone to eat everything on your plate, be grateful, and for once don't turn the cafeteria into a pig sty."

While the juniors looked at each other suspiciously, the seniors groaned and rolled their eyes.

It was the same reminder Ms. Fern gives before the class goes to lunch. Oliver couldn't say that he blamed her since every day is catastrophic in the school cafeteria.

Following Ms. Fern's footsteps, the teachers remind their students to keep the lunchroom neat and tidy in case another class comes.

And though most kids throw their half-eaten goods and wrinkled napkins into the trash can, you have a few Jokers that would ruin the teacher's laidback temper.

After weeks of threats and reminders, the teachers gave up trying to shape young minds. To them, the adolescents were like monkeys, playing around instead of listening.

"Well?" Ms. Fern crosses her arms like a spoiled child, gazing at her students.

"Are you going to behave like civilized people or animals?"

The children look amongst themselves and told her glumly that they will not disgrace her, though Oliver did see some students cross their fingers behind their backs.

Putting their suitcases beside their seats, the juniors and seniors sat in any available spot they saw, picked up their forks, and began eating their lunches.

Oliver did the same, as he drops his heavy load on behind him, comes up to a seat, which was in between Max and Harriet, and sits in the middle of them.

In front of him, was an unattended tray filled with steamy delicacies, tempting him to pick up his silver utensils and eat it.

He dove into the steak first, then the asparagus, and finally the potatoes. The warm texture came into his mouth, as he can taste the sweet tasting spices of salt, pepper, and paprika drizzling his mouth.

He chewed it in delight, causing his insides to melt with joy; Oliver had to admit that the food was delicious; the steak was chewy and dissolves quickly, the potatoes were soft and salty, and the juicy asparagus is tossed around his mouth a couple times before it was devoured and swallowed.

After finishing his meal, Oliver puts his tray on the end of the table and searches his eyes for Amelia, who was waiting near the doorway, looking bored.

Walking up to her, he asks if she would like to join his classmates, to which she kindly declined. 

"No thank you," she answered. "the last thing is I want is to be with Ms. Dictator."

Oliver sighed, knowing for a fact that she's referring to Ms. Fern.

"That's understandable," he says.

"Don't be glum," she reassured. "you can join me outside if you like."

"Sure, just let me get my suitcase," said Oliver.

While the class was eating, Oliver goes back to his seat, retrieves his bag, and returns to Amelia.

"Are you ready?"

 "Of course," Amelia said casually, reaching into her left jeans pocket for a napkin and gave it to Oliver. 

"But don't forget to wipe your face: you have the table manners of a gorilla."

Oliver takes it and wipes the corners of his mouth. "At least I don't drink coffee like one."

"Touchy," Amelia says jokingly, dragging her suitcase with her to the door.

"You are one dangerous savage, Olly."

"Aw, how can you tell?" Oliver asked sarcastically, crumbling his napkin into a ball. "Is it my green eyes?"

"No, I think it's your Beiber hair." Amelia laughs. "You should try cutting it sometime."

"I'll cut my hair if you cut yours." Oliver taunted.

"I'll think about it," she taunted back. 

Amelia carefully twists the metal knob, pulls the door open, and together, she and Oliver walked outside, allowing the door to close on its own.