with a pang of sadness, that the officer hadn’t been so wrong after all. He had not been kidnapped, but sent away, for good. He sighed and headed downstairs for dinner.
As he neared the dining room, a barrage of smells wafted towards him, tempting him. His stomach was feeling dangerously empty from several days of snacks and soda pop. He rounded the corner into the dining room. It was then that the smells came in full force. The Delafontaine Dining Hall was long and high ceilinged like the rest of the buildings. Around the outer edges of the hall, shiny silver dinner troughs lined the walls. In front of them, stood a line of identically dressed boys piling their plates high with good food. Oliver's mouth watered as he stood at the entrance to the dining hall, basking in his first sighting of real food in days.
"Oliver. OLIVER."
"I told you!" A pair of voices, arguing, floated into a previously peaceful moment. Oliver whirled around at the sound of his name, and his jaw dropped. Before him, stood Malachi and Paul, both dressed in the Delafontaine uniform.
"What are you DOING here?"
"I could ask you the same thing."
"You know why he's here." Malachi's soft, cynical voice undercut Paul's excitement.
"Why are you here?" Oliver managed, though he couldn't yet wrap his mind around Malachi and Paul's presence. He had seen Malachi dragged away, and he had dreamed of him. There was a certain finality to the feelings he'd experienced, not certain death, but certain nevertheless. Malachi frowned in response to his question.
"I'm not sure. I guess you've gotten the spiel by now. But it doesn't make sense to me, at all. None of it." Malachi looked out over the noisy dining hall, and his eyes grew narrow.
"Food doesn't make sense to you, Chi? That's your loss. I'm digging in." Paul loosened his tie and made a beeline for the first serving station, while Malachi watched, his face tight.
"Should we eat?" Oliver looked uncertainly at Malachi. Malachi nodded, though he said nothing. Feeling strangely relieved that he'd gotten Malachi's blessing, Oliver did all he could not to run to the serving stations. The first serving station had ham, turkey, and tofu. The ham was thick, with sugar dipped skin, and the turkey was white and juicy. Oliver quickly piled his plate with both, and moved on to the next station. The next station boasted steaming sweet potatoes and gnocchi. Oliver moved through the stations until he looked very much like a ball juggler attempting to carry all three of his plates. After several close calls with a wet floor sign, Oliver landed at an open table in the back corner, followed closely by Malachi and Paul. Silence settled over the table as the boys ate, each refusing to think more deeply about anything that he wasn't putting in his mouth.
Tw enty minutes later, when stomachs were satisfied, Malachi coughed. The cough was deep, throaty, and obviously fake. Oliver looked up from the few remaining gnocchi on his plate, as he came down from his food high.
"Come on, Malachi, don't ruin this for us." Paul protested, through a mouth full of turkey. Malachi rolled his eyes and stabbed a ham slice on his plate.
"I'm not ruining anything. I'm just asking you to really think about what happened here."
"What happened is, I have somewhere to go that isn't my mom's house." Paul shrugged. "What about your rights?" Malachi asked, urgently.
Paul swallowed his turkey with a gulp. "I think it's great here. I'm not complaining . Things could be worse dude."
Malachi looked over to Oliver for a response, but all he could do is shrug. Malachi opened his mouth to argue, but was drowned out by a sudden crash. The three boys whirled around.
In the center of the dining hall, a tall broad-shouldered older student stood on top of one of the lunch tables. His fair hair was cut in a trendy style and his face wore an easy smirk. He looked out over the dining hall, and his eyes rested on Oliver's table for a
As he neared the dining room, a barrage of smells wafted towards him, tempting him. His stomach was feeling dangerously empty from several days of snacks and soda pop. He rounded the corner into the dining room. It was then that the smells came in full force. The Delafontaine Dining Hall was long and high ceilinged like the rest of the buildings. Around the outer edges of the hall, shiny silver dinner troughs lined the walls. In front of them, stood a line of identically dressed boys piling their plates high with good food. Oliver's mouth watered as he stood at the entrance to the dining hall, basking in his first sighting of real food in days.
"Oliver. OLIVER."
"I told you!" A pair of voices, arguing, floated into a previously peaceful moment. Oliver whirled around at the sound of his name, and his jaw dropped. Before him, stood Malachi and Paul, both dressed in the Delafontaine uniform.
"What are you DOING here?"
"I could ask you the same thing."
"You know why he's here." Malachi's soft, cynical voice undercut Paul's excitement.
"Why are you here?" Oliver managed, though he couldn't yet wrap his mind around Malachi and Paul's presence. He had seen Malachi dragged away, and he had dreamed of him. There was a certain finality to the feelings he'd experienced, not certain death, but certain nevertheless. Malachi frowned in response to his question.
"I'm not sure. I guess you've gotten the spiel by now. But it doesn't make sense to me, at all. None of it." Malachi looked out over the noisy dining hall, and his eyes grew narrow.
"Food doesn't make sense to you, Chi? That's your loss. I'm digging in." Paul loosened his tie and made a beeline for the first serving station, while Malachi watched, his face tight.
"Should we eat?" Oliver looked uncertainly at Malachi. Malachi nodded, though he said nothing. Feeling strangely relieved that he'd gotten Malachi's blessing, Oliver did all he could not to run to the serving stations. The first serving station had ham, turkey, and tofu. The ham was thick, with sugar dipped skin, and the turkey was white and juicy. Oliver quickly piled his plate with both, and moved on to the next station. The next station boasted steaming sweet potatoes and gnocchi. Oliver moved through the stations until he looked very much like a ball juggler attempting to carry all three of his plates. After several close calls with a wet floor sign, Oliver landed at an open table in the back corner, followed closely by Malachi and Paul. Silence settled over the table as the boys ate, each refusing to think more deeply about anything that he wasn't putting in his mouth.
Tw enty minutes later, when stomachs were satisfied, Malachi coughed. The cough was deep, throaty, and obviously fake. Oliver looked up from the few remaining gnocchi on his plate, as he came down from his food high.
"Come on, Malachi, don't ruin this for us." Paul protested, through a mouth full of turkey. Malachi rolled his eyes and stabbed a ham slice on his plate.
"I'm not ruining anything. I'm just asking you to really think about what happened here."
"What happened is, I have somewhere to go that isn't my mom's house." Paul shrugged. "What about your rights?" Malachi asked, urgently.
Paul swallowed his turkey with a gulp. "I think it's great here. I'm not complaining . Things could be worse dude."
Malachi looked over to Oliver for a response, but all he could do is shrug. Malachi opened his mouth to argue, but was drowned out by a sudden crash. The three boys whirled around.
In the center of the dining hall, a tall broad-shouldered older student stood on top of one of the lunch tables. His fair hair was cut in a trendy style and his face wore an easy smirk. He looked out over the dining hall, and his eyes rested on Oliver's table for a
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