Trays of Our Knives

TRAYS OF OUR KNIVES: The War On Peaches-ism
A lunch-related soap opera written in short story form (if that makes any sense)




    The hands of the clock in Mrs. Kuntz (yes, Kuntz)'s classroom moved torturingly slow, as if they were imitating a turtle. Time usually passed with the velocity of Speed Racer, but at this tense moment right before lunchtime, it was as slow as the idiots in this class.

    "Make sure there's no paper under your desk." Said Mrs. Kuntz (yes, Kuntz) in her falsely pleasant voice. I impatiently tapped my pencil against my desk, and played drums with my palms. I looked at the clock again, although I knew it hadn't changed.

    And then finally the words my ears were aching to hear: "Have a wonderful afternoon."

    As if I had sat on the sharp point of a thumbtack, I shot up out of my chair. With my books in hand, I dashed across the hall to my locker and threw them inside. I snatched my brown paper lunch bag out of my open backpack (i always left it open to make the race to lunch quicker) and sprinted down the hall, without even bothering to close my locker. I navigated my way through the crowds, ignoring the cries of "Watch where you're going" and "Slow down" I caught a blurry glimpse of my friends, Ike, Mike, Nick, Star, Emily, Natef, Natem, Caitlin, Claire, Bethany, Lexy, and Melissa. They were all swiftly cutting through the mass of hungry eighth-graders, trying to get to lunch before each other. To people in a normal environment, who are able to eat lunch free of pointless rules, this mad rush to get there first may seem absurd. But we were not in a normal environment, we were in a middle school. An average, public, rural middle school, where the entire system of rules was based on pointlessness. The cause of our impressive speed was, in fact, a pointless rule: Lunch tables are only permitted 12 people. Our group of friends' lucky number was, ironically, 13. Thus, noone wanting to be left out and condemmed to sit at Dylan's (the most wholesome, rule-abiding, nerdiest kid ever) table, we all ran to lunch.
   
I got there first, despite the fact that my friends' classroom was closer to the cafeteria. I was less afraid to be stopped by an angry teacher. Another fault in the dictatorship of CMS: The rules contradict each other. If you are forced to run to lunch, then running shouldn't be prohibited. I jumped and landed on the bench, eagerly expecting the arrival of the other 12. I hardly ever got to see 10 of them during school, which was another cause for my impatient excitement. My best friend, Ike was the first to arrive. He was around 5'3, my height, slightly chubby, and he was the owner of long, curly blonde hair that invaded his ears and forehead. Many of his friends-who-happen-to-be-girls complimented that physical feature, me amongst them, causing him to become uncomfortable.
   
"Sup dude." He greeted me, as he speed-walked to the table and sat down.
"Sup." I replied. It wasn't so much a question as another way of saying hi.
   
The others quickly filled the table, and Bethany was left out. Melissa accompanied her, though, which was nice. Then, the buyers arose to get their lunches, but Natem and I stayed put. Natem always packed a lunch, and I only bought on pizza day. When they returned, we had a relatively subdued discussion of the usual teenage topics, sex and food and relationships and sex and TV and music and sex. We soon became interested in the slimy, orange thing that lay on all the buyers' lunch trays. It was technically an apricot, or some kind of disgusting fruit like that, but everyone was referring to it as a peach, so I will too. Ike was poking the peach curiously, as if to see what would happen. Nothing happened. Then Mike hurled a peach at him.

"Dude what the fuck?" Exclaimed Ike, as he threw the peach back at Mike.
   
And, like 9/11, that was the start of a peach war between Mike and Ike, that only stopped when Mike got up to get extras.
   
A lightbulb appeared over my head. "Put the peaches on his seat." I said giddily.
 
Natef, Ike and I delicately placed the peaches on the seat next to mine, formerly occupied by Mike. When he returned, he looked down, saw them, and bravely picked them up with his bare hands and threw them at Ike. Ike disposed of the gross things by dumping them on the floor, which was probably where the lunch ladies got them anyway. Explosions of laughter at the entire peach extravaganza filled the air. Everyone was at least grinning, and most of us were dying with laughter.
   
After the peach war died down, conversation floated back to relatively normal topics. That is, until Natef stole my chocolate milk and tried to throw it away. I leaped out of my seat to save it from suffering a tragic death, and cried "I'm still thirsty!!" Natef's golden layered blonde head turned around and he gave me back my milk, which I took a hearty sip from.
   
After we sat down again, one of the teachers on lunch duty that day, Mrs. Moore came over and sat down beside me. I figured it was because I got up without permission. Stupid shit.
   
"I heard what you said." She said, with a stern expression on her usually kind face. Mrs. Moore was my favorite 6th teacher. She had puffy brown hair, a rotund build, and she got off-topic often.
"What'd I say?" I asked, honestly confused.
"Everyone in the cafeteria heard you call Nathan an a-hole" She replied, with a you-should-know-this look.
"Oh, sorry." I said. I had no recollection of calling him that, but it is something I'd say, so I figured if I apologized, I'd be off the hook. And I was! Mrs. Moore got up and walked away.

"What was that?" Asked Emily, who was sitting on my left side. She was short, with brown hair. Mike was short as well, though his hair was dyed black, after a purple incident. His purple hair was a beautiful symbol of rebellion. I miss it.
   
"Mrs. Moore thinks I called Natef an asshole." I replied.
"Did you?"
"I don't actually remember.." I said, trying to think back.
   
Emily and I chortled at the fact that I swear so much, I can't remember whether I did or not. I'm not bragging about it, it's just the way I fucking talk. Sometimes the excess swearing makes me sound angry, but I'm usually not. The person standing behind me however...
   
"MJ! Pick up that cookie right now!!!" The sharp, piercing sound of a tyrant's enraged voice struck fear in our hearts. It was Mrs Kachinko, the egotistical prep, Amber Kachinko's bitchy mother. Like a fatal disease, she goes by many names: Hitler, Lunch Nazi, Mrs Kachinko, Amber's Mom, etc.
   
I turned around to see a mess of cookie crumbs on the floor behind me. I ate no cookie. The crumbs did not belong to me. I wanted desperately to call her a Cookie Monster but I'd definetely get suspended.
   
"I didn't have a cookie.." I tried to explain to the Lunch Nazi, but she wouldn't listen. "Pick them up!!" She barked, her anger growing like a hole in the ozone layer.
   
Reluctantly, I gave in to her fascist lunch-governing ways. I picked up the broken cookie, pretended to eat it, and hoped the rest of lunch would be Nazi free. But my hopes were not to be realized.
   
"Look at this mess!!!" Her banshee-like voice screamed in terror! She had discovered the aftermath of the violent peach war, under the table. "MJ, clean this up right now!!!"
   
I looked around, utterly befuddled, in disbelief that I was being blamed for someone else's deeds again. I was like Jesus, dying for your sins. Except Jesus actually did it. I argued with Hitler, enraging her further.
   
"You didn't even do anything." Said Emily. "It was Mike and Ike."
"I know!" I agreed emphatically.
   
On my other side, Mike was gibbering on to Mrs. Kachinko how he was innocent of peach-spilling, and Ike was already picking up the offending, slimy fruit.
   
"Don't pick it up, dude." I said to him. "Leave it." Fuck the Lunch Nazi, why should she get what she wants? Unfortunately, the crazy bitch overheard me advising Ike.
   
"Don't stop him from doing the right thing!!" She ordered, as if she were the new Pope, or even the new God. The moral expert of the universe. "AND YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE A LEADER??!!!" She exploded like a bomb in a real war, not one involving peaches. The entire cafeteria was silent, as if someone pressed the mute button. I opened my mouth to break the awkward silence, but Mike beat me to it.
   
"I'M a good leader!" He blurted and everyone burst out laughing. Success was ours.
   
Mrs. Manfrass, the health teacher who had the luxury of eating lunch, and then talking about sex to horny eighth-graders had walked in and watched the hilarious, yet dramatic situation. I overheard her and Hitler discussing ways to punish me. Manfrass suggested that Kachinko talk to Mrs. Schmidt, the leader of Leadership, to get me kicked out. I resolved to discuss the matter with her first.
   
The cafeteria slowly drained (noone was in such a hurry to leave it, as they were to enter), and as I was walking by Mr. Wesley's lockers, I heard a scream.
   
"YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE A LEADER??!!!" It was my friend Bethany, in a hilariously accurate portrayal of the Lunch Nazi's explosion.
 
I laughed along with my friends, and reluctantly turned the corner to return to my hallway, a jubilant feeling of friendship bringing a smile to my face. It wasn't wise to walk down a hallway with an apparently pointless smile in middle schools that were packed with meanness and hatred, but I didn't care. Lunch was a hilarious celebration of good friends, and it seemed like nothing could stop that. And as I approached Mrs Schmidt's room, ready to tell her of the peaches incident, I knew that even if I was kicked out of Leadership, our friendships were untouchable.